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
After my phone call to work Juan and I passed another ten minutes silently as we finished our drinks. "OK, let's go." I said after we'd finished. He stood, and as he started towards the front door I could see that he was still moving very stiffly. He waited at the door, and as I joined him, I had a thought and went to the airing cupboard and grabbed one of my jumpers [you will, of course, not be surprised to find out that it was blue].
"You can't wear your coat, so you'd better put this on to keep warm until we get your coat back." I said, handing him the jumper. He leant against the door and pulled it over his head: it was obviously too big for him and hung off him like a sack! I lifted his coat off the rack behind the door and handed it to him, saying "You'd better take anything out of this before we drop it off at the cleaners." He took it and looked at me, saying "You haven't already looked through it?" I replied, "No. I did check the pockets of your jeans before I put them in the washer, but I left your coat for you." He simply said "It doesn't matter, there's nothing in it anyway."
Shrugging, I unlocked the door and opened it. I keyed the car's remote and ushered him through the door. Once he was out I picked up the wastebasket with the sodden newspapers and emptied it into the dustbin by the garage, then dropped it in the hall and closed the front door. Juan had already got in the passenger seat and I got in, fastened my seatbelt and waited while he did his.
Starting, I did a three point turn and emerged from my drive; I put the CD on again to ease the strained silence, and deliberately turned the volume up enough to preclude conversation: neither of us was in the mood for it. I drove the 8 miles back to town and parked in the Sainsbury's car park as close as I could get to the main entrance. Killing the CD player and then the ignition, I turned to Juan and said, "If I take your coat into the dry cleaner's you won't do anything stupid like run off will you?" [He would have had a hard time hobbling off; but I wasn't thinking straight.] He blushed and hung his head. "Well?" I pressed. He sighed, looked up at me and reluctantly said "No." I reached out and picked his coat up off his lap and left the car.
I hurried into the store and waited impatiently as a querulous elderly woman gave the dry cleaner's staff the run round. When I finally got the attention of another member of staff who eventually emerged from the rear, I handed over the coat and asked if it could be done in 2 hours; they gave me a ticket for it and I ran for the entrance. Getting to the sliding automatic doors, I could see Juan was still in the car; so I deliberately slowed, and walked unhurriedly across, trying to appear unconcerned.
I got in, fastened my belt and started the car; as I pulled away Juan started laughing. I stopped the car and turned towards him. "I saw you running to the door," he said, grinning. "You thought I'd run off didn't you?" I sat there and flushed brightly. "Yes I did," I quietly admitted. He settled back in his seat and equally quietly said "I keep my word, even if someone extracts it from me." I flushed an even deeper shade of red, and then turning to him, held out my hand and said, "Shall we start over and try trusting one another for a while?" He looked at me, and finally shook my hand as he said, "I guess."
The atmosphere for the drive over to the doctor's was much better: we didn't talk, but the tension wasn't there any more. The twenty-seven miles back to the village the other side of where my parents still lived passed uneventfully and as we parked outside the church opposite the doctor's surgery we were only ten minutes early.
As I switched off the ignition, I turned towards Juan and said, "Remember, trust me, OK?" He smiled and said "OK." We both got out and crossed the road to the surgery; I had to wait for him. I pressed the bellpush in the door frame beside the aged brass plate with the doctor's name and qualifications on it. We waited a couple of minutes until the door opened to reveal the doctor. I ushered Juan inside and followed him in; we waited while Dr Derek, as I had always known him [it was actually his surname] closed the door and then gestured towards his surgery. Juan went through and I followed; we both waited as the doctor went round his desk and sat in the old leather swivel chair behind it.
"Dr Derek, this young man is Juan; I came upon him yesterday being beaten by a gang of kids. I know he's got a lot of bruising and so on, but he doesn't want to go to a hospital. We've talked and I've explained the situation to him and he's agreed to being examined by you as a private patient, and that if you say he needs hospitalisation he will go I've told him that if that's necessary Ill get it done privately as well. So I'll go and wait in the waiting room while you check him over."
As I turned to go, Juan grabbed my arm and anxiously said, "Can't you stay with me?" He looked nervous; I didn't know what to say, and looked across at Dr Derek. He seemed unconcerned and said, "I suppose after what you say he's been through, he may well be traumatised and be nervous around strangers. I have no problem with you remaining here, provided you keep quiet and out of the way," and he pointed to a chair by the window.
Turning to Juan, he said "Right young man, I need you to strip to your underwear so I can examine you." Juan slowly removed the few clothes he had on: he had trouble getting out of his jeans, but managed eventually by leaning on the doctor's heavy oak desk. Once he was standing in his briefs, Dr Derek proceeded to give him a thorough check up. He examined his eyes, checked his hearing, carefully examined his head; listened to his heart and lungs, paid particular attention to his abdomen [it was particularly bruised, and I guessed he was concerned about Juan's liver and kidneys], and took his blood pressure as well as drawing some blood for analysis; poked, prodded and felt all over him, getting quite a few moans and groans in the process.
Finally he asked Juan for a urine sample and after he returned, blushing, from behind the screen in the corner with the bottle, motioned him over to his side of the desk and, turning him away from me, asked him to drop his briefs and then examined his genitals.
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For the record, this is not a totally accurate description of the examination as I cannot recall it clearly; possibly because of not being involved in it. And just to stop any speculation should anybody who does know me, read this and despite my efforts to prevent it, recognise me, 'Dr Derek's' surgery was NEVER in the location described; again I switched locations to protect an identifiable individual's privacy.
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Finished at last, he told Juan to get dressed and started writing up his notes while Juan did so. When Juan had dressed, Dr Derek told him to sit down, pointing to the patient's chair in front of the desk. Juan sat and we both waited for another five minutes or so while the doctor finished writing up the notes. He leaned back in his chair and said, "Well now, young man: apart from the severe bruising you've received, you appear to be in reasonably good shape. I'd like to see you again in about a week's time just to check on your eye, and I'll have the results of the blood and urine tests by then."
Juan visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief. I stood and held out my hand, saying "Thanks, Doc, I'll bring him back in a week's time; will an evening appointment be OK?" He smiled, shaking my hand and saying "Sure, David. I'll get my receptionist to put you down for 6 p.m. a week today." He guided Juan to the door to the hall and held the main door open as we both left. Juan was noticeably a lot happier once we were outside.
I got in the car, waited while he fastened his belt, and said "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He flushed as I started the car and didn't reply. As we were pointed in the direction of Colchester, I thought we might as well head there and get something to eat. I had thought briefly on the way over to the doctor's about dropping in on my parents; I'd discarded the idea on the grounds that it would raise more questions than either of us wanted right now.
So, pulling out back onto the B1508, we headed for Colchester. I put the CD player back on but turned the volume down again; and looked briefly at Juan, saying "OK?" He simply smiled and quietly said "Thanks." Anybody who knows the back road between Sudbury and Colchester won't be surprised that I simply concentrated on driving: its a nasty road even if you do know it some really wicked turns and so on, and one bit where the road camber is wrong and if you hit it too fast you're in the field alongside instead!
Reaching the outskirts of Colchester, I bypassed the worst of the town's chronic traffic by turning left at the railway station roundabout and then, after about half a mile, turning off again to the right at the 'Dog and Pheasant' public house; I knew the way through the back roads and was planning on hitting the large Tesco store at Highwoods on the far side of Colchester. It was big 32 checkouts and had a good-sized cafeteria and a decent selection of clothes not designer names, but some brand names: I thought Juan should have a couple of changes of clothes to be going on with and at least he wouldn't have to walk far to get them. I figured that once he was more active, if we hadn't found another solution by then, he could pick some decent clothes himself somewhere else. I didn't say anything of any of this to Juan.
Arriving at Highwoods, I parked in my favourite area around the back, near the rear entrance, as there were usually parking spaces close to the store. That was true today, and I quickly parked in one of the vacant spots and switched off, turning to Juan and saying, "We can get something to eat here in the cafeteria. Just one thing, right: don't piss me off again by ordering something cheap just because it's cheap. You do, and I'll pick your food from here on, and you may not like that. All I want you to do is get what you like and, more importantly, eat it." He flushed and grinned at the same time, saying, "OK, I promise I won't do that again." I smiled and said, "Good. Let's go."
Another advantage of the rear entrance was that the cafeteria was also at the back of the store. We entered and joined the queue at the self-serve line, with me collecting two trays before we started moving down the line. I chose the cottage pie with chips, peas and gravy; Juan picked lasagne and chips. I got a large coffee and Juan hesitated, looked at me, and said "Could I have an orange juice and a Coke?" I smiled and replied; "Sure you can, just as long as you drink them both." Reaching the cash desk I paid for both trays and moved mine over to the centre island where the cutlery, napkins and small packets of condiments were stored, returning for Juan's. He followed me back to the island and we both selected our weapons of choice. "Wait here while I take mine over to that table," I said, having got everything we needed on our trays. I quickly deposited my tray on the unoccupied table and returned for Juan's: I knew he'd never make it to the table with the tray.
We sat and ate the food quietly, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of people coming and going, and with the piped muzak [just background musical noise] helping to drown other people's conversation. I finished first, and sat quietly sipping my coffee and watching Juan picking at his food; obviously finding eating hot food difficult because of his lip. He persevered, and did eat it all: he'd apparently been drinking the Coke while eating and once finished, drank his orange juice as I finished my coffee.
We sat there for a few minutes after we had both finished our drinks. Finally I stood up and said "Come on," and waited for him to stand. On his feet, he started towards the door we'd entered by, so I grabbed his left arm and said "No, this way. Come with me." He turned and followed as I moved off. I didn't slow for him: I wanted him to know that I was no longer bothered by the prospect of him taking off. I reached the clothes section half way down the store and stopped, turning and watching him approach. Doing so made me think that I'd been a total prat again: I should have stayed with him to protect him from the bustling crowd who were oblivious to the presence of a hurting youth among them.
He finally stopped by my side, looking at me questioningly. I laughed and said, "You're not going to like this next bit: you can't just keep wearing those clothes every day, so we'll get you three of everything you need until you're fit enough to choose your own clothes. The stuff here is cheap, but OK; the bit you won't like is you can pick what you want, but as I'm paying it has to be blue!"
He looked at me strangely; "Well, go on, you need underwear, shirts, socks. So find ones you can live with for a few days," I said. "But in blue?" he said questioningly. "Yes!" I replied, smiling at his puzzled look. [He hadn't seen inside my airing cupboard and so didn't understand why 'blue'; although if he'd looked at me he might have guessed.] He stood there, so I led him by the arm over to the underwear section and said "Pick three pairs." He looked at me again and then slowly moved down the aisle, stopping and looking at various items. Reaching the end, he turned and retraced his steps, stopping and bending awkwardly to lift three dark blue pairs of boxers from his size setting, and then straightening and starting back towards me.
I looked round, retreated to the start of the clothes section and grabbed a basket, quickly hurrying back to him. I held out the basket and he dropped the boxers in it. "What about shirts?" I said, pointing to the next aisle over. He hobbled over and walked down the aisle, stopping at the end and again retracing his steps: this time he picked three different long-sleeved shirts one light blue, one dark blue and a deep royal blue one all different styles. Shirts chosen, he walked slowly over to me and dropped them in the basket, grinning as he did so.
"OK, now for some jeans you'd better have a couple of cheap pairs for now." He grinned again, saying "Well, at least the colour shouldn't be a problem." I smiled as he turned and headed towards the trouser aisle. It didn't take long: he simply picked two pairs of plain Levis in his size and returned to me, adding them to the basket. [As a friend of mine who has read this narrative prior to it being posted, queried why Juan had simply picked his clothes without trying anything on, I'll answer him to spare you: at that time there were no changing rooms in that store.]
"What about socks?" I said, he looked around and headed to the aisle with the 'Footwear' sign over it. The socks were at the start of the aisle, and he didn't waste any time in choosing a packet of three pairs of plain dark blue socks. As he dropped them in the basket, I said "You'd better get a pair of trainers or something: pick what you like they don't have to be blue." This proved more difficult: he spent over 10 minutes wandering down both sides of the aisle, and then on his second pass, stopped and picked a cheap pair of Tesco's own brand plimsolls. I stopped him from putting them in the basket and said, "You can have them, but only if you can find another kid in this store to say he'd be happy to be seen dead in them." He didn't understand my poor attempt at humour, so I said, "What did I say to you about cheap food? The same applies to your clothes: I don't want you picking something because its the cheapest my mother drives me crazy by doing that whenever I take her shopping and I sure as hell don't want you to start doing that!"
He stood there, holding them, until I said, "Put them back and pick something I might believe you'd like wearing like those, maybe?" pointing to the battered pair of Reebok trainers he was wearing. He blushed shamefacedly and turned away, dropping the plimsolls back in their place and carrying on past them. I smiled as he stopped at the Reebok section and searched hurriedly over the selection on view. Finally he bent and extracted a box, and came back to me, holding the box out towards the basket. I laughed as I nodded at him and he dropped them in the basket. He'd selected an identical pair to his own battered, well-worn ones: I could have no reason to question the validity of his choice.
"So, anything else: do you wear vests?" I said. He shook his head: it didn't hurt so much now. "Well, I guess we'd better get you some pyjamas so I can have mine back; and I think you need a winter coat," I said. "But perhaps we'll leave that for when you're fitter and get you a decent one." I led him over to the aisle headed 'Night Apparel' and told him to get three pairs; he didn't take long to select three pairs of baggy blue pyjamas with a drawstring closure for the bottoms.
"OK, toothbrush, soap, deodorant, comb, etc." I said, putting my arm around his shoulders and leading him out of the clothes section and over to the 'Personal Hygiene' aisle. "Get what you would normally use," I said, giving him a gentle shove. He didn't take long to select his bits, and I was amused to note that he'd picked a blue toothbrush and comb as well as blue soap and a blue face cloth. I laughed as he dropped his things in the basket and he grinned. "Anything else?" I asked, and he thought a bit and then looked at me. I knew he had something on his mind and said, "Well, spit it out."
He looked down and shuffled from foot to foot; clearly embarrassed. I sighed and simply said, sharply, "Juan!" He looked up and I said, "Well?" and he said, "Could I have a pair of sunglasses, please?" I looked at him with a puzzled look on my face: it was October in England [we definitely didn't have lots of sunshine, lol!]. He looked down again and mumbled, "My eye." And it hit me what he meant: the kid was obviously embarrassed at people staring at his face. True, it was badly bruised, and the swollen lip didn't help, but he was right: it was the black eye that caught people's attention and made them stare. "Of course you can. Find a large dark pair," I said, leading him to the other side of the aisle which had a selection of sunglasses hanging on a rack beyond the razors. He did indeed pick a large dark pair, and smiled gratefully at me as he dropped them in the basket and said, "Thanks."
As he couldn't think of anything else he needed when I questioned him again, we headed towards the checkouts, all unfortunately at the front of the store. I stayed with him this time, making sure I stayed in front of him, so he didn't have to worry about other people brushing past him. We found a nearly empty checkout queue half way down the long line of checkouts, emptied the basket onto the conveyer belt and waited while the prices were rung up [scanning bar codes was still in the future]. I paid the total with a credit card and led Juan off to the front of the store but not before he'd rescued his sunglasses from the bags and put them on, flashing me a brilliant smile as he did so. His eyes were hidden by the sunglasses, and the black eye wasn't noticeable unless you were close and looking. For the first time since I'd met him he really looked like a happy young man and I was so touched.
At this store they had three revolving doors instead of the usual sliding ones. I ushered him in the next empty slot and stepped in quickly behind him. We emerged from the other side and I led him over to a bench by a 'Pick up' point, put the bags down and pointed him to the bench. "You wait here, and Ill go and bring the car round: it'll save you having to walk all the way back through the store. OK?" I said, just barely waiting for him to smile and say, "Sure" before re-entering the store, making my way back to the rear and leaving again. I drove the car round to the front, stopping by the pick-up point; getting out, I walked over, collected the bags while Juan was getting up, walked to the rear and stowed them in the boot. By the time I got back behind the wheel, Juan had fastened his belt, so I did likewise and we pulled away.
I didn't fancy returning the way we'd come along the B1508, so instead I turned left out of Highwoods and a mile down the road, took the A12 to Ipswich; not intending to stop there, just go straight for the A45 at the Copdock interchange they were both dual carriageways and at this time of day, not too busy. Consequently, keeping at the speed limit, it didn't take us long to cover the 40 odd miles back to Bury St Edmunds; where I took the first exit from the A45 and returned to Sainsbury's to collect Juan's coat.
Parking again over by the main entrance, I turned to Juan and said, "I won't be long: I'm just going to get your coat. While I'm gone, have a think about what you'd like to eat tonight." Leaving him in the car I collected the coat: it was done and waiting, so it only took about five minutes to return to the car. I handed Juan the bag with his coat as I got in, and then asked him if he'd thought about what to eat. He didn't say anything, so I turned towards him and said, "Well?" You will have noted by this point that neither of us were conversationalists. I didn't know whether it was just shyness with Juan, but I didn't socialise myself and always found it difficult to get to know people part of the reason I'd been hesitant about what to do with Juan at the start: I didn't know him.
Even this scintillating attempt at starting a conversation didn't elicit a response from Juan. I sighed and said, "Look, Juan, I know I'm not very sociable, but if you're going to stay at my place then we have to talk. So, tell me: what kind of thing did you usually eat before you left home?"
The silence continued, but eventually Juan replied: "We just ate whatever Dad gave us. He didn't like cooking and was always busy at work, so mostly he just got us something from a takeaway on his way home." This was the most Juan had said since I had met him [not that I was much better, apart from tearing into him about the doctor]. "OK, so what about breakfast then?" I asked. "We just had cereal. Dad only got 'Cheerios' as that was what he liked; we either ate them or went without."
I digested this piece of information quietly, and said, "Didn't you go out to restaurants or anything for a meal?" Juan replied straightaway, "No, Dad didn't like taking us kids out to eat. He said it was a waste of money as we'd never eat the food, and he wasn't going to waste either food or money like that." I thought about that for several moments: It seemed a bit self-fulfilling to me; after all, how would you know if the kids would eat the food if you never gave them the opportunity?
"OK, enough already," I said. "Getting anything out of you is like pulling teeth." And as I said it, I felt a bit ashamed: like I could talk? I started the car and headed homewards; along the way I had a change of heart and simply drove round Hartest Green and back the way we'd come. Juan spotted what I'd done it wasn't hard and I certainly didn't think he was stupid but kept quiet about it. I noticed him glance sideways at me several times in my driving mirror, but neither of us broke the silence.
To be continued
