Richard twitched as this drama appeared to be getting thicker with the boy’s last words.
Richard continued his questioning.
“Is something wrong?”
Silence.
“Does your mom or dad know where you are?”
The boy sat in thought for a moment before answering. It was short and to the point.
“My mom died three years ago.”
Richard gulped and then frowned. “I’m really sorry.”
Richard had to pause, but wanted to continue. He had to find a way to do something with this boy now that he was in his car. He knew he couldn’t just leave him out in the rain.
“How about your dad?”
Silence.
The boy’s face turned quickly from the fears that were evident all evening to one of complete anger. Suddenly turning toward Richard and in a loud voice with more emotion than he had shown that night said,
“I can’t go home, alright...?”
The boy paused slightly, trying to get a hold on his emotions, his anger, and then he continued.
“...Because my DAD is the one who hit me. He’s the fucking bastard that threw me out of the house tonight.”
Richard froze and looked straight ahead at the freeway passing beneath him. His eyes foretold of the anger rising within him, and he couldn’t look at the boy. Richard didn’t know what to say. He’d heard of child abuse, of course, but had not witnessed it personally himself. He was now looking at that horror.
Richard began to crumble inside as his heart went out to the boy. He didn’t know anything about him except for two things that he had observed: he was not a bad kid and he was in trouble.
He didn’t know what the boy had done to warrant this treatment, but from the few things that he perceived about the boy, he was ready to accept that the boy’s condition was through no fault of his own. He dwelled on the idea that nothing that a teenager could do would warrant what had obviously happened to him. But just then the thought crept over him that even children can be capable of very terrifying acts.
Richard finally turned to the boy and saw him consumed by the countryside to the boy’s right as it passed in the rain. The atmosphere in the car was stiffening. The boy had exposed a part of his horror and appeared to be closing down. He sensed that the boy was close to panic, and wanted to bring him back to reality.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Have you had anything to eat tonight?”
The boy continued to stare out the window and remained quiet and motionless for what seemed to Richard like an eternity, but was actually only a few seconds. Time is relative to the panic inside oneself.
“It’s okay. I had a big lunch,” the boy finally answered, but his eyes remained fixed on the window.
“I think you might need to get some food in you. It’ll at least make you feel better.”
The boy remained silent. No more words passed between them, and Richard continued to drive south in silence. But then, slowly, Richard turned the wheel slightly to the right and pulled onto an off-ramp. He spotted the familiar arches through the rain, turned right at the bottom of the off ramp and steered toward the lights of the restaurant.
As Richard navigated the parking lot entrance, he said to the boy, “I think the drive-thru will work for us. We can eat in the car in the parking lot. I don’t think you want to go inside just yet.”
The boy nodded his approval.
The car approached the drive-thru menu and the box below the billboard menu squawked, “Welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try our special salad and sandwich combination this evening?”
Richard simply said, “No.” He then turned toward the boy who was now looking at the menu through the front window. The boy had that hungry look in his eyes, acknowledging the earlier lie about having had a big lunch.
“See anything that suits you?” he asked.
“Just a quarter pounder, small fries and a coke.” The boy said, once again showing no emotion.
Richard turned back toward the squeaky box and ordered. “We’ll have three quarter pounders with cheese, two small fries, a large coke and a small black coffee.” Richard had planned on only having one of the burgers and one of the fries.
The box repeated their order, almost understandably, and then Richard drove the car to the first window, paid for the food and drove to the pick-up window. As they waited for their food, Richard’s eyes focused on the windshield straight ahead while the boy returned to his post at the passenger window. When their order arrived, Richard took the food from the open window, handed it to the boy, drove the car to an empty parking space and turned off the car engine. Neither the boy nor the man spoke as silence seemed to be the way they communicated best.
As Richard ate quietly, he noticed that the boy was having trouble eating. It appeared obvious that the pain in his jaw was preventing him from chewing. Richard ate slowly so as to keep pace with the boy, their best form of communication continuing throughout the meal.
At the end of the last bite, they threw the papers, wrappers and napkins into the now empty food bag, and the boy leaned back on the seat. He remained motionless, but his eyes were focused on the roof of the car. The boy appeared to have finally relaxed and he let out a quiet sigh.
Hearing the sigh, Richard turned to him.
“What’s your name?” he asked softly.
“Cory. Cory Anderson,” the boy answered, still keeping his eyes fixed on the inside of the roof.
“My name’s Richard.” Cory was silent. After a few moments, Richard asked, “How old are you Cory?”
“15,” Cory turned toward Richard suddenly and said, “but I’ll be 16 in two months.” A small amount of pride had started to return to the boy.
Richard assumed that the boy was starting to relax a little by his enthusiasm at turning 16, and maybe his reluctance at being in Richard’s car was waning.
But the slight break in tensions was overshadowed as Richard turned forward with concern on his face. He knew that he was getting in deeper with this boy, but he had to find out. In a concerned but soft voice, he asked,
“Can I ask you again what happened tonight?”
Cory’s face filled with dread again as he faced forward.
“Mister…uh…Richard. Thanks for the food, man. I really was pretty hungry after all.”
The silence in the car foretold of the tension again building between Richard and Cory. The boy had obviously side stepped the question, but Richard was determined to finish what he had started. He turned to look directly at Cory.
Suddenly, Cory turned toward him and, in a soft pleading voice with all of his defensiveness gone, admitted,
“I don’t know what to do. My dad threw me out tonight and I just want to get as far away from here as fast as I can. I’m scared right now, okay? I just need to get my head together, you know, figure out what to do.”
Richard continued to look at Cory, but his face reflected his doubt in the story.
“It can’t be that bad Cory. What did you do that’s so terrible? I mean, your dad is probably out looking for you right now. I’m sure he’s sorry for whatever he did to you tonight.”
“No. You don’t know him. I hate him. I fucking hate him! He’s beaten on me most of my life.”
Richard’s rage began to return as he thought that there might be some truth in what Cory was saying. Cory was too emotional. This was no act, not some fantasy. But he had to know. He had to find out what was troubling Cory.
“So, tell me what happened.”
After a short pause, Cory turned toward the front of the car and slid down into the seat. The next few moments – an eternity to Richard – ended abruptly as Cory began to speak.
“My dad had been drinking again today. He works from 3:00 in the morning till noon, and is off the rest of the day. He drinks just about every day after he gets off work. When I got home from school today, his red eyes were waiting for me. He wanted to know about this ‘letter’ that I had written to a friend of mine. Mike, that’s his name. Anyway, Mike’s been my best friend all through school, but he moved away last year. We talk online a lot still, and sometimes we write letters, you know, cause IMing isn’t always the best way to say what you mean. We’ve been able to talk to each other about anything. Anyway, my dad was holding this letter that I was going to send to Mike, but I hadn’t finished it yet.
“Was there something in the letter that your dad didn’t like?”
Cory lowered his head for a moment, then looked up and continued, “Yeah. I told you that Mike and I can talk to each other about anything. Well, I don’t know how to say this...”
Cory turned to look for Richard’s reaction and saw the concerned furrows on Richard’s forehead.
Richard then slowly said, “Cory. I’m not going to get mad at you,” although his stomach tightened.
“Okay, okay.” Cory turned away from Richard and began again. “I told Mike that I…that I’m not what he thought I was.” Cory took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m different.”
“What do you mean, different?”
“Just…different. I’m not like everyone else. I like different things than Mike likes. Even though Mike knew what I liked, I hadn’t actually told him before, cuz I’d been trying to figure it out. Anyway, I was telling him in the letter.”
Richard didn’t understand. This didn’t sound like it was about music or sports or which girls the boy liked. But within moments, his eyes brightened in surprise as the thought hit him of what Cory was maybe trying to tell him. Richard didn’t want to go there, but decided that he would approach it sideways, still getting to the point.
“I didn’t think that was much of an issue anymore. Your dad had a problem with it?” Richard asked.
Richard saw Cory relax after he heard the question, and it appeared that what he had just asked, seemed to fit with what Cory was saying.
Cory continued his story.
“My dad was put in jail once for attacking a man who he thought was, you know, different. He used such hateful words too, over and over again. I knew. I just knew that I could never talk to him about me.”
Richard finally understood what was battling inside of Cory. There, in the seat next to him, was a young man who he had read about in the newspapers or had seen and heard about on the television news – one of the thrown away kids. His mind screamed as he realized the horror of what these kids have to face and he knew he was a part of it too. That thought terrified him as he knew that he had turned his mind away from those kids before. His own years of uncaring, the years of being isolated from the real world and the years of not seeing the hate that existed all around him, melted his soul. He sat back in the car seat and said nothing as these feelings overwhelmed him.
After a short pause, he sat up and asked Cory, “Do you have any place to go tonight?”
“I don’t have any family here, but I do have an aunt living in Florida. I was going to go stay with her for a while.”
Richard didn’t know what he was thinking and didn’t know what he was going to try to do. But then he did know that he had to do something that he probably hadn’t done since his wife died. He felt that he had an obligation to himself to do what he thought was right. He was going to take a chance.
“That’s out of the question tonight.” Richard’s strength took over as the voice in his head screamed at him to stop. That voice would not be listened to tonight.
“It’ll take you days to hitchhike there, so you’ll stay at my place tonight, and then we can get this mess figured out in the morning. I can’t just leave you in the rain at this hour.”
Cory began to plead, “Look Mister, Richard, you don’t have to do this. You’ve already helped me out of the rain for a little while and thank you for the dinner, but...”
“Cory, don’t say anything more. Trying to hitchhike to Florida at this hour in the rain is just plain stupid. You’re not old enough to be doing this anyway. And I’m not going to just leave you on the road. You have a place to stay tonight, okay?”
Cory couldn’t respond right away; this development was new to him. He didn’t know Richard, and he didn’t know if he could trust him. He was starting to like him, but he was still a stranger. ‘But what other choice did he have?’ he asked himself. Richard hadn’t tried to take advantage of him. He had only seemed to want to help.
“Do you live far from here?” Cory asked.
“It’s not far. I live in Belleville.”
“Okay. But just for tonight, okay?”
“Cory, don’t worry. We’ll get this all straightened out in the morning. Tonight you just need a good night’s sleep. Things will look a lot better in the morning.”
Cory looked directly at Richard. His eyes were misting and a slight curl of a smile formed on his lips. A whispered, “Thank you,” could be heard as he sat back in the seat and rested his head. His eyes were open, looking up, but he wasn’t seeing anything. Cory was deep in thought for a moment, but slowly closed his eyes. For the first time in years, a comforting calm had formed within him. He didn’t recognize that feeling, it had been too long. He just knew that it felt good. And it started with this stranger.
Two
The Realization
Richard’s garage was clean and orderly. It’s the way he’d ordered his life, no risks. Now here he was with a runaway boy in his midteens sitting next to him as he guided the car into his designated space within the garage. The garage was lit with a single bare overhead bulb casting dark shadows on the floor around the things in the garage. In contrast to the harsh lighting in the garage, Cory had the feeling that the lights inside the house would be warm, inviting and accepting. This is what Cory had wanted for the last three years.
As they entered through the door connecting the garage to the house, Cory looked around the family room that they had just entered, and he saw a sectional couch facing a wide screen TV that he estimated to be at least 42”. He also noticed that the room was very contemporary with no flowered prints anywhere. Cory felt that this was a man’s room. Well, maybe Richard’s room, because Cory thought his own room wouldn’t have been so neat and orderly.
Cory looked to his left through the sliding glass doors and saw a wooden deck ending in what looked like a swimming pool. It was dark outside, but he could see the moon’s reflection on the shimmering water.