A Love Story - 1. Chapter 1 - Making Tracks

Sixteen-year-old Troy Benjamin Hensley stood on the side of the two-lane blacktop maybe four miles south of the mental health treatment facility where he’d been sent to after the closing of the foster home in Warnton, New York. He was hoping for a ride as far as the interstate where he could catch another ride to either Boston or New York, but he knew his chances were slim considering he was black. Of course, back up the road them counselors and head doctors all said he was white, but every time he looked in a mirror a black boy looked back at him; and, when he looked at his skin, he was that dark chocolatey brown of an African-American. Even his cock was the appropriate size. He was black through and through and nobody was going to tell him different.

The sound of a car horn broke his reverie and he looked up to see an old VW van with a busted headlight slowing down behind him. He stepped further away from the road as the van came to a stop. The white middle-aged driver leaned over and rolled down the passenger window and said, “Where you going, boy?”

“South to innerstate,” Troy said.

“What a coincidence so am I. Hop in and I’ll give you the ride of your life.”

Troy picked up his backpack and opened the door. He saw a box of rubbers on the seat and was tempted to close the door and run away.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll toss them in the back, for now,” the driver said. “You runnin’ away from home or did you escape from the nut farm up the road?”

“Runnin’ away,” Troy said.

“Name’s Dick; what’s your handle?”

“Troy.”

“Troy, what a pretty name. Don’t think I’ve ever fucked a Troy before, but there’s always a first time.”

“Maybe, I best get out,” Troy stammered.

“Nah, just kiddin’ boy. You’re too pretty to rape.”

Troy stared out the windshield not wanting to look over at this obvious pervert. What was he going to do? The van was already back on the road and quickly speeding up. If he jumped now, he’d surely be busted up and this guy would just stop and put him back in the van. There was no telling what would happen to him then.

“You kinda a quiet boy; ain’t you?” Dick asked.

“Yes, suh,” Troy said.

“And, from the South, too. Where you hail from?”

“Jackson, Miss’sippi.”

“Jackson, hmm, don’t think I’ve ever been there. Been to Jackson, Tennessee. Nice town, lots of black boys down there who appreciate a big dick up their tight asses.”

“That why you pick me up?” Troy said, still staring straight ahead.

“You? What are you some kind of nut? You’re whiter than a tub of vanilla ice cream. Maybe, I’ll call you Vanilla. Yeah, Vanilla, not that chocolatey brown stuff, though might get some of that on my cock if I ride you bareback.”

Troy looked over at Dick and the man just smiled. The man was gaunt like he hadn’t eaten well in a long time. There was a long bulge down the inner side of his left thigh. That only meant one thing to Troy. He’d gotten himself into a pickle and the first chance he got he was going to run away.

They continued down the road past farms and McMansions behind iron gates set in high chain-link fencing. Some of the homes were so ostentatious as to have trees shielding the residences from the road. Troy wondered what kind of people lived in those houses. Uppity whites he supposed. Not like that Mr. Johnson who took him in for what turned out to be only one night. He wondered what happened to the other boys, especially Erik. He liked Erik even though he was blind. The van turned left on to a dirt road.

“Have to make a slight detour here,” Dick said. “Don’t worry, Vanilla, my wife’ll feed you good and maybe I’ll give you some cherry vodka before we go back to the bedroom and have our fun. Maybe, Liz’ll suck your lily-white cock if you can get it up when my cock slides into your tight teenage ass.”

Troy was in shock, it was as simple as that. This wasn’t going to turn out okay if he didn’t get away from this man, he was sure of that. The van turned a tight corner in the trees and came out into an open area where there was a singlewide mobile home sitting up on concrete blocks. A rusty green unrecognizable car sat beside the front steps. A dog barked, but Troy couldn’t see it.

“Well, here we are, Vanilla,” Dick said. He reached down under his seat and brought up the biggest pistol Troy had ever seen. “Now, get yourself out and no funny stuff or I’ll splatter your brains all over my front yard.”

Troy slowly opened his door, picked up his backpack, slipped out, and started to run. He ran faster than he believed he could. He heard a bang, but he kept running heading for the trees. He felt a sharp pain in his right arm and heard a bang, but he kept running in between two tall trees. He weaved around the next one and the next. And, he kept running as hard as he could, though his arm began to ache. He came to a barbed wire fence and he ran along it to his right toward another stand of trees. He weaved through them until he came to a chain-link fence and he ran along it into another stand of trees. Then, totally unexpectedly, he ran out onto a vast expanse of mown grass. He stopped for a moment and then started to run across the grass toward a stand trees. He ran through them and out onto this small circle of grass that was closely cut to the ground and had a little red flag attached to a six-foot pole stuck in it. He stopped for a second, turned, and bumped into a man. He fell down, rolled onto his back, and stared up into the sun. A shadow fell over his face.

“Hey, boy, who shot you?” a voice asked. “Hey, Ernie, get over here, we’ve got a wounded boy here.”

“No, you gots to let me go … please … he’ll come here and kill me,” Troy panted. He tried to get up, but a pain shot through his right arm and he fell back onto the grass.

“Whatta we got?” another voice asked. “Oh, it’s only a boy. Who shot you son?”

“He said he was Dick. He … he live in trailer shack … back there … where I come from.”

“Oh, him,” the first voice said. “I’ll call 9-1-1 and get the sheriff out here and an aid car.”

“I gotta get away.”

“You just lay right there. You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore,” the second voice said as a big black man sat down beside Troy. “Let’s get a look at that arm. This might hurt, but I got to pull off your jacket. I’ll go slow so it doesn’t hurt much.”

“Go fast, please,” Troy said.

“Okay, here we go.”

“Aahh!” Troy screamed as pain shot through his arm.

“That’s it; now, your shirt.”

“Aahh!” Troy screamed, again.

“Let’s see, not too much blood, must have missed the artery. Looks like it went straight through; wouldn’t be surprised if the bone is busted, though. Name’s Ernie, rather Ernest Garrett Wilson, played football for a time, defensive tackle was my position. Never played in the Super Bowl or any other playoff game. Just made enough bucks to sock away for rainy days. Coach over there, now he made more money than me, but he likes it when I come up here from Brooklyn. Got a small Southern-style restaurant, but my wife and my mother are willing to take care of it when Coach wants me to let him win at golf on his little golf course here. What’s your name?”

“Troy, Troy Benjamin Hensley.”

“You any relation to the Hensley’s down Arkansas way?”

“Don’ think so. I from Miss’sippi, Jackson.”

“How’d you come to make the acquaintance of that pervert?”

“I hitchin’ and he pick me up.”

“Not too smart for a good-looking boy like you. Where, or should we say who, are you running from?”

“I don’ want to say or you send me back. You can’ send me back, there. They think I white.”

“Oh, that’s an interesting assumption. I would’ve never thought of that myself.”

“You sayin’ I ain’ black?”

“No, but I not saying you’re white, either. Frankly, my boy, I’d say you’re more Nordic, if anything.”

“I never heard blacks called Nordic.”

“That’s because you’re a rare breed of animal.”

“How’s our victim?” the first voice asked.

“Okay, considering,” Ernie said. “I want to go to the hospital with him. He needs protection.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“Troy, you stay here, Coach and I are going over there and talk for a bit.”

After a while, Ernie came back and sat down beside Troy. He said, “Coach is going to make a few calls.”

“He goin’ call them, isn’ he?”

“No, not them; he’s calling his lawyer. You need protection right now. We got that pervert to consider, plus we have to make certain you’re sent to the right hospital.”

“Where?”

“New York, Manhattan to be exact. I’ll be going with you so that you receive the right care. You black Scandinavians are special people and some people might not give you the care you need because of your minority status.”

“Oh, thank you. Finally, somebody know I black.”

* * *

Troy woke up and looked around in the dim light. First thing he noticed was his right arm being in a cast from his shoulder to his wrist. It was bent at his elbow and his forearm was resting across his stomach. He looked at his left arm and saw one of those IV thingies he’d seen on TV standing beside him and the tube was sticking in his forearm. Finally, he noticed he wasn’t wearing anything except one of those hospital gowns that tied in the back. But, most of all, he felt he had to pee real bad and suspected he couldn’t get out of bed without tearing that IV tube out of his arm and possibly hurting his right arm; and, then he saw there was something in his left hand that had a pushbutton on it. He pushed it and waited.

His door opened and someone he couldn’t see clearly entered the room and said, “Oh, good, you’re awake. What do you need?”

“Gots to pee,” Troy said.

“Ah, yes, I heard about you, but didn’t believe it.”

“Please, I gots to pee.”

“No worry there, son, you’ve been cathed. Your urine is running out the tube and collecting in the bag, but let me check it. No, not full, yet.”

“What you mean cathed?”

“A tube was inserted in your penis and threaded up your urethra to your bladder. You’ve been plumbed, son.”

“When you gonna take it out so’s I can pee normal like?”

“Probably in the morning when the doctor exams you. Thirsty? Hungry?”

“Yeah, both.”

“Good boy, by the way my name’s Aleena. You may call me Nurse Aleena.”

“You black?”

“No, Troy, I’m Pakistani.”

“Oh.”

“Have a problem?”

“No, my daddy Muslim.”

“And, you’re not?”

“No, Momma Christian, Bap’ist I think. We didn’ go much af’er she go on smack.”

“That’s a shame. Okay, I’ll be back in a little bit with something to drink and eat. Oh, do you want the TV on?”

“Sure, that be nice.”

The nurse left and Troy lay back on his pillows satisfied Nurse Aleena accepted him as being black. He wondered what was to become of him. He didn’t even know where he was. He remembered that Ernie person saying he would be going down to a New York City hospital, but did that actually happen? As it stood, he really didn’t know where he was. He shut his eyes and thought of nothing.

In a short while, Nurse Aleena came back into the room holding a tray and said, “Troy, are you awake?”

“Sure, jus’ chillin’. Where I be?”

“Troy, your diction is something else. We’re definitely going to have to get you in a good school so you can learn how to talk or you’re never going to amount to anything. Here’s your snack. Wait while I raise you up a bit, don’t want you choking.”

Troy felt the bed behind his back rise until he was, more or less, in a sitting position. The nurse moved a wheeled stand over to the bed and as she pushed it up against the bed, the stand stretched out across the bed like a table. She put the tray on the table.

“Okay, Troy, you’ve got some apple juice and a small bowl of red Jello; I don’t know what the flavor is, but I do know the color.”

“Where I be?”

“In the hospital.”

“Yes, but where?”

“Oh, sorry, you’re in Memorial St. Timothy.”

“Where?”

“Manhattan, East Village. We’re small and cater to a select clientele.”

“Oh, rich, white, uppity people.”

“You might say that, but we do have other people who come here. Like you; you’re the first black Scandinavian we’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, but I poor. That rich, white, uppity man sent me here.”

“You definitely have a problem and I hope you find someone to help you or you’re definitely not going to make it in this town.”

“I not ’fraid. I just find me some Bloods or Crips and I be okay.”

“Oh, Troy, you have no idea about what goes on in this city. You poor little lost boy.”

* * *

Troy had finished with his breakfast and emptied his bladder into the urinal that hung beside his bed when a tall, slender, black man walked into his room. The man took the chair over by the far wall and placed it at the foot of the right side of Troy’s bed. He sat down, took out a computerized tablet, and said, “Good morning, Troy, how are you doing today?”

“Okay.”

“Good, I am Dr. Brickette; I’d like to talk to you for a while if you don’t mind.”

“’bout what?”

“Oh, that depends on what you want to talk about.”

“What kinda doc are you?”

“I’m a psychiatrist.”

“You goin’ to say I not black.”

“No, I’m not, but I want to know when you realized you were black.”

“I was born black.”

“Troy, I want you to think back as far as you can go and describe the members of your family.”

“I was eight when my Momma and Daddy moved to New York so Daddy could get a job with the railroad. He was field hand.”

“Field hand?”

“You know, he did shit for a white man.”

“Try thinking back further. What is your farthest memory of being in your family.”

Troy sat in his bed trying to think back, but he kept running into that day when he, Momma, and Daddy got into Daddy’s old Chevy and started north. He shut his eyes and suddenly his mind went blank and he lost all awareness.

“Troy, can you think of a time earlier in your life?” Dr. Brickette asked.

“I’m Benny, my newest Daddy called me T-Bone because my first name begins with a T and my middle name begins with a B. He’s in prison now ’cause he shot and gutted Momma’s smack dealer.”

“Benny, how old are you?”

“That’s a silly question. I’m sixteen, same as Troy. He thinks he’s black. He’s stupid.”

“What happened before you left Mississippi?”

“Momma spanked me before we went away. I had come home from Uncle Joe Bob’s farm over near Meridian and Cousin James Alexander touched me. Do I have to say?”

“No, Benny, you don’t have to say.”

“Momma said that James Alexander was a good boy and he’d never do such a despicable thing to me. She said I was the spawn of the Devil that raped her when she was in college and she spanked me until my bottom started to bleed. Daddy took me to the doctor and Momma got in trouble. I think that was one of the reasons we came north.”

“Benny, can you think far back when you were a little boy? Can you tell me how it was for you and your family?”

The boy in the bed shut his eyes and the strain showed in his face. Then his countenance softened and he spoke, “Nah, docta’ Brickette, I can’ think back ’fore I be eight.”

“Troy do you know Benny?” Dr. Brickette asked.

“Who?”

“He’s a little boy you might have met when you were younger.”

“Nope, don’ know no Benny.”

“Okay, Troy, I think this is sufficient for today. We’ll meet again before you leave the hospital.”

“Whatever,” Troy said as he watched the doctor put the chair back where it belonged.

Troy leaned over on his left side and pulled up the bag that held his urinal. They’d taken out the cath earlier in the day and he was now responsible for his own bladder requirements. He pushed down his blankets and pulled up his gown. Unexpectedly, the door opened and that Ernie person from the golf course came in.

“Hey, I peein’ here,” Troy said.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll be back,” Ernie said before going back out into the hall.

Troy finished his job and put the urinal back in the bag that hung from the hook on the bed. He pushed the call button and waited. Soon, a nurse came in and asked, “Yes, what do you need?”

“My pee bucket is full,” Troy said.

“Oh, yes, how quaint, never heard it called that,” the nurse said. “Need anything else?”

“I could do with a shit if you don’ mind.”

“Let me check your chart. Ah, yes, you can get up. Okay, turn around and let your legs dangle from the bed for a few minutes. If you feel faint, just lay onto your side.”

“I ain’ goin’ faint. I ain’ no sissy.”

“No, I suppose not.”

The door opened and Ernie came back in. He asked, “Is there anything I can do to help the boy?”

“Are you family?” the nurse asked.

“That’s the problem, he doesn’t have a family. For the time being, I’m all he’s got between a psych ward and the streets.”

“Okay, he said he needs to void and I was going to help him into the toilet to do it.”

“I can do that, if you don’t mind.”

“No, no, go right ahead; I’ll just take this urinal and bring back an empty one,” the nurse said. She took the bag off the bedrail and left the room.

“Okay, Troy, ready to get up?” Ernie asked.

“Sure,” Troy said as he pushed himself off the bed and stood on the cold floor. An air of faintness swept across his mind causing him to lean back to the bed.

“Steady there, boy, let me help,” Ernie said.

“Sure, sure, like tha’s goin’ to happen.”

Ernie took hold of the boy and draped the boy’s left arm across his shoulders. They slowly walked toward the toilet and when they came to the door, Ernie opened it.

“Okay, there’s a call chain if you need a nurse; otherwise, take care of your business and I’ll be outside the door.”

Troy sat down and emptied his mind as his body went about its needs. He didn’t notice that he passed out and Benny’s personality awakened. He took stock of his situation and finished his job. He slowly stood up and opened the door. A large black man he’d never seen before stood before him.

“Who are you?” Benny asked.

“I’m Ernie; who are you?”

“Oh, you’re Troy’s friend. I’m Benny.”

Ernie looked at the boy and suddenly realized he was into something beyond his understanding, but he also realized that this boy needed help and he had already committed himself to this project. That Troy had at least one alternate personality was a concern, but he felt that if he could get this boy the right kind of psychiatric care there was hope Troy or Benny would turn out okay.

“Benny, how would you like to come and live with me and my wife and our kids?” Ernie asked as he escorted the boy back to his bed. “We live in a townhouse over in Park Slope. There’s plenty of room and you’ll have a room all to yourself.”

“Sure, but you’ll have to ask Troy; he might not want to.”

“Does Troy tell you how things are going to be?”

“No, he just takes over when things get stressful or, sometimes, when he just wants to come back.”

“Are you aware you were shot?”

“Is that what’s wrong with my arm?”

“Yes, you were running from a child molester.”

“That’d be Troy. He’s like that. Always doing stressful things. Sir, I’d like to come and live with you, but you have to understand Troy probably won’t want to.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to work on that. Have you met with a psychiatrist, yet?”

“Is that what that doctor was? I don’t think Troy likes him.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Oh, yes, I think it’s Dr. Briquette; you know like those black things they put in barbecues to cook burgers and sausages. Why do you want to know?”

“I think it’ll be important if I introduce myself.”

“Oh, okay. If you don’t mind, I’m kind of tired now.”

“Sure thing, Benny, maybe I’ll see you when I come again.”

“That’d be up to Troy, sir.”

“Goodbye, Benny.”

“Goodbye, sir.”

Benny lay back on his pillows and dropped into peaceful slumber. Ernie walked out and checked at the desk as to the identity of the psychiatrist. He called the doctor’s office and made an appointment to meet with him. Then he asked no one in particular, “Does anyone here know who I call to become a foster father?”

“Yes, one moment,” a nurse on the other side of the station said. “Oh, here it is. Let me write it down for you.”

“Thank you.”