Picking Up a Stray

He had the look in his green eyes; the haunted, startled gaze that saw everything and nothing as threat. Young, away from home for the first time, adrift…completely and utterly alone. The streets are especially dangerous for girls, but almost as much so for tiny boys like him.

He was probably underage, but I knew if I asked, he would say he was eighteen. Hell, it’s gotten to where eighteen-year-olds look like babies to me, so he may have been. More likely, though, is that he was another runaway, and discovering for the first time how bad it could get.

Aside from the traces of a fading black eye, his face was clean; a warm, light gold-red-brown that left his ethnicity an open question. His hair, curly brown, messy and sporting a leaf where he’d probably slept in the park recently needed a wash, as did his clothes. The backpack he wore tightly strapped around him was hardly large enough for a single change of clothes.

“Hey kid,” I said, keeping my voice soft, “you hungry?”

After his initial start at my voice, he looked at me like a puppy that had been teased with a treat without ever getting it. He nodded.

“Get up and follow me, kid,” I said, offering a hand up. He looked at my hand like it was infectious. “It’s just motor oil stains. It’s clean.”

 He took my hand and stood; shorter than me, and barely weighed enough to not blow away in a stiff breeze. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh no, you don’t call me ma’am. I ain’t that old.”

“Yes, ma—okay.”

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Ma—Mark. And I’m not a kid…I’m eighteen.”

I’d thought he was about to Matt or Matthew, but the vowel changed at the last second. If he didn’t want to give me his real name that was his business. “I’m Isabel Hernandez.”

I led “Mark” to a fast-food joint on the way to my place. It sat at the boundary between the ’hood and the start of the gentrified area. He got dirty looks from some of the uptown, office types. One of them, not much older than Mark, walked past us and muttered, “Cougar.”

A sharp retort was at the tip of my tongue until I heard the young man with her say, “More like MILF,” followed by her punching his arm and cursing him out.

For his part, “Mark” moved closer to me as though he expected to be attacked. I asked what he wanted, and doubled the order, except for the soda; I ordered an unsweetened tea for myself.

When we sat at the table, I took the tea and pushed the tray across to him. He tried to set half off for me and I told him, “No, that’s all yours.”

Tears pooled in his eyes, which he was quick to hide by stuffing his face with the burgers and fries. Through it all, his backpack stayed tightly strapped to him.

“Mark,” I said, and he kept on eating. “Mark?”

It took him a moment to realize I was talking to him. “Oh….” He set the fries down.

“Look, I know it’s not your real name, but try to remember what name you gave, okay?”

He couldn’t look me in the eye, staring at the decimated tray of food in front of him. “It’s Manuel,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Okay, Manuel. Is it alright if I call you Manny?”

He nodded.

“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

He shook his head and allowed his hunger to overcome his guilt as he resumed eating.

“There’s a shelter on—”

“No!” His sudden outburst surprised both of us. “I uh…they stole my stuff.” He pointed at the bruised eye.

“Do you have clothes in the backpack?”

“Just…a book and a…,” he trailed off. “They took my clothes and wallet and my suitcase. When I tried to stop them, they beat me up.”

“Fair enough. When you’re done, we’ll go to my place. You can get a shower, and I have some sweats you can wear while I wash your clothes.”

Once he was cleaned up and dressed in my sweats, I realized just how tiny he was. I ran a load of laundry, mixing some of my clothes with his in my apartment-sized washer-dryer combo.

While the dryer ran, I switched on the TV to watch a movie. Manny sat next to me on the couch.

The movie had just started, and Manny leaned in close and tried to kiss me. “Whoa! What are you doing?”

“I—I thought…I mean…you fed me, you let me stay here, I thought you wanted….” He retreated to the far end of the couch and pulled his knees against his chest. “Sorry. I’ll leave as soon as my clothes are dry.”

“No, you won’t. You’re not in trouble, and I’m not mad at you.” I did my best to keep my voice even and gentle. “I didn’t offer you a place to stay to get something from you, just to help.”

The tears fell from his eyes in silence. I couldn’t tell what he was feeling, beyond maybe embarrassment. Did he feel I rejected him? I didn’t want to scare him back out into the streets; he wouldn’t last much longer out there.

“Manny, really, I’m not mad. Look, you’re good looking for a guy, but I don’t swing that way.” I moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “I honestly don’t want anything from you, other than to see you safe.”

That was all it took. He broke down into heaving sobs, and when I pulled him into a hug he grabbed on as if his life depended on it. I got the feeling he hadn’t been shown any attention, much less affection, in a long time.

He eventually cried himself to sleep, and I let him down on the couch and covered him with a blanket. When the dryer finished, I folded his clothes and put them on the coffee table. In his sleep he kept muttering “nanay.”

When I woke, he was dressed and looking nervous, his backpack once again tightly strapped on. “I’m not going to steal your stuff,” I said, “but if you want to wear your backpack all the time, I won’t stop you. I’m making breakfast, it’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

We ate breakfast in silence. Although he’d taken his backpack off, he looked over at it every few minutes. Still, Manny had wolfed down his eggs, bacon, and toast before I’d even finished my eggs.

When he’d finished, he picked up his plate and fork, washed them, placed them in the drying rack, and scrubbed out the pan.

“Thanks, Manny. Appreciate the help.” I got ready to wash my own dishes and he took them from me to do them. “Thanks again.”

I went to my room and made a call to the shelter. I could hear Manny cleaning up in the kitchen. When I stepped back out, he had his backpack strapped tightly on again.

“Thank you, Ms. Hernandez,” he said. “I’ll find somewhere to go.”

“Just a second, Manny. First, I’m Isabel, not Ms. Hernandez. Second, I told you, I want to see you safe. You ain’t safe out there on the streets. Third, I have some shopping to do and could really use your help, if you want to.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

I walked with him to the Goodwill a block away from my apartment and made a beeline for the men’s clothing section. It took a bit of convincing, but he finally agreed to let me buy him some clothes. A suitcase, also from the Goodwill, filled with clothes for him and a couple pairs of sneakers only set me back seventy dollars.

From there, we stopped by the supermarket where I picked up some groceries and told him to pick out some underwear and socks. He didn’t argue this time, though I did have to get after him to pick up more than just one three-pack of each.

On the way out, I made a copy of the apartment key and handed it to him. “You can come and go as you please,” I said. “I trust you not to steal my shit, and I won’t steal yours. I need to go to work, but first, I’m going by the shelter. They say your ID is there, but nothing else.”

The flash of fear in his eyes told me he wasn’t ready to face it. “It’s fine, I’ll pick it up, and see you after work…around five. Oh! Whatever you do, if you see a short, barrel-chested white dude with a blonde bowl-cut, meth mouth, and hairy arms in the building, don’t even look at him, much less talk to him. That’s Rufus…at least that’s what everyone calls him. He’s dangerous when he’s off his meds, which is pretty much always. Although…I haven’t heard him yelling up the stairs in a while.”

His ID gave me his last name, Lim, previous address on the other side of the state, and his age; he was eighteen by four days. Not long enough for the difference between his round-cheeked ID photo and his current state. Not my business, I told myself.

The workday was long; our “shop mouse” didn’t show again. I spent the morning trying to get in touch with him. Finally, his sister called to let me know he was passed out drunk at her place. I let her know that the fifth time was the last, and that he was fired.

I took some deep breaths before I opened the door to the apartment. It wouldn’t do to spook Manny with my mood. The scene in front of me left me floored.

The apartment was spotless. The carpet stains were gone from the front half of the living room, and Manny was on his knees, scrubbing at the carpet in the back. Meanwhile, he was talking to someone in a language that I’d only heard on TV: Tagalog.

As I stepped in, I saw who he was talking to. It was a stuffed, patchwork rabbit. When the door clicked shut behind me, he rushed to stuff the toy into his backpack.

Bringing it up could wait. There was no reason to embarrass him. “Wow, Manny. I don’t think the apartment’s looked this good since I moved in. Hell, before I moved in.”

“My father said, you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

“Sounds a little extreme. Like I said, you don’t have to do anything for me to stay here but thank you.” I dropped my keys on the counter and moved toward my room. “I’m going to shower and then get dinner started. You don’t have to keep scrubbing.”

Manny watched me in the kitchen while I cooked, his eyes only flicking toward his backpack a few times. “If you like,” I said, “I can teach you to cook.”

He choked back tears and nodded.

As we ate dinner, I slid his ID across the table to him. “Almost forgot this,” I said.

“Thank you.” He stared at me, making serious eye contact for the first time. “Are you sad?”

“No…yeah, a little. I had to fire the shop mouse today. He’d rather drink than come to work.” I let out a sigh of resignation. “I really like him, too. He’s a good kid, just has an addiction he needs to deal with.”

“I’m sorry your friend is sick like that. My dad’s sick like that…only, now he’s in prison.”

“How…long ago?”

“Last year. I left because they wanted to put me in foster care.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Your mother?”

“She was different sick. She died when I was eight.” His eyes moved to the backpack and stayed fixed on it.

“So, the book and the…other thing in there…. Those were from your mom?”

He turned back to me and nodded.

“You don’t have to hide them from me, and I’ll never touch them without your permission. Deal?”

“’Kay.” He cleared the table, and we washed up together.

“What’s a shop mouse?” he asked.

“Just a helper. Clean up, put tools away, sometimes give me a hand with heavy stuff.” I stopped drying and looked at him. “How would you like a job, Manny? Hours are regular, Tuesday through Saturday. Pays fifteen bucks an hour.”

“I…uh…you mean that?”

“I mean that.” I put the last of the dishes away and turned to him. “Can you start tomorrow?”

“Don’t I have to fill out an application and stuff?”

“I’ll have Jaylin take care of that. She’s the entire office staff.”

I spent the next few days introducing Manny around the shop and the building, slowly expanding out to the immediate neighborhood. I made it clear that the dealers should know that I was watching over him, and anyone messing with him or selling to him would have to deal with me.

He’d already proven he wasn’t afraid of hard work, and he got right to it in the shop. After the first couple weeks, he began to leave his backpack at the apartment. A week after that he showed me the rabbit and the book. It was a Suess book; well-worn and near to falling apart. Nestled within its pages was a picture of Manny and his parents in happier times. He looked just like his mother.

We found a place on a shelf for the book and the rabbit he called Victoria, where he could always see them. It was the best way I knew to make it clear that as long as he was here, he was home.

In those times he was home and I wasn’t, the little sneak finished scrubbing the carpet in the front room and began on the bedroom. It looked great but made it impossible for me to demand the landlord replace it. I guess the end result was the same either way.

One afternoon, I brought home a GED study guide, and his eyes lit up. I just wanted to give him the option, but he was excited about it, and studied every chance he got. When he passed the test three months later, we held a party in the apartment for the neighbors he’d gotten to know.

Manny prepared all the food, including a cake. He wouldn’t let me lift a hand to help. I noticed that Victoria was secreted away somewhere, not that it surprised me. I was surprised when Rufus showed up with a present for him...and he wasn’t high or yelling at people that weren’t there.

Rufus…Carl, actually…told me how Manny had held the door for him one day and bought him a soda out of the machine in the lobby another. Carl explained that he understood why everyone avoided him, but he was back on his proper meds, clean off everything else for eight months, and was trying to get his life back on track.

“That kid,” Carl said, “is the first person outside of the rooms to see me for more than an angry, psycho, meth-head. We talked for a long time about not letting the world drive you to drugs or booze…like I did…and his dad, apparently.”

“To think,” I said, “not so long ago he was a skinny, scared kid in the alley behind 7-11.”

“Yeah. He told me how you made him feel at home for first time since his mother died.” Carl leaned in closer. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I think he’s got a little crush on you. He kept talking about loving going to work to, quote, ‘see her in her tight pants’ and how was learning to cook so he could make dinner for her.”

I chuckled. “That wouldn’t be me. I wear loose, greasy coveralls. Sounds like he’s talking about Jaylin, the office girl. She’s closer to his age, at least.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry if I overstepped.”

Manny interrupted. “If you two are done whispering, food’s ready. Come, eat. Oh, Isabel, there’s some paperwork on the counter for you, if you think it’s all right.”

The paperwork was proof of employment and income for an enrollment application to a local automotive repair trade school. I signed off on the paperwork and smiled at him, his face now filled out, his body beginning to build some muscle where he’d been emaciated before. I don’t know what happens for him next, but I know I’ll be there for him, whatever.