Aging Out

On the morning of my eighteenth birthday, I took a freedom walk. The heady smell of the woods invited me into a congregation of pine trees. Layers of dew-dampened fallen needles cushioned my every step. In the center of nature’s chapel, where a canopy of tightly entangled branches had turned off the sun, cool air touched my face. I swayed to the symphony of silence, safe among my new woodsy friends. No one can take that moment from me. Future perfect. I will always have been there. The memory of it sustains me when I feel as dead as I did on the night of my eighteenth birthday.

Going into foster care was easy compared to aging out. I packed my duffle bag under the teary-eyed scrutiny of my little brother, Jack. He sat on the edge of my bed, thump, thump, thumping his heel into the bedframe.

“You’re eighteen, Mikey. Just take me with you.”

“That’s the plan.” I sat next to him to talk it through one more time. He stilled his restless leg and leaned his head against my arm. His quiet countenance was louder than the thumping.

“Marty is giving us the little apartment above the restaurant. I’ll be right across the street from you until I get guardianship. You won’t have to change schools, so it shouldn’t take long.”

He sat up straight and looked at me. “How long?” His strong little hands squeezed my arm and gave it a shake. “Just say it, Mikey.”

“I don’t know for sure, but you can stay with me any night I’m not working. We’ll still see each other as much as we do now.”

He nodded. “I know.” He choked on the words, dropped his face into his hands, and sobbed from his soul. I rubbed his back until he drew a deep breath. He stood and headed for the bathroom without looking back at me.

I paced the room. My eyes burned and my throat ached from holding myself together.

“Stop walking in circles, Mikey. I’m OK.” He was leaning in the doorway with his skinny arms crossed over his chest. “I just had to get it out.”

I stopped in front of him. “You’re the strongest, bravest ten-year-old on the planet.”

He grinned. “I have to be to take care of your lame ass.” He kicked my shoe with his. “Hey, did you forget the stuff you have stashed in the upstairs closet?”

“Nope. It’s all yours. Keep whatever you want and give the rest to the other kids - or toss it.”

“Show me.” He ran up the stairs ahead of me and charged in as soon as I unlocked the door. “Whoa, what kind of closet is this?”

“It used to be a dressing room for the fancy ladies.” Jack sat on the floor and busied himself with the boxes. I bent to kiss the top of his head. “See you tomorrow.”

“You better.”

***

Caroline Cardamone was just finishing her shift at CC’s Café and Confectionery. She smiled when she spotted me. “I have something for you.” She pointed to a table in the back. “I’m closing early. You can leave through the back door.” I handed her my metal coffee mug. She returned it full of my favorite Kona coffee. When the last customer left, she brought me a two layered carrot cake with a single candle flickering in the center. “Happy Birthday, Michael. Make a wish.”

I stood and kissed her for the first time. “That was my wish.”

“Mine, too.” She smiled and pulled me in for another. “I don’t want to make you late. I’ll box up the cake, so I have an excuse to visit you at work tonight.”

Emboldened by the promise, I kissed her again, took a swig of coffee, and walked through the hallway to the back door. I stopped cold when the full-length mirror between the restrooms spun open like a revolving door. An impossibly strong hand propelled me through into a dark stairwell. I fought blind, but I fought hard, grunting as he shoved, dragged, and kicked me to the bottom of the endless steps. I hit the landing face first. The echo of clanging metal broke the dark silence. I smelled coffee. My mug rolled to a stop in front of me.

I pushed myself up until a boot on my neck pinned me to the floor. “What do you want?” I hated the sound of my weak, breathy voice.

The answer rumbled in my head. “Nothing now. Later we’ll be relieving you of that magic you hide so skillfully.”

I forced a deeper, calmer voice from my throat. “How do you know about that?”

He chuckled. “Your mother talked you up.”

“My mother is a junkie.”

“And therein lies the answer.” He lifted the boot from my neck and used the pointy toe of it to roll me to my back. “Your mother sold you for drug money. A twenty-year commitment starting now.”

Unable to process the comment, I concentrated on standing up. “I have to go to work.”

He gripped my shoulder with his heavy hand. “You’re going nowhere, Michael.” He put his lips close to my ear. “You work here now."

“And just where is here?” I fought to see him, but darkness won the battle.

“Have a look.” He grabbed my shirt and jerked me to my feet. A semi-circle of tunnels ended at the landing. Before my eyes adjusted, dark went to black.

***

“Michael.”

The first time I returned to consciousness, I was on my back with a pillow beneath my head. A hospital?

“Michael, wake up.”

The sweet smell of roses was in my nose and at the back of my tongue. My wake? Heat rushed through my chest. Dead people don’t have panic attacks. I opened my eyes long enough to see that I was not in a coffin. The room was bright. A hotel? I faded out before I could take it all in.

“Open your eyes, Michael.”

The next time I faced consciousness, I was struggling to determine where I was and who was slapping my face. I pushed the heavy hand away.

“Good, you’re awake.”

Memories of my descent to the basement poured in. No one has a basement in New Orleans. A face I did not recognize hovered over me. “There you are.” He straightened, but stayed uncomfortably close.

My voice was a screech. “Who are you?”

“Ka’pel here.” His shoulder length black hair and olive skin were the stuff of romance novel covers. He took a small bow, swept his arm out, and moved aside, revealing a spacious living area. “These are our new digs.”

I was on one of two white leather sofas. After several tries, I sat up. “I can’t stay here.”

He left the room and returned, offering me a Perrier. “It’s OK. I left it sealed.” Icy lavender eyes held my gaze until I accepted it.

“What are you?”

“Don’t freak out, OK?”

I scoffed. “Too late.”

His face sobered. “I’m a demon – well, half demon.”

“So, I am being held captive… in hell…under a bakery.”

“Not exactly. You aren’t captive. You’ll get sick if you go topside, but I can’t stop you from leaving if you find your way out. We are under the whole block, not just the bakery. There are many portals here, but only one goes to hell.”

“You said my mother traded me for drugs.”

He shook his head. “Not you. Your magic. For twenty years. Then you’re free.”

A sharp pain shot between my temples. “I can’t do this.”

“You’ve already done it. The Hellions siphoned some when you arrived.” He looked away from me. “They were very impressed.”

“I don’t care. Tell them to get someone else.”

“I can’t tell them anything. I’m just a broker.” He shook his head. “I’m as stuck as you are – more, really. I’ll be here long after your twenty years have passed.”

“I have a brother to take care of.”

“Don’t draw any attention to him, Michael. Jack has as much magic as you do. Your mother could just as easily sell him when he turns eighteen, if she isn’t dead by then.”

I was pondering that harsh reality when the bells of the St. Louis Cathedral chimed eleven. “How am I hearing those?”

“The tunnels carry sound. We can talk tomorrow. I’ll show you your rooms.”

Exhausted, I followed him to a luxurious suite. I would plan my escape after I had some rest. The door closed behind Ka’pel. I sobbed from my dead soul.

***

Aging out of hell should be easier than aging out of foster care. On the afternoon of my thirty-eighth birthday, I used the portal to the courtyard across from The Shoppes on Royal. It had been my respite when I lived in the group home. It had been the first place I had a glimpse of Caroline walking out of  CC’s. The rusty iron gate I used to slip through to was now a tight squeeze. I pushed through, wiped the loose rust off my shirt, and walked into a miniature French Market.

Food and craft vendors were backed up to the sidewalks. The spicy, smokey smells of New Orleans, trapped by the oppressive humidity, hung in the air. Tourists and locals flooded the block. Hungry patrons were squeezed together in front of food trucks to avoid being dragged along by the herd of shoppers, browsers, and small time grifters. At both ends of the block, street performers drew crowds. The music in the air was a collision of jazz, zydeco, and hip hop.

Hope had never been a friend to me, but the familiar shops cross the street had promise. I made my way through the crowd to the narrow walkway between the CC’s and Marty’s, to the alley. I caught the stench of a dumpster two doors away. The lid banged closed, and I was facing Jack. My heart jumped. Warmth flowed through me, as though he had turned on the sun. I walked up to face him.

Jack looked at me for a brother’s eternity. “Are you real?”

I put my hands on his shoulders. “I missed you so much.”

He jerked out of my hold. “You missed so much.”

“Not everything. I watched when I could.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, so you could send creepy psychic postcards directly into my head. I thought I was losing my mind.”

“I’m so sorry, Jack.” I rubbed my aching chest. “I never wanted you to do it all on your own. I don’t blame you for hating me.”

“I don’t hate you. I was just so lost.” He wiped a rogue tear with trembling fingers. “Are you staying?”

“Only if you want me to.” I choked back a sob at the memory of my little brother, leaning in the doorway with his skinny arms crossed over his chest. Now, the strong arms of a man pulled me into a tight hug.

“Caroline would never forgive me if I let you get away.”

“Are you reading my mind?”

“You aren’t the only one with skills.”

 Zydeco swirled around us in a joyful serenade. Again, I set my feet on freedom’s path,