Suzie’s House 119: What Goes Around

Kathy dropped her keys as she approached her ’53, powder blue, Chevrolet Bel Air. They clanged as they hit the pavement, then clattered as she tripped over them, driving a sharp point or two between her foot and the inside of her Birkenstocks before they shot off under the front, driver’s side tire.

“Ouch!” She bent over, grabbing her foot and hopping. She lost her balance, and bumped into one of the carport’s white-washed support pillars. The whole structure boomed softly. Something by her front bumper moved with a quiet rustle. Probably a cat that would run under the car as soon as she pulled out.

“Why today?” she asked the world at large.

She had a job interview in Racine today, which is why she would even consider using the car. Normally she rode her bicycle or took the bus. In fact, if the car wasn’t the only thing she had left of her grandfather, she’d have sold it long ago.

Good thing she hadn’t, because she’d never get away from her Social Services job if she stayed in Madison. She’d certainly tried. But everyone she interviewed with asked about her current job, then passed her over as soon as they heard how quickly she’d give up her cushy benefits to get away from it. She could see it in their eyes. They thought she was a quitter. One interviewer had even said as much. They didn’t want to hire someone who wouldn’t be around a few months down the road. Didn’t matter to them that she’d spent ten years on the front lines of an occupation that dragged you through the worst a family had to offer.

No, leaving town was her only hope for escape. She could claim all she wanted was to leave Madison. People out of town never questioned the need to leave Madison. She wouldn’t have to explain burn-out to people who should already understand, but didn’t.

Which meant she better not be late for that interview! She dropped to the pavement, ignoring the scrape of the rough surface against her knees through the light weave of her broomstick skirt. There they were, just out of reach.

A motion beyond her bumper attracted her attention, followed by a soft moan. That was no cat. There was someone there.

How strange. In all the months she’d been renting a slot in this car port she’d never seen anyone else around. And here a man had collapsed right in front of her car. She hesitated, knowing every minute she spent here was another minute she would be late to her interview, but could not in good conscience walk away.

A young man lay on the ground, wedged between her car and the wall of the building next door. He couldn’t be more than thirteen or maybe fourteen. He lay on his side, facing her bumper. His face had a light scrape, probably from the concrete he lay on. His lips were slightly swollen and a touch blue. Goosebumps sprouted up and down his bare arms, which were wrapped around himself, and his color wasn’t good. The poor thing probably spent the night there.

She gently touched his near shoulder. No response. “Hey. Wake up.” She rocked him carefully, not wanting to do him any injury. He reminded her a fair amount of a couple of cases she’d worked; boys who ended up sleeping wherever they landed when they lost consciousness. If this boy was like either of them, he had probably run away after a beating.

“Hey. What’s your name?” She gave up on rocking him and spoke a little louder.

His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t answer. She lifted his shirt, and sure enough, there were all the signs of child abuse.

The enormity of the evil inherent in life snacked her hard. She tipped off her feet, going from a squat to sitting with her back against the wall. Why? Why did the world have to be so full of these poor children? What was wrong with them that they could treat anyone like this, let alone their own flesh and blood. Because she knew very well the person or people who had driven him here might be a step father or an aunt or his mother. There was no telling until she could get him to talk.

He groaned, and sat up, looking so worn from exhaustion he couldn’t focus his eyes.

“What’s your name?” She asked again.

“Gene.” The boy tipped his head up enough to blink at his surroundings. “What time is it?”

“It’s morning. What’s your last name?” She asked in as off-handed a manner as she could. Too often the victims were so wary they wouldn’t give her the most basic information if she wasn’t careful.

He didn’t answer right away, but it could be because he was busy rubbing the sleep off his face. It didn’t improve his color. She was about to ask again when he said. “Thomas. My name is Gene Thomas. Where am I? Oh. The car port.”

“What happened to you Gene?”

“Nothing. Nothing happened to me.”

There it was. The defensiveness. She gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t the people who needed her let her help? Why did they keep insisting on walking into the same terrible situations over and over?

He struggled to his feet. She did nothing to help. Not this time. This time she’d let him stumble off in whatever direction he wanted and she would let him. This time she’d drive to Racine and get a job in the office of a car parts manufacturer. She couldn’t let down the friend who set it up for her, could she? Not for someone who would only resent her. This time…

He fell heavily against her father’s car, and slid downward. Despite all her best intentions, Kathy jumped to her feet and grabbed him. He groaned, but didn’t try to fight her off.

“I want to go home.” Tears ran down the dirt on his face. “No. No, I want to go to Ben’s home. Suzie’s house. I want to go to Suzie’s house.”

Suzie’s house? Not home? Could it be that this one actually wanted a change? Would he really accept her help? How wonderful a validation if he did. And how crushing if he later changed his mind.

So it came down to the choice; abandon an innocent boy who needed her help, something she was uniquely qualified to give, so that she could start a new life. Or put her all behind him, and in the process kiss good bye to her plans for escape.

She tightened her hold around his waist.

“Get in the car. I’ll take you where you need to go.”

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