No Pictures Please

Elliott and his friends were at the local park enjoying the summer day. The leaves were a lush green swaying in the light breeze, Ashley and Emma were lounging back to bask in the sunlight. Matt was off taking some nature photos after helping everyone polish off the sandwiches they had brought.

The fact that Matt had brought his camera, the one he often used for photography competitions that showed up in newspapers, set Elliott on edge. Matt knew enough about Elliott to know that he was camera shy. Anytime he had to appear for a photo he would move at the last possible second or hide his face with his hands, even for school yearbook photos. Elliott didn’t want him to know why. He had been avoiding having his picture taken for years.

It started when he had been taken away from his mom when he was eight. Elliott’s dad had run off with another woman; his mom had become so obsessed that she began drinking and taking her anger out on him. Elliott still remembered cowering in different spots around the apartment when his mom went into a drunken state. One night, it had gotten so bad that a neighbor had called child protective services. His mom had held him like a boa trying to incapacitate its prey, that the officer had to pry her off of Elliott so that the social worker could go with him to get a bag packed and be taken to a better family.

There had been a few families before Elliott found one he had liked enough to truly feel comfortable. They had been more focused on his future than what had brought him there. It was stable. There were family dinners, Mr. and Mrs. Powell had established fair rules, and what would happen if any rules were broken, such as no computer time for a week. Where his mom’s punishments were normally bruises that no one would see. Mr. Powell was a lawyer, he believed in justice and honesty. He wasn’t fat or skinny but somewhere in between with buzzed brown hair. Mrs. Powell was sweet, with her medium blonde hair and the dimples that showed themselves whenever she truly smiled. Unlike his mom who starved herself so often that someone could see the ribs through her clothes, with her heart hardened by the betrayal she saw no point in maintaining her appearance or physical wellbeing. Elliott, in the time he lived with the Powells, had begun to look healthy again, no ribs were sticking out from lack of nutrition, and his brown eyes didn’t look so sunken in.

The Powells had enrolled him at Contigo Junior High school, where he made friends, and art, and tried to forget about his birth mother. One day, Elliott won an award for his exemplary art piece in a school competition. It made the local newspaper, both in print and online. Mr. and Mrs. Powell took him out to dinner in celebration. A few days later, an office aide came to his classroom to tell him his mom was there to pick him up. This had puzzled Elliott for a moment, Mrs. Powell should be at work right now. Everyone called Mrs. Powell his mom, he had never corrected them because he felt it to be true.

When Elliott arrived in the office, it wasn’t Mrs. Powell waiting for him. It was his birth mother. His heart started to beat harder in his chest, it was so loud that he was surprised no one else could hear it. Breathing became laborious as memories of yelling, smashing bottles, and dark corners where he wouldn’t be noticed threatened to overwhelm him.

He looked to the office staff for help, but they weren’t paying attention. There was no one that he recognized.

“Elliott!” Helen, the woman he formerly called ‘mom’ exclaimed, “Something’s come up and I need you to come home with me.”

She had hardly changed. Her brown hair was still a mangled mess, her green eyes shone with a haze from when she was buzzed, not yet in a drunken state. Elliott almost gagged at the combination of beer, perfume, and breath mints. He couldn’t help but wonder why no one could smell the alcohol on her breath.

She grabbed hold of his arm with her boney hand like she had done in the past when he disobeyed and, “Needed to be taught a lesson.” It was then that the principal came into the space from his office, looking through some papers. Elliott had to get his attention.

“Hello, Principal Miller.” Elliott tried to keep his tone casual.

Principal Miller looked up from the papers he was thumbing through and took in the scene.

“Hello, Elliott. Everything okay here?”

Helen dragged Elliott behind her, “Everything’s fine! His mom sent me to pick him up!” Her voice was too upbeat. The secretary behind the counter didn’t say anything about Helen’s lie.

Principal Miller eyed Helen suspiciously, “Really? What happened?”

“There was a family emergency and Anne couldn’t get away to pick up Elliott.”

“Then what’s the passphrase?”

Helen had blanched at this. It had been Mrs. Powell’s idea to set this up in case Helen showed up out of the blue looking for him.

“I’m sorry?”

“The passphrase, Miss…?” Principal Miller asked while he gave Elliott a look that said, “Come over here.” Elliott had been too glad to get away from Helen, only to be wrenched back by her iron grip.

“Mrs. Robinson.”

“Well then Mrs. Robinson, you wouldn’t mind if I give Mrs. Powell a call to let her know that Elliott will be waiting for her here in the office?”

The door behind Elliott had opened and in walked a couple of security guards. They nodded to Principal Miller and moved toward Helen and Elliott.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.” One of the officers said as he firmly took her by the elbow and got her to release her grip on Elliott.

“Take your hands off me!” She had tried to yank her arm out of the officer’s grip, but he was determined, holding Helen’s arm a bit tighter.

This had given Elliott a chance to break from hers, he had done so and quickly crossed the office to the safety of the principal, who had ushered Elliott around the corner and into his office.

“Stay here,” Principal Miller told him, “We’ll call the police and Mrs. Powell.”

Elliott had nodded in understanding, even while his head had still been fuzzy from hyperventilation.

Principal Miller closed the door, on his way back to the main office to contain the situation. He had gone to make an announcement to the teachers and the student body. He had gone to let everyone know to stay in their classrooms for now.

Once he had been able to draw in regular breaths again, Elliott looked around Principal Miller’s office. It hadn’t changed since Mrs. Powell had brought him in for registration and to inform Principal Miller of the situation.

The large windows behind the desk let in enough light that one was able to see without the fluorescents. A couple of plush chairs sat facing one another in front of the desk, with a small table in between. A large bookshelf had stood to the left of the desk and windows, it had been filled with photos of the Miller family. Principal Miller, his wife, and his two kids. The American dream in a single picture. The kids’ bright shining faces were full of hope and wonder, Mrs. Miller’s wide intelligent face in contrast to her husband’s angular one.

Elliott hadn’t been able to help but wonder what that would have been like for him. A mom and a dad, a stable family.

“He’s my son!” Elliott heard the shout as Helen had been dragged away by police, “I saw him in the newspaper!”

Elliott’s breathing had quickened again, at the realization that she had found him using his picture in the paper from his art piece. Tears had fallen down his face in a torrent. His body crumpled in on itself, bringing his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around his legs. In front of Principal Miller’s family photo.

Elliott hadn’t been sure how long he’d been there, but eventually, the door to Principal Miller’s office cracked open. He couldn’t raise his head from between his knees, not when Mrs. Powell walked in and had knelt beside him in comfort. Not when the police had walked in to take his statement. Not when Mrs. Powell had been able to coax him into standing and take him home.

When they arrived, Mr. Powell had been there. He had left work early when he heard about what happened. Mr. Powell’s paternal instincts had told him he had needed to be home for his wife and son.

Elliott had walked in and let himself be pulled into a hug from Mr. Powell. Mrs. Powell had joined when she walked into the entryway and closed the door. Elliott’s breath had come out in shudders as he had fought a fresh wave of tears.

The Powells had eventually let him go, allowing him to climb the stairs to his room. His feet had been like cinder blocks as he made the climb, the rest of his body not much better.

Elliott made it to his room in a fog. He had left the light off, the setting sun casting sinister shadows along the blue walls, like fingers. His bed had been pristine from when he’d made it that morning, a project for biology sat on his desk waiting to be finished, and his dresser had been covered in knick-knacks from his time with the Powells. Including a candid picture of the three of them in a simple frame.

He had brought so much trouble to their door. He should have known, even then, that his birth mother would keep looking for him.

Elliott had made a decision that night. He had started going through the motions when Mrs. Powell had called him down to the dining room for dinner. He almost changed his mind when he had seen that Mrs. Powell had ordered from his favorite Chinese restaurant. Kung Pao, Sweet and Sour, and General Tso’s chicken had been complemented with Chow Mein noodles and steamed and brown rice. Extra vegetables had taken up a couple of take-out containers.

There in the warm dining room with its white curtains, its dark wood table, and matching chairs. They had made him more part of the family than how he had ever felt in the past.

Mr. Powell had grabbed the disposable plates and silverware to help keep clean up as easy as possible. The Powells sat on opposite sides of the table, care and concern shone in their eyes as they had watched him.

Fresh tears had stung the back of his eyes as he sat in the chair in between them, the one that faced the window. As he looked at their reflections, he saw images of happiness, of belonging, of unconditional love being given freely by a couple who wanted to give a better life to someone. Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners that had never been flashed in the reflective panes, as well as Easters, birthdays, anniversaries, and a graduation or two.

These hopeful images had still been flashing through the panes when a brick was hurtled through, sending them into tiny pieces.

All three of them had jumped back as glass scattered all over the food and the floor. Mrs. Powell went to Elliott immediately while Mr. Powell grabbed his cell phone, calling the police as he went outside to a beat-up red car making its way down the street.

“Was it her again?” Elliott couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t know.” Mr. Powell said as Elliott caught the agent from 911 responding to the call. Mr. Powell had stood just outside the door, turned away so he could tell the representative what happened.

“We need to leave this mess for the police,” Mrs. Powell said as she fought her instinct to clean up the mess.

“I’m going back to my room.” To pack.

Elliott’s body had been sluggish, even more so than when they had first gotten back. His emotions fought back and forth, anger and frustration against rational thinking and possible happiness after this was over.

He made it to his room. There hadn’t been much time until the police arrived. Shaking off his tiredness, he summoned the energy from somewhere. Elliott had begun to pack.

The money the Powells had given him as an allowance, some clothes, and the picture of the three of them from his dresser.

A tree that had been planted many years ago stood outside his window, making it easier for him to sneak out. Climbing down the tree had been harder than it looked, but he had managed to get to the ground. In the form of him causing a weak branch to break and fall on his behind.

How Mr. and Mrs. Powell hadn’t noticed he wasn’t sure. He had grabbed his bag and ran in the opposite direction of the car.

Elliott had been on his own since then.

He skipped a few towns before finding a place that hadn't heard of the case or of Mr. Powell's law firm. He found a decent job to pay rent and keep himself taken care of. Elliott was even working towards his GED.

Elliott's thoughts sometimes went back to the Powells. How they were doing, if they forgave him.

Helen often crossed his mind, the thought of her leaping out from around a random corner and taking him away made his blood run cold.

"Hey, Elliott!" Matt was running back towards the picnic blanket, waving his camera wildly, "Could you take our picture, please?"

"Of course!" Elliott carefully took the camera from Matt and lined it up to get the three of them in the shot.