It was so high.
“How do we get him over that with a bum ankle?” Rachel asked what we were all thinking.
“I’ll catch him from the other side.” I had no idea if this would work, but what else could we do? Quickly hopping out of the dumpster, I grabbed both Hank’s forearms. “You’re going to have to roll out and use me as support. Which ankle is it? I’ll make sure you don’t land on it.”
Hank nodded in agreement. “It’s the left one.”
As I pulled Hank’s front half over the lip of the dumpster, Rachel lifted Hank’s legs carefully, and he used his stomach to roll over the edge. His weight shifted as he leaned toward my side, so I moved and grabbed his middle, allowing Hank to put his right leg down first.
And he was out.
Rachel climbed out almost instantaneously and paused, unsure if she should do more, so I let her off the hook. “You can go back inside. I’ll wait with Hank for the ambulance.”
Rachel’s fear took over, and she hurried to the open door, but instead of closing it, she stayed in the doorway, safe inside but still part of the action.
Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive—one for the good guys. Hank shifted on his good foot uncomfortably at the sight of the two paramedics hurrying over.
The closest paramedic’s nostrils flared at our smell, but then his face turned all business. “I’m Jim, and this is Lucy.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Jeraline. This is Hank, the patient, and that’s Rachel. She owns this place,” I said, not knowing what else to say. Then I explained, “Sorry about the smell. He got stuck in the dumpster. His ankle might be broken.”
Lucy didn’t seem fazed by the stink, and at seeing Hank’s condition, Jim lost his concern for the stench as he examined Hank’s ankle. When Hank moaned in pain at Jim’s touch, Jim assessed, “It doesn’t feel broken, but he’ll need an X-ray to be sure.”
Hank stuttered, “I . . . don’t have any money.”
Lucy pulled out a portable gurney from the ambulance and wheeled it over. “That’s the hospital’s problem. We’re going to get you in and make sure they get you an X-ray.” Lucy clenched her jaw with determination, and I’d bet Hank wasn’t the first homeless person she’d fought for.
I liked her.
And so did Hank, as he managed a smile through pain-gritted teeth.
Jim and Lucy helped Hank lie down on the gurney, while I held his hand.
“You going to be okay?” I asked, both of us covered in filth.
Hank squeezed my hand. “I am now. Thank you, Jeraline. I owe you.”
“Where are you going to stay the night?” My mind raced, imagining the hospital kicking him out after the X-ray.
“Don’t worry about me. The shelter I stay at sometimes is close to the hospital,” Hank assured me.
Lucy’s eyes solidly met mine. “I know the place. We’ll make sure he gets there.”
Before Hank let go of my hand, he nodded toward the dumpster. “You probably couldn’t see it in the dark, but I finished your painting. It’s leaning up against the side of the dumpster.”
“Hank.” My chest tightened. He’d come for food and to give me my painting, and I hadn’t been here.
But he didn’t act upset at all. He squeezed my hand one more time. “I’ll see you soon, Jeraline.”
“Bye, Hank.” I let go of his hand as Lucy and Jim situated Hank into the ambulance and sped off toward the hospital.
Flashlight beaming on my phone again, I walked over to the side of the dumpster, and next to my abandoned lunch bags was the most stunning painting I’d ever seen.
Even with the poor lighting of the flashlight, it took my breath away.
Swirling colors of paint swam together in a beautiful dance to create a perfect snapshot of the Milky Way. Though the canvas was small, the imagery was so much larger. The more I stared, the more it felt as if I were swimming in the very universe itself.
Hank was a true artist.
Tears filled my eyes and fell down my cheeks.
“What is that?” Rachel’s voice cut through the silence.
“It’s a painting that Hank made for me.” I tried to hide the choke in my voice.
Rachel’s face softened, then she said, “Well, bring it and yourself inside, and let’s get cleaned up.”
I stared down at my stained and wet-with-garbage clothes with disgust.
Good plan.
I sat on Rachel’s couch, trying to relax after taking a scrub-down-oh-my-god-will-this-garbage-smell-ever-go-away shower, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants from Rachel’s wardrobe. I was trying to figure out what was more surreal, being stuck in a dumpster or being stuck in Rachel’s apartment. Though, to be fair, Rachel had been nothing but kind to me since the whole debacle. I wondered what was going on in her brain since I figured it had been a while since she’d stepped outside. And, shocker, I was the one who made it a miserable experience. Her seething hate for me would come back at any moment, I just knew it. But for now, clean clothes and hot showers.
The sound of water pounding on the bathtub floor was the only noise that permeated the apartment. Rachel had been in the shower for a while now, like I had. She had let me go first, which again, was . . . nice. And she had even given me permission to stay in as long as I wanted since she had a tankless water heater installed a few months ago. It was almost as if the universe knew the two of us would be taking endless showers in the future.
Hank’s painting lay in my lap, and I stared into its depths. Now that it was properly lit, I noticed so many more details. Layer upon layer of paint created a cacophony of stars, planets, debris, and infinite beauty. Staring into the center of the painting, it seemed endless, capturing eternity on a canvas.
My mind throbbed at the idea
