Check the window

Your attention is once again drawn to the window, you can now faintly hear voices as well as the incessant beat of what your dad calls 'jungle music'. You make your way between the bushes and the wall of the building, your eyes on the soft light coming through the window a few yards away. You can detect the odor of what you suspect is marijuana, too. As you near the window, your lose your footing in the darkness and give your ankle a twist. You manage to catch yourself before you tumble to the ground, but the pain is intense and after another step you don't feel like you can put much weight on it.

Whimpering, you manage to step-hop over to where you can see a young black man sitting by the open window, looking away to the inside and sharing a laugh with someone. He puts a rolled cigarette to his lips and draws heavily, turning and blowing a cloud of marijuana smoke right in your face before his sees you. Startled, he jumps back from his perch as you wince and cough, before he gets his composure. "Shit, there's a white girl out here! Sorry about that, blondie," he says to you. "What the fuck you doin' out there?"

"Um, I'm lost," you manage to reply, eyes watering from the smoke, then your situation. "I'm looking for my brother but I'm all alone and I've never been to this city before!"

"Well you best not hang out in parks at night unless you wanna get ****," he informs you, which gets you starting to cry.

"Ohmygawd, I hurt my ankle," you moan. "I don't wanna be here, I just wanna go home."

He watches you meltdown for a minute, then hands you the cigarette through the window. "Here, this will help with the pain," he says. You take it and reluctantly put it to your lips, knowing that **** are for losers but not wanting to turn it down under these circumstances. "Probably calm you down, too," he continues. "Here, give me your backpack."

"Why?" you sniffle, even as you hand it up to him, to be honest happy to be relieved of its weight.

"Because we gonna have you come in here, off the streets," he explains as though speaking to a child. "What's your name, blondie?"

"Stephanie Weigger," you reply, taking another toke and enjoying the light-headed feeling.

"Wigger?" he asks. "Like white nigger?"

Your green eyes go wide at the suggestion but you still laugh. "No! Ohmygawd, my daddy would fucking die if he heard you say that about the family name! Just call me Steph."

"Alright, Stephie the White Nigger, come around the front of the building," he says, then closes the window on your face. You still have his joint, so you draw another deep breath through it, feeling much more at peace as you stumble back through the dark bushes.