~ PG ~Donatello goes on an unexpected trip to New England. Told from his POV - six (short) pages
It was a few hours later when I woke up, the sun was bright above me and I assumed it was some time around noon. I was still alone, though - no police cars, no sirens, no strangers passed out from fright... that was a good sign, at least. But I was hungry and still too exposed to bring myself out into the streets... I didn't even have my bandanna for cover. I closed my eyes and imagined a pizza a la Michaelangelo... one of his specialties... maybe pineapple and spinach. I thought to myself that I could almost smell the cheese and tomato sauce. I opened my eyes when I realized that I really was smelling it.
I crouched and peeked into the street beyond the dumpsters. It was more like New York in the daytime than it had been at night... people were rushing past and cars were creeping along slowly, pausing and proceeding to the beat of the traffic lights. Through the familiar smell of exhaust I sensed the pizza again... and then I saw the place that could provide me with one.
The sign read Rose's Pizza and a take-out number was painted on the window. I smiled and set the number to memory; ten dollars wouldn't buy a very big pie or provide much of a tip, but it would certainly stop the hunger pangs. First, though, I had to get out of the alley.
I looked up and saw clothes lines strung across between the two buildings that flanked me. On one of the lines hung a set of baby clothes and another was occupied exclusively by underwear and socks. Neither of those lines would do me much good. What I really needed was something to cover my head... and people don't usually hang hats out to dry... I'd have to take other steps.
I slunk along the wall to the corner nearest the street. Nobody saw me there, so I paused in wait. People were walking quickly by, some of them wearing hats to block out the breeze. I hate to steal... I wondered what Master Splinter would think of what I was about to do. I began to recall a lesson that he had given us early on. Forbidding stealing wasn't something he could do, considering the nature of our lives. Nobody was supposed to know we existed... it wasn't as if we could just go out and get jobs and go shopping. Survival dictated the occasional act of thievery for us... but only in certain situations. Sensei beat it into our heads regularly that if he ever caught us stealing for any other reason he would teach us a new lesson. I remember when Splinter taught Raph that lesson for stealing a remote control car... it took my brother an hour to stop his lip from bleeding. Splinter can be a hard teacher, but Raph learned... and we all had an example to take to heart. Though I had to wonder, as I stood there in the alley, if Master Splinter would consider this necessary for survival... stealing a hat so I could buy a pizza.
A big man wearing a brown watch cap walked close to the alley. I reached out and snatched the hat from his bald head, sliding back into the shadows before he even realized he was uncovered. I peered at him from behind the dumpsters as he stopped and felt his head, looked around the sidewalk, felt his head again, looked into the street, and felt his head again. I wondered how many times he would feel his head before he realized that it was, indeed, uncovered. After about a minute of fruitless searching and feeling the top of his head the man shrugged and walked on. Probably, I thought to myself with a grin, going home to tell his family that his old, raggedy hat had been stolen by poltergeists.
The hat wasn't pretty, but it fit perfectly. I slipped it on and pulled my collar up over my face as best as I could. I was a sight to behold, and not a presentable one, either... bloody sleeve and all. I searched my pockets for any change and came out with a quarter - ten cents short of enough to call to order the pizza on a payphone. I was going to have to go into Rose's and set the order. Not a good idea, considering the fact that cashiers usually like to see the faces of their customers.
The more I thought about it the more I realized that that couldn't happen. I'd never be able to go in and order the pizza without attracting the kind of attention that I really didn't need. I searched my mind for other options and came up with only one - I had to find a grocery store.
I set my feet to the concrete and began to walk down the sidewalk, keeping my face covered and head down. I tried to recall my knowledge of New Yorkers' behavior and apply it to the people walking past me in Springfield, Mass... I acted secretive and nuts. It worked... nobody gave me a second look and most didn't even grace me with a first.
After walking for a long while I finally managed to find my way to a shopping center. I looked up at the large letters that spelled out Stop & Shop and hunched my shoulders. This place would do nicely... now to go shopping. I spotted a man in a short cammo coat - he was hauling a bag out from the store to his car. I strolled over casually and stood behind him as he popped the trunk and put the bag inside. I cleared my throat to get his attention. Turning, he looked into my face and then did a double-take. I smiled wide and he jumped, falling back into the open trunk of his old Chevrolet.
I reached my uninjured arm down and offered him aid out. He just blinked and stared at my face as if he was seeing an alien. He didn't make a sound... not even a squeak. He just stared at me.
"I hate to ask this of you," I said, lowering my arm. "But may I go shopping in your groceries?"
He was still silent and unmoving... I wondered if he was even breathing. I sighed. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but it would do...at least he hadn't said no or screamed for the cops. I began to look through the bag and came out with a box of crackers, a jar of peanut butter, three apples, a can of Vienna sausages, and a small bottle of V-8 juice. I did some quick figuring in my head and decided that the total was close enough to ten dollars to call it even. I stuffed all the food into my duster's deep pockets and pressed the ten spot into the man's hand. He still didn't move.
"Thanks," I told him as I turned and walked away. I didn't bother to glance back to see if he was still in his trunk.
I strolled slowly down the street, munching on an apple as I went. I took in the sights and marveled at how Springfield seemed to be so much like home, and yet so different... I thought about my brothers and Splinter and April... I wondered if they were worried or if they were out looking for me... did they think something had happened to me? I wished I could get hold of them. I hadn't gone out prepared at all that evening. I didn't bring a bo or money or even my Turtlecom... I guess I was trying to be alone. I certainly ended up alone...
Being out on my own was a ride... a new feeling that I couldn't fight... and didn't want to lose. I was there, in a different state of the Union and a different state of mind. I almost liked it.
I walked under an overpass and tossed my apple core away, glancing up at the building in front of me.
"Basketball Hall Of Fame" I read the sign out loud. It was a nice building - and big. I wondered what it was like inside. I looked both ways and trotted across the street. The building was bigger close-up. There were prices listed on the door, though, and with no money I wasn't getting in. I shrugged to myself and walked on up the road.
I was minding my own when a guy in a broken-down old Ford slowed down and motioned to me. I turned my face away and waved him off. He leaned on his horn and yelled something I couldn't make out. I did my best to ignore him... I guess he didn't like that.
I rounded a corner and looked to my side... I could see the hood of the Ford in my peripheral vision. The man behind the wheel was going slow - hoping that I wouldn't notice him there. Too bad for him that I did. I spun to face him and the car jerked to a stop. The man jumped out and leveled a gun at my head.
"Is this the way you treat all guests?" I asked calmly... though I was getting really tired of guns being pointed at me.
"What the hell...?" the man said, getting a good look at my face. "Jeez... where the hell did you come from?"
"Manhattan."
I reached out and grabbed the gun from his hands. In one move I knocked out the clip and tossed the unloaded weapon into a sewer grate. The punk still had his hand held out as if the gun were there in his grip.
"Now, could you tell me which way the Greyhound station is?" I asked.
The man swallowed hard and pointed a shaking finger up the road. "That way," he said nervously..
"Thanks," I offered.
There was a short burst of siren and both of us looked up at the cop car approaching. I pushed my collar up and tried to turn away.
"You're going to have to move," the female officer said, pulling up to a stop beside us and pointing at a sign. "No parking."
The punk just stood there dumbfounded... he wasn't going to say a word.
I cleared my throat and found my voice. "Yes, Officer," I said, "We were just leaving."
She was quiet and her car didn't move. I forced myself to look into her face, but she wasn't looking back at me - her eyes were focused on the ground at my feet. I looked down at the discarded clip and grimaced. I looked at her again and she was staring at my bloody sleeve.
I bolted - I just started to run and didn't look back. I heard the siren again and it drew closer and closer to my back. I turned on my heel and ran down an alley, coming out onto a one-way street. I wondered if the police officer knew that she was chasing the wrong guy as I ran across the street and into another alley. I heard sirens coming from two directions now and figured the only way I could go was up.
I jumped high and grabbed hold of a fire escape ladder, pulling it down. I made my way up onto the roof of an old brick building and looked down. There was a cop car one way and another one on the other side - I took the least resistant route, leaping onto the roof of a shorter building just fifteen feet away. I landed with a thud and a sharp pain went through my foot and up my leg. I rolled onto my shell and sat up, looking at the sole of my foot. It was cut deep and there was a piece of broken beer bottle still lodged in my flesh.
I crawled to the edge of the building and peered down past my watery eyes. The female cop was out of her car, talking to another officer. Their sirens were off now, at least. I looked into the back window of one of the patrol cars and saw the punk who had tried to hold me up. I was more than a little glad that they had thought to get after him, too. I watched them until they finally decided to leave.. I guess they didn't see me as worth going after.
With them gone I set my mind to more immediate concerns. The blood from my foot was pooling and running in an eerie river across the rooftop. I took the can of Vienna sausages out of my pocket and popped the top. I set the can down and wiped the aluminum lid off on my duster and then cleaned it off completely with a few of the handi-wipes from the Greyhound restroom. Afterwards I bent the metal into a kind of makeshift knife. I forced the edge of the newly created blade into the gash on my foot and swore out loud at the pain. It hurt bad. I wondered who the hell was drinking beer on the roof, anyway.
After a few minutes I managed to work the inch-long piece of glass out of my foot. The blood began to flow freely so I took the elbow pad off of my right arm and pulled it as tightly as I could around my foot, managing to cut the flow of blood somewhat, though not completely.
I sat back and pulled my lunch out of my pocket. The crackers were crushed from my roll and one of the apples had fallen out of my pocket somewhere along my run, but the rest of what I had to eat would do me well for the time being. I ate the sausages and about half of the peanut butter, washing it down with the V-8... it surprised me that the bottle hadn't gotten broken during the roll, too.
After my meager feast I made my way back down to the street. I limped as I took each step towards the direction the punk had told me I'd find the Greyhound station. I probably looked crazier than I wanted to seem. The only image that popped into mind was Quasimodo... I had the incredible urge to go ring a bell.
I rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of a new blue Pontiac. A nice car by any accounts... and one that the owner was enjoying the speed of. That glimpse was all I saw... the next thing I knew I was jumping over it. The car screeched to a halt and I landed feet-down on the hood. My foot screamed at the landing and set my knees into a downfall. I rolled off the car's hood, smacking my head against the asphalt.
I lay on the street, dazed, for a few seconds, trying to convince myself to get up and run. I heard the car door open and a young man's voice said "Oh my god! Are you okay?"
I rolled onto my plastron as best as I could to keep him from seeing my face. Still, I felt his hand touch the back of my head. Still dizzy and confused, I jumped to my feet and began to run. I felt the pain in my foot and my arm and now in my head as well. I didn't look to see if the boy was following me and I didn't really care... I needed a place to rest - to hide. Through blurry eyes I found a parked pick-up truck with a cap on the back. I crawled in through the cap's open window and collapsed down onto the truck's bed. I reached out, finding with my hands a plastic tarp. I pulled it over myself and closed my eyes - and slipped into darkness.
