Canvas

5| The Bank

On the corner of a particularly poor neighborhood sat Union Savings Bank. It watched as people rushed by, moth-eaten scarves wrapped tightly to their hair, shoulders hunched against the wind. It waited for people to notice it, to remember its former glory, but no one paid it any mind.

Only a few years ago, the bank flourished. Its gilded doors opened and closed as an ever-persistent stream of people came and went, an ebb and flow, depositing and withdrawing their wealth. The marble floors shined brightly under the large, glittering chandelier that hung in the main entrance. Tellers waited with patient smiles behind every window. The large steel safe in the back was never empty. But that felt like a long ago time, a distant half-memory that may have only been a dream.

Now, the bank served no real purpose. No one came or went. Safety deposit boxes were empty, except for cobwebs; there was no jewelry or thick wads of cash waiting to be picked up by its owner. The safe—the size of a small apartment—sat as hollow as the stomachs of the starving children that begged at the mouths of alleyways. Mattresses were much safer places to store money nowadays, anyways. Why trust the government to keep watch over your earnings when you have two perfectly good eyes yourself? No, the bank was not needed for what it was originally designed to store. For years, it’s sat alone—abandoned by the tellers, the cash, the light, and warmth. It was abandoned, but it was anything but empty.

Eight people lived in Union Savings Bank, ranging from the age of seven to eighteen. There was Benjamin, the youngest of the group, with his ruddy hair and perpetually dirt-smudged face, and his older sister, Faye. She was fourteen and had the same hair as Benji, but a splash more freckles.

Then there was Max, fifteen and always hungry, no matter how much he ate. Rosalie was sixteen and had a penchant for adopting stray dogs, who would trail after her on her ankles until they realized she had as much food as they did—none. 

Nate and Harvey were both about seventeen, give or take a month or two, and were the best conmen amongst the group of rag-a-muffins. Every day they would shuffle cards on the streets, collecting bets, and every night they would return with a small fold of bills and a loaf of bread under each arm. On special occasions, they even treated the bank dwellers to sour wine. 

Everett, eighteen, was the oldest of the group, thereby instilling the notion in his mind that he was the boss, though more than not his instructions were ignored. He was nearly 6’3” and as smart as he was tall. 

Last was Alice.

It was always only first names in the bank—or, as the group had turned to calling it, Hooverville, D.C. No one shared more than they had to. Food and money was pooled and divided for sharing, but stories about how everyone came to live in Hooverville were kept to oneself. The only two truths everyone knew about the others was that they were poor and very much alone.

“Way to go, lame brain!” Harvey threw his shoulder into Nate, nearly toppling him to the ground as they pushed through the door. “Pull that again and they’ll have us made.”

“As if they didn’t already have us made,” Nate shot back. He tossed the bundled blanket down on the table and a bruised apple rolled out unceremoniously. “We don’t exactly dress like upstanding gentlemen. You can smell the streets on us.”

“Yeah, that’s not all I can smell on you.”

Harvey scooped up the apple and threw it into the air to Max who sat, grinning, on the counter tellers used to stand behind, cashing checks. He picked it out of its arch and bit into it, not bothering to wipe his chin when the sweet juices spilled from the puncture in the fruit. “Get pinched again?” he smiled, his mouth full.

“’Course not,” Nate answered as Harvey nodded, “Practically.”

Nate rolled his eyes. “You’re not pinched till you have a nice set of bracelets.” He held up his wrists, emphasizing the lack of handcuffs.