DUST

Pat got back from the mall and handed Dustin a couple of large bags.  He wandered off with them.  The kid didn’t seem to have much enthusiasm, and certainly no joie de vivre.  Or maybe he was just tired of only being dressed in an oversized tee shirt.

“Where’s my change?” I asked.

“From your hundred dollar bill?”

“Yeah.”

“There is none.  You still owe me twenty-two dollars and change.”

“What?!  For a pair of pants, underwear, socks, a shirt and a pair of sneakers?”  I scowled.  This was one reason I hated shopping.  Everything cost too much.  But, as I began bitching I could see her rising to the challenge, her eyes getting brighter, so I plowed ahead.  “You should have been able to buy a used pair of Bermuda shorts, a plain tee shirt and some sneakers from the seconds bin for a hundred dollars.  Underwear wasn’t really necessary, nor were socks.”

“Underwear is so necessary!  You don’t get out shopping much, do you?  Anyway, it wasn’t a hundred bucks.  It was one-twenty-two-forty-five.” 

“That’s ridiculous!  A hundred twenty-two forty-five?”

“Plus tax.”

“Do you know how many cheating husbands I’ll have to get photos of, in flagrante delicto, to pay for that?  Do you know how ugly and silly most middle-aged men look in flagrante delicto?   Imagine my suffering!”  I was arguing just for the fun of it, and the most fun came from the fire and humor I could see in her eyes as she rebutted me.  She was enjoying it, too.

“That’s what it costs for kids’ clothes, unless you buy the most popular labels; then it’s much more.”

“Jesus!”

“Don’t swear around the kid.”

It occurred to me that this was a good time to clear something else up.  “What was he doing in bed with you, anyway?”  Hah!  That ought to keep that fire lit.

“He had a nightmare.  Said he was dreaming about being in a car, and someone was running into it and shooting at him.”

“Oh.  The guy wasn’t shooting.  Too busy driving.  The kid’s making it up.”

“That actually happened?!”  Her voice rose about 20 decibels.  “And he was involved?!  What’s the matter with you?!  You were supposed to be keeping him safe!”

“I did.  So, he had a nightmare.  You pat him on the head, give him a glass of water, he pees and goes back to sleep.  He doesn’t end up in your bed!”

“He was shaking.  I asked if he’d like to sleep with me, and he said yes.”

“Of course he said yes.  He’s a 14-year-old boy.  You’re gorgeous and sexier than a Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition!  He’d be nuts not to want to sleep with you.  ”

“He’s also gay.  Remember?”

“Oh.  Well, yeah, but I figured it might not be set in stone yet, and the way you look in that tee shirt...”

Dustin walked back in.  He was wearing a pair of tight, dark jeans that fit him like a personal tailor had made them for him, a light blue polo shirt, a pair of fancy-schmancy, low-cut sneaks, and he had a gold chain around his neck.  He’d combed his hair and a couple of curls had fallen down to hang down over his forehead.  He looked like a million dollars.  I felt like looking up the Abercrombie and Fitch phone number, seeing if they needed any kid models.

I looked at Pat.  “Oh,” I said, apologizing in my own way.  I could see the point of the money having been spent.  But I wasn’t going to give up the high ground that easily.  “A gold chain?”

“I paid for that,” she said, and I heard something in her voice that told me joking around time had ended.  “And Dustin, you look great.”

He smiled at her, then turned to me.

“It is  set in stone,” he said.

“How can you be sure?” I asked.  “You said you haven’t done anything yet.”

“When did you know you were straight?” he asked.

“Gee, I don’t know.  I just was, and accepted it.  There was never any question.”

“Un huh,” he said, and looked at me.

“Oh,” I said, getting it.

“We’ve got to go see your father,” I said.  Pat had gone off to work, and Dustin and I were talking in the living room.

“No.”  While he rarely had much energy or determination when he spoke, saying this was different.  He was quite sure he didn’t want to go visit his father.

“We need to.  We need, as the Brits say, to sort you out.”

“He doesn’t want me.  He made that clear.  Nobody wants me.  He doesn’t.  You don’t.”  For what he was saying, I should have heard lots of emotion.   Instead, his dead voice showed nothing.  He’d probably thought a lot about this, come to terms with it.  “That guy Jim did but not for me: for him—to make money.  I understand it.  There’s something wrong with me.  When not even your own father can stand you, there’s something wrong with you.”

He was sitting on the couch.  He was looking straight ahead, just as he’d done when he’d first got in my car.  The only thing in front of him now was the wall across the room.  I couldn’t tell if he was even seeing it.  His affect was apathetic.

I wasn’t at all good at this and didn’t like it.  This was emotional stuff, not what I was into at all.  I had to say something, though.

“Dustin, that’s not true.  I don’t know you very well, but there’s nothing wrong with you.  I do know that.”

“Yes, there is.  I’m gay, for one thing.  Everyone knows that’s wrong.  My father hates me.  You’ve hardly met me and you don’t want me around.  It’s just me.  I’m bad, somehow, and I don’t understand how, and I can’t fix it because I don’t know what it is.”

“Being gay isn’t wrong!  You just are what you are.  People just are black, or brown, or white, or Chinese.  They just are.  You can’t change that.  Being gay is like that.  It isn’t wrong, it’s just something that makes you who you are.”

He appeared not to hear me.  “And I can’t do anything, either.  I’m no good at sports.  I’m small and weak and can’t even protect myself.  I’m not good at anything. My father tells me that all the time.  I might be better off dead.”

“Well, that’s not true.  The rest probably isn’t, either.  Maybe you’re not good at things now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be.  You have to work at things to be good at them.  Nobody’s good at anything without making an effort.  You can’t make yourself bigger, but that’ll come all by itself with time. The rest?  Have you tried to be stronger, better at sports, better at being able to protect yourself?  Worked at any of it?”

“No, but I don’t know how.  Maybe other boys had their fathers teach them.  Or a friend, or an uncle, or someone.  Or were just good without being like I am.  I’d have to do it on my own, and I don’t know how.  The only thing I know about is reading and playing video games by myself.  Maybe that’s why people hate me, because I suck at everything else.  But it’s more than just that.  It’s me.  It has to be.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.  I don’t see anything wrong with you, other than being a kid.  I’ve told you, I’m not into kids; I don’t know anything about dealing with them.  But everybody’s good at something.  Maybe you just have to figure out what that something is.  And I do know one thing you’re good at already, and I hardly know you.  You have an amazing vocabulary for a kid your age, and you use it very well.”

He took a quick glance away from the wall to me but then turned away again.  “I’m good at watching TV.  And reading, I guess.  I like it.  I get to be someone other than me when I’m reading.  I’m competent at some video games.  And I guess I’m intelligent enough.  But doing things, things that matter to kids, like sports, or hanging around with other kids, I suck at that.  And I’m shy, maybe because I suck at everything or maybe just because that’s who I am.  I don’t have any friends.  I guess it’s worse than that, because now I don’t have any place to live, either.  They have orphanages, I guess, where I’d be the new kid.  I can’t fight, so even the smallest kids there would take advantage of me.  That’s why I didn’t go to the police when my father kicked me out.  He was right, they’d have sent me back to him at first, but eventually I’d have been in an orphanage.  I don’t want to live in one of those places.”

“No, you go to the Child Protective Services people, CPS.  They find you a foster family.  That’d be like a real family.  There’d be a mother and father and they’d take care of you.”

He looked at me like I was missing a screw in my head.  “Are you kidding?  They’re worse than an orphanage.  I’ve read stories about them.  I know a couple of kids at school who are foster kids.  They have a hundred chores to do every day.  Half the time they don’t even get their homework done because they’re up half the night scrubbing the toilets and doing the ironing and getting screwed by the guy who lives there.”

I frowned and shook my head.  “Someone’s yanking your chain.  If that were true, they’d get taken out of those places.”

“Well, OK, maybe I made some of that up because I don’t talk to those kids. I don’t talk to anyone.  But I do know some foster kids at school.  They detest where they live.  I’ve overheard them tell other kids that.  They dress in hand-me-downs and are real skinny.  They never smile.  They never last long at school, either.  I think they just get transferred from home to home.”

I shook my head.  The fact was, I didn’t know how that sort of thing worked.  I shouldn’t be arguing with him if I didn’t know the facts.

“Well, I need to talk to your dad, anyway.  Maybe it won’t come to all that stuff you’re worrying about.  Maybe he’ll have realized what a mistake he made.”

“Yeah, right.”

“You want to come with me, don’t you?”

“No!”

“You’ll be here when I get back, won’t you?”

“Where would I go?” 

I was hearing his lack of energy again.  It was as though our discussion had taken all the starch out of him.  I saw him slump into himself.  Then he lay back on the couch, and was quiet.

Dustin’s last name was Cramer.  He said his father might be home as it was a Saturday, but you never knew with him.  He gave me the address, and I drove over.

I was surprised.  It looked like a mansion to me.  Huge multi-story house in the most upscale neighborhood in town.  The lawn appeared to have been groomed by dwarfs using miniature scissors, it was so perfect.  I was expecting a butler to answer the door, but instead, Mr. Cramer did so himself.

He opened it and filled the doorway.  I’m unaccustomed to meeting men larger than I am, but that was the case here.  He was about 6’ 5” and probably weighed 270.  Huge.  He didn’t look like it was all fat, either.  He had a lot of muscle.

He scowled at me.  “Yes,” he said, like I’d better have something worthwhile to say to him.  His manner was intimidating.  I didn’t mind.  I don’t really do intimidation any better than I do scared.

“You Cramer?”

“I’m Mr. Cramer, yes.  What do you want?”

“We need to talk.  About Dustin.”

“He doesn’t live here any longer.  Not my problem.  Go away.”

He started to close the door.  He found it wasn’t going to be that easy.  I stepped up and gave the door a forearm shiver.  Football players, especially defensive ones—but all of them if they’re any good—develop forearm shivers.  I hit the door with a pretty good one, and the door slammed back, hitting him in the forehead, cutting it and knocking him down.

“Oh, sorry about that,” I said, not meaning it and walking into the house past him as he was trying to stumble back onto his feet.

The house was more magnificent inside than out.  I was in a broad, tiled entry that led to wide hallways branching off in all directions.  Even though it was only a foyer, there were large original oil paintings on the wall, a striking, ornate table in the center of the space with an enormous vase over-spilling with flowers.  I stopped to smell them and found them to be plastic.  Perfect.

I could see rooms with expensive furniture ahead and both to the left and right down equally wide corridors.  There was a wall of glass far ahead and a large infinity pool glistened outside, the water a clean, bright blue.

He was on his feet now and coming up behind me.  He was taller than I was, but not by much.  He was heavier, and from the way he was marching toward me, he probably intended to just overrun me, but I looked into his eyes, and when he met my gaze, he stopped.  Probably saw the hope in mine that he’d keep coming.

“Let’s sit down, shall we,” I said, pleasantly.  “This might take a while.  Pick a room.  You seem to have several.”

He wasn’t used to talking to people who weren’t a little scared of him.  I could see that.  I’d made it clear to him, through body language and expression, that if he wished to mix it up with me physically, I was ready to dance.  He’d not taken the challenge.  It bothered him that I had stood up to him, but he was trying not to show it. 

“This way,” he said, and walked to the right.  There was a room, sort of an alcove, to the left with a glass wall on the back side overlooking the pool.  It held four overstuffed, enormous chairs and a low table against one wall with another vase of flowers on it.  There was also a table holding framed photos.  Some of these were of him with other men, and a couple showed him and a woman.  There was no picture of Dustin. 

I walked over and picked up one that had a posed picture of the lady.  She had sad eyes.  “Your wife?” I asked.

“Put it down,” he said, and I did. 

He sat in one chair, his back to the pool, and indicated the one facing him for me to use.  That would have put me looking toward the glass and I’d have ended up squinting into the light.  I sat instead in a chair at a right angle to him.  Much more comfortable.

“OK,” I said, taking the lead.  I looked at the bump on his head.  It had stopped bleeding.  He must have had good platelets.  “Dustin.  You threw him out.  I’ve got him.  I don’t want him.  So, he needs to come back here, and that’s what we’re going to talk about.  I’ll bring him back, whether you want him or not, but there are conditions.  You’ve got to treat him decently.  I don’t care if that sits well with you.  It’s what needs to be done.  And the fact is, it’s also the law.  You’re responsible for him, and if you don’t obey the law in this matter, I’ll see you pay the price.  I’m going to bring him back here, and then I’ll check on him from time to time.  If he isn’t happy, or if I find he’s being mistreated—and by everything you hold holy, I’d better not find that—I’ll have the CPS and the cops here before you can turn around.”

He sat forward in his chair.  “Are you threatening me?  Me?  Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Oh, please.  We already saw you’re a guy who bleeds easily.  Probably not used to pain, either, but I can provide that, too.  Dustin is a good kid.  He deserves better than you, but you’re what he’s got.  I just wanted you to understand the ground rules before I brought him back.”

He looked at me and didn’t scowl this time.  He sat still for a few moments.  I could almost smell the smoke from the gears turning in his head without much lube.  While he was busy thinking, I watched him and sort of semi-consciously picked at the plush upholstery of my chair.  When he was done cogitating, he smiled.  I guess it could have been called a smile for lack of another more apt noun, but there was an apt adjective: chilling.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.  If we’re going to be doing business together, I should know your name.”

“It’s Wisdom.  Briar Wisdom.   But we won’t be doing business, and I sincerely hope we never see each other again, except when I drop Dustin off and then check up on him.”

“Oh.”  He smiled disingenuously at me.  “As to that, I’m going away for a couple of days, so it would be best if you’d keep him until Wednesday.  Otherwise he’ll simply be alone here.  Yes, that’s best.  Bring him by Wednesday.  In the evening.  Eight o’clock.”

He stood.  I remained seated.  “You do understand, don’t you?  What I expect from you?  He’s told me how you treated him.  You’re a bully.  He’s a little kid.  You’ve about ruined him.  But he’s your responsibility, not mine, and I’m bringing him back, and you’re going to do right by him.  I’ll be checking in with him, and if I learn you’re still bullying him, that you’re not behaving like a father should, I’m going to talk to you again, and you’ll regret that you didn’t pay attention the first time.  I’m using the word ‘talk’ here metaphorically.  I do this sort of thing for a living.  Don’t make the mistake of thinking I’m not being very, very serious about this.

“When I bring Dustin back, I’m also going to bring a document for you to sign.  It’ll list specific behaviors you’ll follow with regards to Dustin.  Furthermore, you’ll sign a statement that his future will be taken care of.  College expenses.  That sort of thing.  Before I leave, I’ll expect you to sign it.  You will sign it.”

He remained standing.  I could see he was grinding his back teeth together.  Then, as I watched, his face changed.  He visibly calmed down, both his face and body softened, and the pinkish hue that appeared in his cheeks retreated.  His expression became impassive.

“I don’t see much choice.  I don’t really want the police showing up at my door.  What would the neighbors think?  Please give me your phone number.  I probably won’t need it, but in case I can’t be here Wednesday, I should have a number I can use to so inform you.”

I gave him my number.  It was a cell phone number so couldn’t be used to get any personal information about me.  I trusted this guy far less than I could throw him, and his sudden change of heart was something I’d have to think about when I had the time.

He wrote down the number, smiled again, and said, “I’ll show you out, Mr. Wisdom.”

“Thank you,” I said.  Pressing against the arms of the chair that seemed to almost smother me, I forced myself up, and wrote a mental reminder to myself not to sit in one of these things again.  They certainly slowed one down.  He was already preceding me down the hall.  I had to hurry to catch up and walk out with him.