Yes, we will talk. I feel a real resentment

about your behavior, and I know that we’ll

need to chat about future boundaries.

I know. Love you.

She doesn’t respond to that one. And I guess I can’t blame her. But part of me really wishes she would respond with a “Love you too.”

I put my phone away and pick up my grandfather’s journal. I decide to read the final page.

I hug the book close to me and quiver. My grandfather and I. We’re two peas in a pod. How is it that I can be so in the dark about what was going on with him, but still feel like the words came from my own pen? He felt stranded and terrified. I’m lying on a park bench in a strange city, and I feel the same way.

His life changed so fast, it seems like. Whatever it was that made him leave, it all happened quickly. We’re the same. My life has changed so much in nine days.

Would I change it back now if I could? I’m sleeping in a park. And yet, I don’t think I would. I wonder if my grandfather found something that made it all better for him too.

I try to figure out what we’re going to do in the morning. I don’t want to call my mom and ask for a bailout. I really don’t. I won’t. We got ourselves here, and it’s up to us to get us out of it.

My attention is drawn to a rustling near my feet. I look down. In the dim glow of the streetlights above us, I see it. A rat, about the size of a football. It sniffs the ground around my sneaker, its straight-as-an-arrow tail wiggling back and forth.

I yank my foot up onto the bench, stifling the scream that seems to originate in the pit of my belly. What the hell kind of rat gets so close to a person? A rabid one? Rats can be rabid, right? I begin to tremble.

All those times in my room, sitting on the radiator, fantasizing about leaving and the utter freedom of being on my own, rats never came to mind. I think of all the things that make me feel unsafe, like, right at this very moment. The guy with the sores on his legs, about fifty feet away from us. Not having shelter. Not being able to afford food. Losing all my stuff. Losing people. Being entirely alone.

The reality of Aisha’s life smashes me in the face. She was sleeping in the zoo. She was alone out there, no safety net. I knew it, but I didn’t know it.

The rat saunters across the path to Aisha’s bench. He sniffs around its legs. Her left leg is actually on the ground, about ten inches away from the nasty rodent.

The rat stands on its hind legs and begins to sniff up the leg of the bench near her feet. I emit a noise I’ve never made before, sort of an unhg sound. If I wake Aisha, she’ll move her leg right into the rat.

I sit up quietly, my heart pulsing in my neck. I cannot — will not — allow Aisha to get bitten by a possibly rabid rat. I stand, barely breathing. By the way Aisha snores, I know she’s sound asleep.

I pound the glistening pavement with my right foot, hoping to scare it off. The rat seems not to care. I stand up and take a step toward the rat. Nothing. It disregards me completely.

I keep my eye on the rat and feel behind me for the prickly porcupine that I put by my feet on the bench. A bristle jabs my finger. I pick it up and cradle it like a football. I slowly walk around until I’m behind Aisha. The last thing I want to do is scare the rat onto her bench.

I set my feet, lift my arm, hold my breath, and hurl the porcupine down at the rat. It glances off the bench and ricochets into the rat’s side. The rat squeaks, and then it scurries away, off into the darkness of the bushes behind me.

Aisha stirs. I see the whites of her eyes as she opens them. I’m looming above her, and she looks up at me and frowns. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”

She sighs, closes her eyes, and turns over onto her side, pulling her foot off the ground.

When I feel safe enough to go back to my bench, I walk over and sit down, picking up the porcupine on the way. I take a deep breath. I hear no rats. I turn on my smartphone flashlight app and flash it into the bushes. I see no rats.

It’s pretty clear I won’t be closing my eyes tonight. Not gonna happen.

When my heartbeat calms, I go back to figuring out how we’re going to get the money we need. This … this isn’t suitable.

Oh, what the hell, I think. I close my eyes for a moment.

God,if you exist: Please give me an idea. If you’re so great, let’s see you do something for us to get us out of this shitstorm I created.

Amen.

I CAN’T BRING myself to wake Aisha for her turn at keeping watch. When the sun begins to rise, I haven’t slept a wink, yet I feel remarkably good for someone who just spent a night in the park and narrowly avoided a possibly rabid rat attack.

“Why’d you let me sleep?” Aisha sits up and stretches her arms above her head.

“I actually fell asleep,” I lie, and she gives me an admonishing look.

“Well, we survived, so that’s good,” she says. “We need about a hundred and fifty bucks to get my car, or we have about sixteen hours to figure out how to avoid sleeping in the park again.”

I shoot her a thumbs-up. Got it covered. Overnight, I came up with a plan. It may work, it may not, but we have at least a chance to make some of the money we need to get out of this mess.

I share my idea with Aisha. At first, she balks. When she can’t come up with a better idea, she decides to give it a try.

“Remember,” I say, as we take a bus to our destination. “The first rule is never deny my reality. And whatever you say, I won’t deny yours either.”

She raises one eyebrow. “We’re in Reno. We’re on a bus. Hard to deny that reality.”

We head for the Truckee River corridor — a shiny, recently renovated promenade overlooking the Truckee River. This is the best location for my plan, according to a site I found online. The sun is not fully up yet when we arrive, and the air is slightly chilly right off the river. To our right, a woman missing her right ear sells Native American jewelry off a red-and-blue blanket. To our left, a guy with a shaved head and huge cartoon sunglasses has set up an easel and starts hanging up caricatures he’s drawn in the past. We mark our space with the canvas bag, the Porcupine of Truth, and the satin pillow, and I find an aluminum tin lying behind a garbage can to use as a tip jar. I look over to show Aisha, but she’s fiddling with her phone. She must be looking for a response from her dad.

“Nothing?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Yup.”

I wish there was something I could do to make Aisha’s life as awesome as it should be. If I could, I would. I give her a moment, and then I ask, “You ready for this?”

“No.”

“Me neither,” I say.

The temperature warms up, and a bunch of people come strolling down the street. I get myself ready. I wait for a couple of people to be near our area, and I start.

“Okay, okay,” I shout. “We are the improv comedy duo Cars-Isha. Can anyone please call out two professions?”

The two people who had been standing closest slip away.