"Where would you like to start?"
"At the beginning."
"How old are you?" I look up at the man staring down at me. I briefly observe him. He looks…25? Maybe 30. Messy mousey-colored hair, stubble as if he hasn't shaved in a while. He's wearing a heavy jacket, with a generic black sweatshirt underneath, stained with what looks like ketchup. When I don't respond, he asks starts speaking again. "I've seen you around here the last few nights. Some night workers too. Did you come in on a train?" He has a slight accent, an upstate accent. Not a New York City one. "My name is Eric. I'm a social worker. " He pauses to show me his badge. "We're just here to help you." He makes reference to the two cops behind him. "We can take you home? I'm sure your parents are worried about you."
Parents? Huh. The irony. Maybe I should run, but I feel like I'm frozen to the floor. It's not quite Winter yet but it's a bitter fall night, with an icy breeze and it doesn't help that I've been sitting here, still for almost an hour. Yeah, I wouldn't get too far running. I could fight… but I don't wanna end up in juvie. What else can I do? I hear him talking but I'm not paying attention to the words. "15," I mumble, interrupting him. "I'm 15."
He sighs slightly. "How about we go to the precinct?" For the first time since he's approached me, I look him in the eyes, quickly putting my hands to my sides, preparing myself to run or fight. He must notice because he immediately puts his hand up in defense. "Just to talk. You're not in trouble. Can we call your mom? Or dad?" He waits for me to answer but I don't respond. I just look at him. "Plus, it's a lot warmer than here." I look around. If I run, where would I go? I have nowhere to stay… Nowhere safe… I could go back to his… I visibly shudder at the thought. No, never, not after last time. I could stay in The Park… Maybe someone there would give me a blanket but I wouldn't sleep. You can't sleep there. They're all fucked up and you don't know what they'd do. Maybe if I go with him, stay quiet he won't put me in a home straight away. I can sleep in the station then disappear in the morning. I breathe out, nodding. I shakily stand up, pulling my backpack with me. None of us says anything, I just walk, following Eric, the cops behind us. I'm told to get in the back of the car first and I do. They all talk and I just look out the window, looking at everyone, some rushing around probably trying to get home, the others clearly tourists fascinated by Port Authority. Mostly the tourists notice me in the back of the cops car, some lingering round, probably hoping to get the real new York experience of seeing someone fighting a cop and bring arrested. I hate being starred at. It reminds me of those adoption picnics.
I'm startled by the car doors opening. The cold breeze alerts me that the door next to me is also open. I move further away as Eric slides in beside me. He doesn't start talking until the car starts to move. "What's your name?" I don't respond. "Can you at least tell me where your from? Did you get a train here? Bus? Walk? If you talk to me, I can help you. If your running from home, I can help. But if you don't help me, it's going to make things a lot harder for you and me." I roll my eyes. They always make false promises. Every time I've moved, they told me 'this will be a good place for you' or 'this could be your forever home' but it never is. Something always happens and then peoples true colors are shown. I know what people are like, all they do is hurt kids like me. "I've met a lot of kids like you, kids who have been hurt by their biological parents… or in the system," I turn slightly to look at him. "I'm not promising it's going to be okay but I want to help and I'm going to do everything I can… But it would be easier if I at least had something to call you?" His voice is soft, warm.
I'm looking at him, using my superpower. He's telling the truth. For once, someone wants to help. He wants to help but I don't think he can. I look at him and I realize that I'm here again… Just like a few years ago, I'm being taken to the precinct and I have to give a name. The only differences are back then, I was telling that cop, now I'm telling a social worker… and I thought for sure that by this point in my life, I'd be happy, that I wouldn't still be that little duckling. "Emma." I look at him in the eye for the second time tonight. "My name is Emma."