A Helping Hand

By: DL
(Copyright 2007 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...
dl@tickiestories.us

Chapter 2

Juan, as I now knew him, took my hand and shook it. I looked at him and said, "So, do you want to talk about things, or would you rather just answer a few questions for now?"

His face coloured slightly, and he quietly said "I would rather not talk about it now." Seeing the look of distress on his face, I said, "OK, well, let's try a few questions and see where we get to." He reluctantly nodded his assent.

"I asked you back where I found you if you knew where you were and you said 'No'; and then when I asked what you were doing there you said you were 'Just getting away'; does that mean you've run away from home?" I asked a blunt question, without thinking it through.

Surprisingly though, this didn't upset him as I had thought it might the moment I had finished speaking. "Sort of," he replied quietly with only a momentary hesitation, looking down as he spoke. "Was there a reason for you leaving home?" I thoughtlessly continued, mentally kicking myself for my stupidity even as I said it.

His face coloured again, and he swallowed nervously, and didn't answer the question; I wasn't surprised: as I said, I had mentally kicked myself already.

"Juan, let me just say a couple of things before we try and go any further." I said, reaching out and lightly touching his arm across the table to get his attention. He looked up and moved his arm away; and then nodded his head slightly.

"OK, I found you obviously while the other kids were beating you up. I brought you here because I didn't think it was safe to leave you there and you obviously didn't want to go near a hospital." I said, outlining as much for myself as for him how things had happened. "But the problem is where do we go from here? I shouldn't have brought you here, and I really should either contact your parents or the police – I don't even know how old you are." I continued.

As I mentioned his parents and then the police, he became very distraught and started to rise to leave. "Whoa, hang on!" I said as I gently pushed him back into his chair and moved my own around to block him in.

"Just listen to me a minute, please," I said. "You must understand my difficulty; I don't know what to do about a youngster on his own; obviously hurt and presumably some distance from his home. You have to help me a little bit; I need to know a couple of things if I'm to help you any further." I continued.

As I mentioned helping him further, he seemed to relax slightly. "So, how old are you, and where do you live – did you live" I said, correcting myself. He looked at me briefly before answering, and then said: "I'm seventeen and I lived in a small village the other side of Peterborough for the past five years."

"How long is it since you left home?" I asked, and he replied "Five days" without any hesitation, as if he'd decided there was nothing to lose from talking. "And you haven't anywhere to go to? No family or friends?" I asked. "No, I'm Spanish, and only Dad and my Brother, Javier, are in this country. And I haven't made any friends." he blurted out in a rush. "And there's something stopping from you going home?" I asked bluntly.

He didn't answer for a long time, and it was almost as if he wasn't there. "Juan?" I finally said gently, and he looked at me questioningly. "Can't you tell me anything about it?" I asked, and his face coloured again as he shook his head slightly.

"So, what am I supposed to do?" I said, "You won't go home, go to a hospital or to the police; do you expect me to just leave you here?" I continued, talking aloud again as much for myself as for him. "Why not," he said, surprising me; "nobody cares about me; and the hospital or police would just ask me endless questions and then put me into 'care' for my own good;" he said without any noticeable emotion.

I was stunned by what he'd just said. The matter-of-fact way he'd just said something that I found profoundly disturbing. I lived alone through choice; because of work: but I had a family that cared about me. He apparently had nobody who would miss him; or be concerned about his well-being. I was lost for an answer, and just sat there silently for a couple of minutes, while he just looked at the table. Finally, I said "Would you like another drink?" he looked up and said, "Please; could I have an orange juice?" I nodded and replied, "Sure, just promise me first that you'll stay here until I get back?" He looked at me and slowly inclined his head before saying "Yeah, I'll be here."

I went and got a coffee for myself and a carton of chilled orange juice for him. Returning to the table I gave him the juice and sat down. After sipping at my coffee for a while, I said to him "I guess that as well as not having any money you don't have any papers?" He looked at me and slowly shook his head. "How come?" I asked without thinking – you've probably realised by now that my mouth often opens before my brain engages gear!

Again he surprised me by answering. "The kids took them from me." That surprised me; why I don't know. I guess I simply hadn't thought about what I had seen when I found him. "And you don't want to go to the police about that?" I asked. He didn't hesitate before quietly saying "No." The finality I could hear in his voice stopped me from asking any further ill-judged questions; I sipped my coffee again.

"Juan, if I'm to help you any more, I think I really need to speak to your Dad." I said. He looked up and glared at me as I said it. Then he looked down, and finally said: "He wouldn't talk to you." I was again totally surprised by this and also shaken by the conviction I could hear in his voice. Finally I said: "I can't believe that; and I really do have to insist, I don't know anything about you." He looked at me with a look that hurt; he was obviously hurting as well. "So you think I'm a liar!" he said in a tone that hurt as much as the look had; if you had asked me before, I would have quoted the old adage: 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me!' – I knew now just how wrong that trite old saying was.

"Juan, you have to see my point of view; you're obviously a teenager and I'm an adult – eleven years older than you, if you are seventeen – and that can get me into trouble with the law. That's why I need to be sure of what I'm doing. How can you be sure that your father won't talk to me?" I said, trying to break through his defences.

The silence was deafening! [LOL: you all know what I mean.] At last he finally spoke: "I know he won't," he said with that same firm conviction in his voice. I had been thinking while waiting for an answer, and now said: "Why don't you give me his phone number and I can at least try?" He shifted uneasily in his seat, clearly unhappy at the thought. "What harm can it do, if you're sure he won't talk to me?" I said, trying to break him down. The silence continued. "Well? What about it?" I finally said. He looked at me, and seemed to collapse in his seat; finally he looked down and quietly said "OK." I reached into my shirt pocket and took out the small notepad and pen I habitually carried at work and put them down on the table, sliding them across to him.

He hesitated, and finally picked up the pen and wrote a phone number on the pad and then slid them both back to me. I picked them up, glanced at the pad and put the pen back in my pocket. Looking around the cafeteria, I saw a payphone near the door. I said to Juan, "There's a phone over there, if I go and phone your dad, will you stay here till I get back, please?"

He nodded, listlessly. And comforting myself with the thought that the phone was near the door in case he changed his mind, I rose and went over to the phone. Foolishly I put a pound coin in the phone, not wanting to get cut off while fumbling with change. I dialled the number on the pad while checking the time on my watch: nearly 7:30; and then looked over at Juan, to see him watching me.

The phone only rang three or four times before a voice just like Juan's said "Hello." I paused momentarily, before saying: "Hello, I'm calling about your son, Juan," I never got the chance to say anything else. There was a click and the line went dead. Disbelief tore through my mind, as I struggled to rationalise what had happened in the last few seconds.

Slowly replacing the receiver, I looked over towards Juan; noticing that at some point he'd turned away and back to the table. I walked back to the table and sat down. My expression must have spoken volumes as he looked at me and said totally without any trace of emotion: "I told you he wouldn't talk to you about me." The tone in his voice was something I never want to hear again: lost, rejected, downcast; so infinitely sad that even now, remembering it is enough to make me want to cry. [And yes, I did cry as I typed it nearly 23 years later.]

"OK." I finally managed to say. "You were right." Looking down at him, meeting the gaze from his open eye, I said: "So, what do you suggest I do now? I live over a hundred miles from here." It was said without thinking, and again surprisingly, he answered. "Well, if you would take me with you, it's at least some distance away." I looked at him with disbelief. "Do you really want to get away that badly?" I said, uncomprehending. "Well, I've spent the last five days walking away as fast as I could." he replied.

I paused and checked my watch again. "Well, if you come with me, it's going to probably be about 9:30 before I get home. You can sleep on the settee in the lounge tonight and we'll have to have a talk in the morning. What do you think?"

He looked at me again with his one open eye and said. "Would you do that for me?" I looked into his eye and could see tears forming again. I nodded, unable to speak, and looked away to give him a chance to wipe his eyes. Seeing his hand return to the table I looked at him and said, "Well, do you want a ride?" and helped him rise. Once on his feet, he managed to hobble towards the door and then the car. I keyed the remote as we made our way over to it and opened the door and helped him in again. Walking round to the driver's side, I watched as he fastened his seatbelt and then after fastening my own, started the car and set off home.

To be continued . . .