Charles

Mom always told me that if anyone touched me where they shouldn't, I should tell her. So I did. She confronted her boyfriend, Don, who naturally denied everything. I could hear them fighting and he was threatening to leave her and take all their drugs with him. Mom never knew where Don got the drugs and she never got them herself. Without Don, she was afraid she'd have no drugs.

Mom came into my room and started yelling at me. She told me I was selfish and that I couldn't stand the fact that she'd found a man to love and had a life that didn't include me. Then she told me how I'd ruined her teenage years.

I couldn't believe this was the same woman who had nurtured me for eleven years. The last year had been a complete nightmare thanks to Don, and I had damn near been raped. When she and Don passed out from their crash, I packed a backpack and walked right out the front door. I took fifty dollars out of Mom's purse on my way. I didn't leave a note or anything. I just left.

I never knew my dad, although mom described him as a "good-looking white kid with way too much charisma." When his parents found out he had gotten my mom pregnant, they moved out of town, never to be heard from again. So it was just Mom and me for the first eleven years. We were good together and took good care of each other.

She was young when she had me, just seventeen. She greatly disappointed her parents by getting pregnant in her senior year. Mom is from a mixed racial background. Her mom was of mixed race and her dad was African American. This combination made for a very beautiful daughter—my mom, Marcia. Her parents were determined she would be the first in the family to go to college and really make something of herself. When she got pregnant, they were so disappointed, they pretty much disowned her. Mom had been trying to make it on her own for a long time, and we were doing pretty good.

Mom met Don when I was eleven. Don was what I would describe as white trash. I'd have preferred her to date within the black community. Even though I was of mixed race, I identified as black because that's what people saw when they looked at me. I had light-brown skin, dark brown eyes, and curly black hair that I kept cut very short. Maybe a black man would have treated me with more respect. Then again, maybe not. As soon as she started dating Don, I noticed a change in her. I had no idea what was causing her weird mood swings. She suddenly had very little interest in anything I was doing. I only managed to stay in sports thanks to my coaches coming to pick me up and drop me back off. I spent more and more time on my own, in my room, and I missed her.

One night, when she and Don thought I was sleeping, I walked into the kitchen to get some water and stopped in the doorway. They never saw me, but I saw them. They had needles out on the table along with some other things I'd never seen. I didn't know exactly what they were doing, but I knew it was drugs. Her only concern became getting high. She still worked, but as soon as she and Don got home, they got high. I stayed out of Don's way as much as possible. But then he moved in. And that's when it got really bad.

Mom was working late one night and Don was wasted. Later that night, he came into my room while I was sleeping. Don was a big guy, and I'm a small kid. He took off his clothes, got in bed with me, and started rubbing my back. I assumed he was so stoned he thought I was Mom. I was scared to death but just lay there without saying anything. When Mom came home and yelled up the stairs, he quickly got up, put on his clothes, and left. I didn't say anything to mom.

Nothing else happened for a month, and then Mom worked late again. Don came into my room and there was no doubt it was me he wanted. I was sound asleep and by the time I woke up, it was almost too late. He nearly had my pants off. It was so awful, it literally made me sick. I threw up, thank God, which stopped him in his tracks.

Now, I was on the run. I knew I had to get far away from Harrisonburg, Virginia. I walked to the highway and hitched a ride from a trucker. I had never hitch hiked before and I was terrified. The driver was a big, burly man but had a nice smile. I just wanted to disappear. I got up in the truck, curled up in a ball, and fell asleep. When he stopped for gas, we were in Martinsburg, West Virginia.

"I think I'll get off here," I said. "Thanks for the ride."

"Not so fast. I think you owe me something for this ride, don't you?"

"I only have fifty dollars to my name. How much do I owe you?" I couldn't stand to think I'd have to give up the only money I had.

"Well, maybe we can do a little trade deal." As he said the words, a feeling of disgust washed over me.

"Trade what?" I asked, stalling for time.

"How about a little personal favor, if you get my drift?" He unzipped his pants.

"No way, man. Take the fifty dollars."

"I don't want the money. If you want out of the truck, you'll do what I say."

"Screw you, man. It ain't happening," I protested with more bravery than I felt.

He lunged at me. "Did you not hear me?" he yelled.

"No!" I reached for the door handle and he grabbed my wrist.

"Don't screw with me, boy."

"I just ran away from home because of a guy like you. I'm not doing it. I'd rather you just kill me," I said, and I meant it.

"Shit. Just get out of the truck. Now!" he demanded. I grabbed my backpack and ran as fast as my feet would carry me.

It was late, it was chilly, and I was scared, hungry, and alone. I didn't want to spend the little money I had, so I went without eating. I started to wonder how long I'd have to go without food. I knew there were shelters for homeless people, but at my age, I'd either get sent back home or to some kind of orphanage.

I remember reading a story about how churches used to keep their doors open at night so people could come in and sleep. I doubted they did that anymore; even churches had to worry about people robbing them. But it was worth a try. I found a church after and tried the doors. No luck. The church was locked up tight.

It did have an alcove that was secluded, blocked the wind, and seemed as safe a place as any. I wrapped my coat tighter around me, put my backpack under my head, curled up and finally fell into an exhausted sleep. I got up the next morning before anyone arrived at the church and started walking around town. I was so hungry and thirsty I could hardly think. I wasn't desperate enough to start rummaging through trashcans but I was thinking about it.

I stopped at a McDonalds, just smelling the food. A woman walked past me and I got up the courage to say something. I wasn't sure she would respond to a kid begging for food, but I had to give it a try.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes? May I help you?"

"I really hate to ask this, but I forgot my lunch money today," I lied, "and I'd really like to take something to school to eat." She looked at me skeptically, but seemed appeased when she glanced to the backpack I had on.

"Sure, I can get you something. What would you like?" I didn't want to spend too much of her money.

"I don't need anything much."

"Okay. I'll be out in a minute." I didn't know if she really would come back or would duck out the other side. But ten minutes later she returned with an Egg McMuffin meal, with a hash brown and orange juice.

"Thank you so much!" I exclaimed, and it was all I could do not to tear into it in front of her.

"Do you have a home? Or somewhere to go?"

"Oh, yes ma'am. I'm on my way now." With that, I headed in the direction of the "School Crossing" sign. "Thanks again, ma'am!" I yelled behind me and she waved.

I walked past the school to a park and found a little gazebo to sit in. I opened my meal and ate as slowly as I possibly could. I finished half the sandwich and half the hash brown and carefully wrapped it back up to eat later. I drank the entire orange juice, though.

I had brought some books with me and sat down to read. I watched the kids get out of school around two-thirty and envied the normal life I assumed they would go home to. I missed my mom. I felt like a five-year-old, but it was true: I missed my mommy. I would have given anything to be back in my bed, but before he came into the picture. Back when Mom was still a good, loving mom.

I watched the high school students practice football for a while and then walked down to the mall. It was getting late, and I was getting worried about where I would go. I sat in the commons area on the couch and ate the rest of my breakfast. I stayed in the mall until it closed and then started walking in the direction of the church. I figured I was safe there last night, so I may as well stay there again. I could tell being homeless was going to be miserable. I wondered why any kid would run away from a perfectly good home. If mine had been at all decent, I'd have never left.

Just then I noticed someone following me. At first, I couldn't be sure, but then the footsteps got closer and closer. I tried to find a store or something to duck into, but there was nothing. Before I knew it, I was being grabbed from behind and knocked down to the ground. I tried to stand up but was kicked.

"Give me your money."

"I don't have any money!"

He roughed me up, kicking me and slapping me in the head. He went through my pockets. I was thankful I had thought to hide my money in my sock. He found nothing which made him mad, so as a parting blow, he punched me. I was turning away so he only caught my shoulder, but it still hurt like hell. He grumbled and kept walking. I figured he was high on something. I turned around and ran as far and fast as I could in the opposite direction.

As I was running, I saw a motel called Curt's Place with a sign advertising rooms for $19.99. With fifty dollars, I figured I could get a room for two nights and it would give me time to think. I didn't want to sleep outside again. It was scary, and I knew it was only a matter of time until I was discovered as a runaway, or worse, I was attacked again.

I went in and talked to the guy at the front desk.

"I need a room," I stated flatly.

"How old are you kid?"

"Twelve."

"I can't rent to a twelve year old … runaway?" I nodded. "Go home."

"Easier said than done. Please, sir, let me have a room for the night."

"Can't do it. Go home," he said, and with that turned away. I went outside and sat down on the stoop under the sign and cried.

I probably sat there for a good hour when a guy came up to me. I wiped my tears and tried to look strong.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing," I replied.

"Why are you sitting here?"

"Nowhere else to go, and that jerk in there won't rent me a room. Says I'm too young."

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Twelve."

"First rule of being a kid on the streets: Lie about your age."

"Thanks for the tip. Too bad you weren't here an hour ago," I said with attitude.

"You've been sitting here for an hour?"

"Did you not hear me? Nowhere else to go, man. Listen, I slept in a church doorway last night, freezing my tail off and pretty darned scared, if I have to admit it. And I just got roughed up while a guy tried to rob me of what little money I had. I'm cold, tired, scared, and hungry. And that jerk in there told me to go home."

"That's actually some good advice," he said.

"You wouldn't say that if you lived in my home."

"Fair enough. Come on, you can bunk with me tonight," he offered.

"Forget it. I'm not having sex with you."

"What the heck, dude. Do I look like a pervert?" He looked like he wanted to smack me.

"No, but neither did the other two who tried," I said.

He looked at me for a minute before extended his hand. "I'm Josh. Also a homeless teen."

I stood up and shook his hand. "Charles."

"Come on, Charles" he said. I got up, grabbed my backpack and followed him.

The room wasn't bad considering how awful the motel looked. It had two beds, a microwave and a cooler

"How long have you lived here?" I asked.

"A little over a year," he answered. "I only have one good towel, so use the cheap hotel ones. Grab a shower if you want."

I looked at him, and he could read my mind. I wasn't about to get naked in front of this guy.

"Lock the bathroom door. Geez. I'm not coming in. In fact I'm going up to the office to talk to Curt, 'the jerk' as you call him. The room's yours." And with that, he left.

I took the opportunity to go into the bathroom and take a hot shower. I used his shampoo and soap, and it felt good to get clean after the disgusting things I'd been through that day. I swore to myself that I'd kill the next guy who tried to touch me.

I brushed my teeth, threw on a t-shirt, and crawled into one of the beds. Considering I thought I'd have to sleep on the ground, I felt this was a big score.

A half hour later, Josh returned.

"I talked to Curt and told him you were staying here tonight. He's cool enough. Try to get some sleep, and we'll figure out what to do in the morning." He went into the bathroom, took a shower, brushed his teeth, and came out and climbed into the other bed. He was asleep in mere minutes. When I was sure he was sleeping, I relaxed and allowed myself to fall asleep.

I woke up the next morning to the smell of breakfast. For a minute, I thought I was back home with Mom, before Don, before drugs, when she used to make me breakfast. I opened my eyes and saw Josh microwaving some breakfast sandwiches. He poured two cups of OJ and set up the little corner table.

"Wake up, Charles. Breakfast's on." I got out of bed and walked to the table.

"So, what's your story?" he asked as he slipped a breakfast sandwich onto a plate and handed it to me.

"My story?"

"No one runs away from a good family. If they do, they're stupid. So you're either stupid or you've got a story. So what is it? I don't need all of it. Just give me the basics."

I paused, trying to figure out how to sum it all up. "I had a great mom until a year ago. She started dating a guy, Don, and he got her hooked on drugs. She became this person I didn't know. She never spent any time with me and was always high and with him."

"Drugs suck but why would you risk your life to be on the streets just because your mom was high."

"'Cause Don decided sex with me might be more fun than sex with my mom," I blurted. "Happy?"

Josh paused. "Shit. Sorry, man. That sucks. I mean, that really sucks. Did you tell your mom?"

"Yeah, and she accused me of lying. When they got high and passed out, I left."

"When was that?" he asked.

"Two days ago."

"Damn. I'd have left, too. I actually left for less than that. What's your plan? You have family anywhere?"

"Nope. I had Mom. That was it. I have no plan. After two encounters with that scum, I figured he'd rape me the next time, so I left before he had the opportunity."

"All right, I get it. You can't go home. You're welcome to bunk with me until you figure it out."

"Seriously? You'd let me do that?"

"I was in your shoes a little over a year ago. Curt helped me out by letting me live here. The least I can do is help you. Hell, you're a kid compared to me," Josh said.

"I definitely don't feel like a kid," I said. "I feel like I've aged a decade this past year."

"I hear ya," he replied.

We finished breakfast, and he said he had some work to do. I asked what he did, but he told me rule number two of living on the streets is that I never ask any homeless kid how they make a living.

I watched TV, read some of the magazines Josh had laying around, and went outside and took a walk. As I came back to the motel Curt yelled out to me.

"Josh vouched for you, so I'm not going to run you out," the man said.

"Thanks."

"You have absolutely nowhere you can go?" he asked.

"Trust me, if I did, I'd be there," I responded.

"Okay. Just stick with Josh. He's a good guy, and he'll help you out. You can trust him."

"Thanks, man. I need someone I can trust right now," I admitted. I went back to the room and waited for Josh. He came back that afternoon around three o'clock.

"I need to find a way to make some money," I said. "Do kids still get paper routes?" I asked.

"I don't know, but let's find out." We looked up the address of The Martinsburg Journal, and saw that it was close to the motel so we walked to their office.

"I'll wait out here." Josh said, as I walked in.

"May I help you?" the lady behind the desk asked.

"Do you have a paper route?" I asked.

"I don't. I'm sorry. Are you looking for a job?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How old are you?" she asked.

I figured there was no use lying this time, so I just came out with it: "Twelve."

"Hmm, that limits things, huh? You know what might be good for you? I think I saw in the classifieds that an elderly woman is looking for someone to mow her lawn once a week. I think she said she'd pay twenty-five dollars a week. It's not much, but it's something. Wait a minute while I get the paper." She went in the next room and grabbed a paper. When she came back, she opened the paper to the classifieds section and jotted down the name and number of the woman.

"Thank you," I said as she handed me the number. "May I use your phone?"

"Sure." She put the phone on the counter and I dialed the number. I spoke to the woman and told her I'd like to mow her lawn, and she gave me the address and told me to stop by. I thanked the woman at the paper and walked outside to where Josh was waiting. He looked at the address, nodded in recognition, and led me to the woman's house.

The house was two-stories high with a big wrap around porch. It looked older but well taken care of. As I stood on the porch, I could feel a wave of anxiety come over me: What if she had already found someone to mow the lawn? I needed this job more than anything. The woman who opened the door looked like she was in her seventies and immediately I could tell she was very nice. She introduced herself as Ms. Minnie, said she was relieved that someone finally responded to the ad, and agreed on the spot to let me come by the next day and mow her lawn. If I did a good job, she said, I could come by every week and mow it for twenty-five dollars a pop. Maybe she'd have friends she could tell about me, I thought. I figured I could mow a few lawns a week.

"She hired me to mow her lawn tomorrow," I told Josh, who had waited on the sidewalk. "Twenty-five dollars a week. I know it's not much, but I can buy my own food. I can't help with the rent, though."

"Don't worry about it. As long as you don't cost me money, we're good." We walked back to the motel. Josh made us some mac and cheese. We watched TV until late and fell asleep.

My job as a lawn boy started the next day. I showed up at Ms. Minnie's house, and she gave me the key to the shed. I took out the mower, checked the gas, started it up and spent the next two hours mowing her lawn. When I was finished she raved about what a good job I had done.

"I'd be happy to weed your gardens, too, ma'am," I told her hoping she'd pay me more.

"Well, they do need it, don't they?" she asked with a smile on her aged face. "I'll tell you what: You weed the gardens, and I'll pay you another ten dollars."

There were a lot of weeds, and it was worth a lot more than ten dollars, but I needed the money and had nothing else to do, so I agreed. Weeding took another two hours. Before I left, Ms. Minnie offered me cookies and iced tea, which were delicious. I left soon afterwards with money in my hand. As I was walking down the sidewalk, she yelled for me to come back.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?" she asked.

"Nothing. Why?"

"I have to go grocery shopping. The grocery store boys always help me load my car, but then I have to unload everything by myself when I get home, and it takes me many trips and I get very tired. I go shopping at ten. Meet me here at eleven and unload my car, and I'll pay you another ten dollars."

"Yes, ma'am!" I replied with enthusiasm I hadn't felt for I didn't know how long. "I will see you tomorrow." She smiled and I walked back to the motel with a skip in my step.

I told Josh all about it when he returned from wherever he had been. He was clearly impressed.

"Thirty-five dollars for your first day, huh? Not bad!"

"And I'm going back tomorrow to unload her groceries for another ten," I said proudly.

"Good for you, man. Like I said, you pay your own way, and you're welcome to stay as long as you want."

Every week Ms. Minnie had something different for me to do. I think she was just lonely and was finding reasons for me to come over every couple of days. She never had any visitors and spent all her time alone. She'd make me lunch and it was always something really good. Lunch was her big meal of the day, she said, so she'd splurge. We had tacos, spaghetti, stuffed peppers, and without fail, freshly baked cookies. I always had fun at her house. Maybe life would turn out okay after all.