William Walter Williams - 6. A Chance for Normalcy - Part 2

“Good afternoon Will, I’m Dr. Quinton; how are you doing?” he asked.

Will opened his eyes and looked up into the face or as much of the face that wasn’t covered with the bushy black beard and mustache that took up most of it. The eyes were a warm brown under black eyelashes. The smile was welcoming.

“I feel a little woozy,” Will said as he looked around the room. There were two of everything, except for the sink and medicine cabinet. He was confused because the room was different than the one he had previously been in. Was he still at Centerhaven? Had he been transferred to some other place?

“Dr. Strickland gave you a light sedative to facilitate your move.”

“Move?”

“You’re in Jaguar Cottage, now. It is a more secure residence here at Centerhaven.”

“Why?”

“Primarily because you passed out and a little because of the time you spent at Green Meadows. We don’t feel you received the kind of care you needed at that facility. Here in Jaguar you will be able to receive a level of treatment more conducive to your experiences as a child.”

“I have a roommate?”

“Yes; all residents of Jaguar are paired up with another teen in treatment. The only way you would be able to have a single room is if there wasn’t someone to occupy the other bed and you were in the latter stages of your treatment schedule; or, as is the case with a lot of our boys, there simply isn’t anyone available to take the other bed.”

“Who is my roommate?” Will asked as he looked over at the other bed. It was a little unkempt as if someone had been sleeping on top of the bedspread. He looked back into the doctor’s friendly eyes.

“His name is Reggie. He’s from the Bronx down in New York City. I’m sure he’ll tell you more about it as you two come to know each other.”

“I was there sometimes when I was younger. My trucker sometimes delivered groceries to Hunts Point and I’d be sent around to various other truckers who were there to deliver, too. I’d go into their sleepers and they fucked me. I was even screwed by some of the receivers and warehousemen. Do you know if Reggie is a top or a bottom?”

“Pardon?”

“Does he like to be fucked or does he prefer going the other way? I’d kind of like to know ’cause it will make it easier for us to live with each other.”

“Oh, dear; Will, we do not allow residents in Jaguar Cottage to have sex with each other.”

“How do you stop it?”

“See up there in the ceiling, that glassy object below the light fixture?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a camera. We monitor activity in each of the rooms.”

“So, the only sex I’m going to get here is in the john or shower?”

“Our toilet/shower rooms are single occupancy only and access is monitored.”

“But, I could beat off if I wanted, right?”

“I’m sure most of the other boys take care of their sexual urges in that way.”

“Good because wet dreams are so messy.”

The door opened and a black teen walked into the room. He stopped and stared at Dr. Quinton, and then turned his head to look at Will. He said, “Oh, sorry Dr. Quinton, should I come back later?”

“No, Reggie, I think I’ve covered most of the important parts,” Dr. Quinton said. He stood up and took the chair back to the desk where it belonged. “This is Will, your new roommate. If you would, could you show him around the cottage?”

“Sure thing Dr. Quinton. Hi, Will.”

“Hi.”

“I’ll be leaving now,” Dr. Quinton said. “Be on your best behavior Reggie and you’ll be moving up to Level One and be eligible to transfer to a different cottage.”

“Sure thing Dr. Quinton.”

The doctor paused at the door and looked strangely at Will who returned his stare wondering what the doctor was thinking. Was it possible he was worried how either boy might react to their different life stories and look for some way to engage in some form of forbidden sexual activity? Will could only wonder.

Reggie was a little under six-foot-tall, but had a muscular build similar to Will’s. His hair was trimmed close to his scalp and he had no sign of facial hair, except for a few scraggly hairs on his chin. His dark eyes seemed to have some mischievousness hidden in them that made Will wonder if something untoward was going to happen, if not today, then sometime in the near future. The boy was wearing a plain gray sweatshirt and sweatpants, with Walmart generic Chinese sneakers. From what Will could see he wasn’t wearing any socks.

Reggie went over to his bed and sat down. He stared at Will who slowly sat up and said, “So, what’s the deal here?”

“Oh, suppose depends on what you mean,” Reggie said. “We don’t get many whiteys here in Jaguar ’cause all of us have been prostitutes earlier in our lives down in The City and are having a bit of trouble living with that. I was on a school outing to Yankee Stadium for an afternoon ball game and when I went into a john this dude, he jabbed me in the arm with a needle and injected a drug in me. I was only nine years old, do you hear me? Nine years old is awfully young to be out on the streets suckin’ dicks when they ain’t bein’ shoved up your ass. You hear me? You ever pull a train? Do you know what it’s like being fucked by a man? Huh?”

“I was six when the pedophile who bought me first raped me and started me on heroin,” Will said. “He was a trucker and he travelled around the country and when he wasn’t fuckin’ me some other trucker or warehouse dude was doing that or making me suck their cock. Yeah, I know what it’s like to be fucked by a man.”

“What do you mean by bought you?”

“My parents sold me.”

“Shit! I ain’t never heard of that. They sold your ass to some dude so he could fuck you? Man, that’s cold. Do you ever talk to those people?”

“I don’t remember them. I was on heroin for so long and that guy put so many false memories in my mind, I can barely remember where I lived.”

“Okay, Will, you win the prize for today. How long were you out?”

“The doctors figured out I was about twelve when the state police and FBI rescued me, so that means I was being abused for nearly six years.”

“Come on, I’ll take you out and show you around our little home in the woods,” Reggie said as he stood up.

“Sure thing,” Will said as he stood, but a wave of faintness crossed his awareness and he immediately sat back down.

“What’s up?” Reggie asked.

“They gave me a sedative before they moved me over here from Lion Cottage,” Will said. “I guess it’s still kind of still affecting me.”

“Don’t stand so fast this time,” Reggie said.

“Okay,” Will said as he slowly got to his feet, which still felt kind of rubbery, but at least his head was no longer fuzzy. “Where can I get something to drink?”

“Down at reception there’s a soda machine.”

“I don’t know where they put my money.”

“It’s on your account, but the soda machine is free.”

They went out of the room and Will saw there was a toilet/shower room directly across the hall from their room and it had an electronic lock the same as on their door. They turned left and walked a short distance to where the hall ended and turned left down another hall. They came to a stairway that went down and Will saw the same sign he’d seen at Lion Cottage saying that Dining, Recreation, Computer Room, and Counseling were in the basement, but there was also another room down there; it was Exercise. They continued past the stairway and came to an open area where there was a low counter, a door to the outside, and a soda machine. Behind the counter a young Latino man sat reading a paperback.

“That’s Mr. Ricardo,” Reggie said. “He’s new here in Jaguar Cottage and thinks it’s cute that we call him mister.”

“One more and you’ll get a demerit, Reggie,” Mr. Ricardo said.

“Yes, sir.”

Will turned to the soda machine and looked at the selections. He asked, “How do I work this thing?”

“Just push the button next to your selection,” Reggie said.

Will pushed the generic cola selection and listened to the thunks and clunks as the can made its way down to the bin. He pulled out the can and opened it. He took a sip and was startled by a sharp metallic taste overlain by a sugary sweetness.

“This stuff is vile,” he said.

“Next time select the iced tea or the orange, they’re not so bad; the orange actually tastes almost like real oranges,” Reggie said. “Come on, let’s go downstairs and I’ll show you around.”

“Are there any girls here or is it just boys?” Will asked.

“Oh, we got lots of girls. In fact, most of the kids are girls. Us guys are definitely a minority and you being a white boy means you will be a minority all your own.”

“Great; why don’t we go outside and you can show me the grounds?” Will asked.

“Ain’t gonna happen; we’re locked in; we’re the baddies here at Centerhaven,” Reggie said. “Ain’t that right Mr. Ricardo?”

“That’s right. You go on and take the new boy downstairs and introduce him around.”

“Why can’t we leave?” Will asked. He felt that feeling he had earlier in Lion Cottage coming over him. It was as if all of his nerves were shooting signals into every muscle fiber in his body. “What are they afraid of? I didn’t do anything. Honest. I’m innocent. The, the FBI said there would be no prosecutions. I, I can’t be locked up. You, it’s, it’s …”

“Mr. Ricardo, Will’s freaking out,” Reggie said.

“Already on it. Stay with him; if it looks like he’s going to collapse, try to ease him down.”

“Sure thing, sir.”

“Who are you?” Will asked as he stared in to Reggie’s eyes. “I don’t know any blacks.”

“Calm down, dude; we already met.”

Dr. Quinton walked into the reception area with two other men. He asked, “Will, how are you?”

“Do I know you? I can’t get out. They’re keeping me here. I didn’t do it on purpose. He made me do it. Honest. Don’t you see? It wasn’t my fault I had to do all those men.”

“Come along son and we’ll go back to your room,” Dr. Quinton said. “Maybe you need a little nap.”

“Yes, a nap; don’t you have a quiet room?”

“No, we don’t do that here.”

“Oh, did you know my mother’s name is Barbara Knowles and my father’s name is Steven, with a “v”, not a “ph”? They sold me to a man who raped me. Do you remember his name? I don’t, but I know he lived in Schenectady. He’s dead. I’m rambling again, I know, but I can’t help it.”

“Did anybody get the name of those two parents?” Dr. Quinton asked.

“I did,” Reggie said.

“Go write them down so we can advise the authorities,” Dr. Quinton said.

“Sure thing, sir.” He turned and walked back to the reception desk. Ricardo handed him a Post-it^® and a pencil. Reggie took them and wrote down Bar; and then asked, “How do you spell Barbara?”

“B-a-r-b-a-r-a and the last name is probably spelled k-n-o-w-l-e-s; the husband’s name is spelled s-t-e-v-e-n,” Ricardo said.

“Hey, thanks.”

“He’s from White Trail, Washington,” one of the other men said when he came to the desk.

“You’re gonna have to write that down ’cause I can’t spell any of that,” Reggie said. He handed the paper and pencil to the man.

“Reggie, what grade are you in?” Ricardo asked.

“They put me in eighth grade ’cause I was on the streets so long I don’t remember shit from when I was first in school.”

“Who’s your advocate?”

“It was Rosemary, but with her leaving I don’t know who I’ll get.”

“What a coincidence. I’ve finished my internship here and I’m moving into a staff position. I’ll be picking up all of Rosemary’s patients.”

“No shit? You’re not shittin’ me, are you?”

“Reggie, I wouldn’t play you and you know that. No, you’re mine and the next time I hear you swearing you’ll be picking up demerits.”

“Oh, man, I’m gonna learn how to spell,” Reggie said.

Dr. Quinton walked into the reception area and said, “Reggie could you look in on Will now and then? We stripped the bed down to the sheet over the mattress. If he urinates, let Ricardo know and we’ll get him cleaned up.”

“Sure thing Dr. Quinton,” Reggie said. “From what Will told me he was doin’ dudes for a long time. No wonder he’s screwed up. But, you and the staff are going to make him better ain’t you. Ain’t that right sir?”

“We’ll do everything we can to see that Will is able to function as a normal human being when he leaves here.”

* * * *

Will was lying on a couch in an office in the basement of Jaguar Cottage. It was the third Saturday after he arrived at Centerhaven. The previous Wednesday he had gone into Binghamton to have the wires holding his jaw removed and was still getting used to being able to fully open his mouth. He was here in one of the sparse counseling offices to talk to Dr. Palmer, the other psychiatrist in Jaguar Cottage. She had long blonde hair that was drawn back into a long braid that reached her waist. She was very slender and her face was covered with skin graft scars from an accident she had in high school on a camping trip to Colorado when she had stood too close to the campfire and some fool had thrown gasoline on the fire. She had been lucky to live.

“Will, how are you doing this morning?” she asked.

“Okay, I guess.” It was hard to look over at her and not stare at the way the flames had burned away most of her ears.

“Do I make you feel nervous?”

“Yeah, kinda.” He felt embarrassed to say that, but it was true. “You know I’ve been seeing you for a couple times already, but you being burnt like that is unnerving.”

“I still met someone who could love me and help me makes babies even though my genitals were burned, too. What do you think of that?”

“Of what? You being able to have babies or being burned down there?”

“One or the other, or both.”

Will was at a loss as what to say. If he said he was bothered that she had been burned down there, what would she say to him? Would it make it sound like he was somehow perverted to think about a woman with burn scars down there? Having babies, well that was easy.

“Will? Having a problem deciding?”

“I’ve never met a woman who was burned and the thought of you being burned down there and still being able to have children is, well, is kinda weird to think about.”

“Do you know I’ve never met a white boy who was a prostitute as a child?”

“You haven’t?”

“No. I think you’re a rarity because you survived. Probably most white boys die by various means while they’re in the business. What do you think about that?”

“How do they die?”

“Oh, more than likely being murdered by their pimps or in some cases the pedophiles who keep them.”

“But, why would they do that? They bring them money. I made lots of money for that man who kept me.”

“I suppose the boys just get too old. A little boy is probably worth more than a teenager.”

Will thought about that and then he remembered being put off the truck in Sanitaria Springs that cold foggy morning. He could very well have been given an overdose of heroin and dumped beside an interstate while they were driving across some desolate area of the country as being given a chance to live. Yes, he had been very lucky indeed.

“Yes, I guess I am kinda lucky to be alive,” Will said. “He could’ve killed me, but he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t have it in him to kill a boy.”

“More than likely. By the way, the FBI found your parents.”

“They did? Where are they? Are you going to send me back to them? I don’t remember them, except that they sold me to that man who raped me. Don’t send me back; please don’t.”

“We’re not going to send you back there. Both of them are in prison for charges related to your disappearance and federal drug charges. You’ll be an adult before they get out of prison.”

“Good; I don’t want to see them ever again. They’re no longer my parents. I know who my parents are going to be.”

“I’m afraid I have bad news for on that score.”

“What happened? Are Syl and Artie okay?”

“There was an accident on the interstate. The state police say it looked like they slowed for traffic ahead of them and their car was rear-ended by a semitruck hauling some sort of flammable liquid. The explosion enveloped the tractor, their car, and the car in front of them. There were no survivors. I’m sorry.”

Will turned his head and stared at the ceiling. It was white and smooth. He couldn’t see any pattern in the troweling, if they had actually applied plaster before painting. He didn’t know what the material was and, frankly, didn’t care. He looked over at Dr. Palmer; she had a concerned look on what was left of her face. He thought how appropriate it was that it was she who was giving him this bit of news. She probably understood what Syl and Artie had gone through as the flames overcame them. He sighed and returned his attention to the ceiling directly above him. He didn’t know what to feel.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Palmer asked.

“I suppose; what happens now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I suppose there will come a time when I will reach some semblance of sanity and be eligible to leave this place. Where will I go?”

“That will be up to the Department of Social Services here in Broome County since that is where you are living now.”

“They were nice to me. I think I loved them. Now I’m at a loss as what comes next.”

“We’ll continue your counseling on a very intensive basis because you are living in Jaguar Cottage. You’ll continue with your schooling until you reach Level One and be eligible for an evaluation by the family court to attend high school in Sanitaria Springs. And, you’ll continue living here, with us.”

“Whatever you think is right,” Will said as he looked up at the ceiling. His eyes kept trying to make sense of what he could now see of faint patterns in the plaster. He was sure it wasn’t intentional, but there wasn’t a definite pattern to the trowel marks that smoothed out the plaster. He thought of Reggie and the other black and Latino boys, black and Latina girls, and the few white girls who looked down on him because he was white and supposedly had been a prostitute, too. He was subjected to ridicule on a daily basis. Every time he tried to fight back at their taunts he’d receive demerits and increasingly severe levels of restrictions on his freedom inside the cottage.

* * * *

Will had been at Centerhaven for four and a half months when he woke one Sunday morning. There was an idea in his mind that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. He knew something was going to happen, but he didn’t know what it was. He looked over at the other bed where a boy named Jashawn was still sleeping. The boy had a disagreeable attitude that Will found to be disturbing. It was the same old story. He was white and the other residents of Jaguar Cottage were either white females, Latino boys or girls, or black boys or girls. Will was still the only white boy and few of the residents believed that he could’ve been a prostitute. It simply was too improbable to consider. Especially to Jashawn. Frankly, Will didn’t give a crap about how Jashawn felt.

He got out of bed and got some clean boxers out of the dresser. He left the room and inserted his door key in the toilet/shower room door slot. After the light bar turned green he pulled out the keycard and opened the door. He went in, slipped off his boxers, turned on the shower, and after the temp stabilized he stepped under the water. The idea that something was going to happen kept going through his mind, but he still couldn’t put anything of substance together to figure out what was going to occur. After soaping his body and paying extra attention to his raging hard-on, he rinsed off, and stepped out from under the water. He dried off, drained his bladder, put on the clean boxers, and stepped out of the toilet/shower room. Jashawn was standing there with a sour look on his face.

“You certainly took your time, whitey,” he said.

“Maybe, you should’ve gotten up earlier,” Will said.

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, well, many have, but not you,” Will said as he walked around the other boy.

“You have no idea what it’s like to have a cock in your white ass,” Jashawn said.

“You have no idea what it’s like to have a real black man’s cock up your ass,” Will said and at that moment he knew what he was going to do today. He pushed Jashawn out of the way and went into their bedroom.

After eating breakfast, Will put his disposables in the trash and his tray on the dishwasher’s counter. He looked around the cafeteria and walked back behind the serving area, trying to stay out of sight of the workers who were putting together trays for the residents who had yet to come down to eat their breakfasts. Soon, he was out on the loading dock where the truck from the dining service contractor delivered their meals. He looked around and then climbed up a ladder that was meant to be a fire escape. He paused on the concrete slab at the top and then walked out into the woods.

He walked for an unknown amount of time or distance and eventually came to a chain-link fence topped with two rows of barbed wire. He looked at the fence and began to walk along it until he came to a locked gate that didn’t have barbed wire over it. He climbed over and walked off through the forest until he came to a three strand barbed wire fence, which he walked along until he came to a road. He didn’t know where he was other than being outside of Centerhaven. He went off south along the road without any idea of where he was going. The last thing on his mind was a plan of where all of this was going.

After a couple miles he came to the expressway, but there wasn’t an over or underpass so he continued on the road he was following until he came to an intersection that had a road that went under the interstate. He turned and followed that road until he came to a vaguely familiar intersection. He stood there as memories slowly came into his awareness of when that trucker who abused him and prostituted him to other truckers had let him out of the truck. He paused a moment as if frozen in thought. He didn’t know quite what to do. Beyond the intersection there was a small town that he didn’t remember, but was certain it must have been there and that he just couldn’t have seen it in the early morning light. He crossed the exit ramp and headed up into the town.

Will still had no idea where he was going and wasn’t particularly interested in thinking too hard about that. The only thing he knew was he had a meeting scheduled with Dr. Quinton and when they discovered he wasn’t in the cottage the word would go out that he was on the loose. What that meant he didn’t have a clue. He continued walking through the town and soon came to a small park. There were a couple boys tossing a football in an open area away from the children’s play structure. He walked across the grass and sat on a bench to watch the boys. They seemingly ignored his presence, which was fine with him.

After an indeterminable amount of time a county sheriff’s car drove past on the road beside the park. Will watched it go down to the next intersection and do a U-turn. It came back and parked. He tried to ignore it, but when another patrol car drove up and parked near it, he knew they were probably going to be coming over to check him out. Unbeknownst to him a third patrol car had parked on the other side of the park and the deputy inside got out and started walking toward him.

Will’s attention was focused on the two cars parked closest to him so he was startled when a deputy suddenly appeared standing in front of him. He looked up into the expressionless face, but didn’t know what to do so he looked back at the patrol cars he had previously been watching.

“You have ID son?” the deputy by him asked.

“Yeah,” Will said.

“May I see it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Are you getting smart with me?”

“No, sir.”

“Give me your ID.”

Will pulled out his Centerhaven ID card and handed it to the deputy.

“On the ground, face down,” the deputy said.

“What?” Will asked somewhat not believing this was happening.

“On the ground!” the deputy shouted.

Will was so focused on the deputy confronting him that he hadn’t noticed the other two deputies arrive. He, also, didn’t see that one of them had drawn his Taser. Will started to stand, but suddenly he was enveloped in the most intense pain he’d ever felt in his life. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground. He had no idea what had happened, but as quick as the pain came it was gone. A deputy was on him, pulling his arms behind his back, and tightening the cuffs on his wrists.

“Okay, up you get,” a deputy said.

He felt himself being pulled up to his feet. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but at least he was no longer in any pain. He wondered if they were going to take him back or if he was going to jail. The boys who had been tossing the football were staring at him, but he figured they were just curious as to what he’d done to be picked up by the police.

They went to a hospital in Binghamton first to get the Taser prongs extracted, which hurt almost as bad as when they went into his skin. Then the deputy drove him in a direction that definitely wasn’t going to lead to Centerhaven.

“Where are you taking me?” Will asked.

“Shut up! You’re going to lockup until it’s decided what to do with you,” the deputy said.

Will sat back in his seat and looked out the window watching the sights of Binghamton go by all the while wondering why he was going to jail. He certainly wasn’t a danger to anyone, so why were they putting him in jail? He would have liked to ask a question, but decided not to chance it. The last thing he wanted was to piss off the deputy.

* * * *

Will was sitting in a small windowless room on a wooden chair on one side of a small table. The cinderblock walls were painted a sickly flat pink that probably had a name other than pink. He had been in juvenile lockup for three days, but this morning they had taken him out and driven him down here to Binghamton.

The door behind him opened, but he continued to stare at the opposite wall. If anything, he was certain he was about to find out what was to become of him. In a moment a man who might have been in his thirties appeared around the table and sat down on the opposite chair. His toothy smile was ruined by yellow teeth. Will figured he smoked, but that didn’t really matter.

“William, I am Arthur Rheinhold,” he said. “I’m your public defender.”

“What do I need a lawyer for?” Will asked, surprised by this turn of events. “All I did was take a walk.”

“You ran away from Centerhaven, a state recognized lockdown facility for troubled youth.”

“But, they send children down to Sanitaria Springs to attend school.”

“Only those who have received official release by the family court. In a few minutes you will be going before a family court judge who will be looking at what is to become of you. Right now your options are being sent to a secure group home or a limited secure juvenile detention center.”

“Prison?”

“Well, we don’t like to use that term, but, yes, technically it can be considered to be a prison. It will be a facility that is designed to house other youth your age. To help me plead your case, please tell me why you left Centerhaven.”

“I don’t know why; I was just going for a walk. I needed to get out of there. I was in a secure cottage and couldn’t get out, except when I was taken into Binghamton to have the wires taken out of my jaws. I didn’t know they were going to make such a big deal about this. I felt trapped. Don’t you see? I couldn’t get out. They wouldn’t let me go outside my cottage.”

He stared into the blue eyes of the lawyer and then turned his attention down to his hands that were clasped together on the table. He looked up at the wire light fixture in the ceiling and then back down at the lawyer who was now fuzzy from having stared at the light too long.

“What would you say if I recommended you being sent to a facility down in New York City for a 30-day psychiatric evaluation,” the lawyer said.

“Sure, if you think that’s what I need,” Will said as he wondered what this was going to entail.

“You won’t be able to get out of that place so you have to understand right now you will be restricted in all your actions for the next 30-some days. Can I have your word that you won’t try to escape?”

“Sure, let’s do this.”

“Okay, wait here and a deputy will come and escort you to the courtroom. I’ll meet you there.”

After about an indeterminable amount of time sitting in the small room, the door opened and two deputies came in.

“Stand up, move your legs apart, and keep your hands at your sides,” one of them said. They hooked him up with shackles and cuffs as if he was a hardened criminal. “Okay, come out of the room.”

To Will, they seemed to be a little rough considering what he was here for, but maybe they didn’t like what they were doing and this was the way they treated all the juveniles under their charge. They went down the hall and stopped at the elevator. When an empty car came they got inside and after a while they got out on a different floor. They went down another hall, went through a doorway, and suddenly they were in a courtroom. Will was told where to sit.

When his case came up Will was told to stand and walk over to a lectern where he faced the judge. She was a woman who was probably in her fifties. Her long graying black hair was piled on top of her head in no particular style. Her eyes seemed friendly.

“When was the last time you had your psych meds, son?” the judge unexpectedly asked.

“Uh, the morning I left Centerhaven, but that was only my morning meds; that would’ve been three days ago. On the previous night I took the important ones,” Will said.

“Why do they send these cases to me? Ms. Stadler, do me a favor and contact the juvenile lockup and inform them this boy needs his psych meds,” the judge said. “Now, Mr. Rheinhold, what’s your recommendation for this boy?”

“We recommend a 30-day psychiatric evaluation down at Hillsborough,” Will’s lawyer said.

“Ms. Stadler, does the prosecution have any objection?”

“No, your honor.”

“Good, this boy’s been through enough already and needs closure on this. Mr. Rheinhold, I will see you and William in my courtroom, let’s see, yes, forty days from today. Ms. Stadler, please make the arrangements for William’s transfer to Hillsborough.”

“Yes, your honor.”

Will was escorted out of the courtroom and returned to the interview room where he met with his lawyer. After a while, Mr. Rheinhold came in and took his seat.

“When will they take me down to New York City?” Will asked.

“In a few days; they’re not so stupid as to piss off Judge Benedict,” Mr. Rheinhold. “Of course, there’s always the chance we won’t be able to get you in Hillsborough right away, but we’ll cross our fingers and hope for the best. What do you want out of this long-term?”

“To find a family who will take me in and allow me to live like a normal teenager until such time as I can maybe go to college and make my way in the world. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Just to be normal.”

“But, you’re gay, too.”

“Yeah, well, there is that, but that shouldn’t matter, should it?”

“No, it shouldn’t, but sometimes it does, as I’m sure you’re well aware of.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Will didn’t want to say anything more and his lawyer taking the hint gathered his things and walked out of the room. After a few minutes two deputies came and took him down to a holding cell where he was kept until all the other prisoners finished their cases.

* * * *

Once again Will, wearing a hospital issued pajama top, pants, and slippers was sitting in an interview room waiting for someone to come and ask him questions that he’d answered so many times he was beginning to tire of the process. This room had a one-way mirror that took up most of the wall to his left. The rest of the room was painted in a dull green that seemed to be calming him in some way. At least it wasn’t pink.

The door opened and he waited. He jumped when he felt strong hands grasp his shoulders. They began to knead his tense muscles. He didn’t know the purpose of this. Then he felt a couple fingers caress his left cheek.

“You don’t shave yet; your skin is still smooth,” a masculine voice said behind him.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” Will whispered.

“Very good, we weren’t expecting that response considering your history.”

The hands left him and when Will turned his head he saw a middle aged man come around the table. He sat down opposite Will and smiled. He said, “Hello, William, I am Dr. Samson, your psychologist. It is my job to ask you questions about your life from as far back as you can remember up until the present time. We will explore your relationships with the people around you and your feelings toward them. It is very important for you to understand I do not want to assume this is a continuation of your treatment at Green Meadows, with Dr. Finklemann, or at Centerhaven. You are here for an evaluation of your current mental status. Besides speaking with me you will talk with Dr. Peters, who is your psychiatrist, and a number of our staff. Unfortunately, as you are here under court order, your movement throughout our facility will be limited. Do you have any questions?”

“When does all of this start?”

“Right now. Please tell me of your earliest memory of your mother.”

“I can’t remember anything about her: what she looked like, what she sounded like, what she smelled like, what she did or didn’t do, or anything. I have a vague memory of my father drinking beer when we were fishing in the irrigation ditch for fish that weren’t there, but I can’t remember what he looked like. I try to remember, but nothing comes into my mind.”

“But, you remember an irrigation ditch. Did you live in a rural community?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay; was that your earliest memory as a child?”

“Yes.”

“What is your next coherent memory?”

“There was this man. He had a big truck, you know, a semi. I was sitting up in the seat of the truck with my seatbelt fastened. I felt like a king. I was above everybody. I watched him give a paper bag to some people; maybe they were my parents. I can’t remember them. You know, what they looked like. Why can’t I do that?”

“Will, you answer, I ask, okay?”

“Okay. Anyway, they gave him a cloth bag. I think it was what we put our dirty clothes in. He got up in the truck and asked me if I wanted to go for a little ride. Of course I said yes, who wouldn’t, but he didn’t take me back. He went somewhere and hooked onto a trailer and he got on the interstate. He drove a long way across the mountains and stopped at this place where there was a small restaurant and a place to park the truck. He bought me a cheeseburger, some fries, and a root beer. When we finished he took me to a restroom and I did what I had to do. Then we went back to the truck and he took me into the sleeper and told me to take all my clothes off. I told him I didn’t want to and he slapped me. I started crying and he told me to undress. I got down to my underpants and stopped. He told me to take them off, but I said I didn’t want to and he slapped me, again. Do I have to say what he did to me? I’ve told this to so many people, you’d think it’d be written down someplace.”

Will looked at Dr. Samson and then down at his hands on the table. He put them together for a moment and then laid them flat. He looked back up at Dr. Samson who didn’t have any particular expression that meant anything to Will.

“How many times were you abused?”

“Oh, I don’t know, every day for almost six years, sometimes more than once a day. Sometimes I didn’t have to do it the regular way, but took him in my mouth. I never liked doing it that way, but it wasn’t about me, was it?”

“Many victims can remember very close to the exact number of times they were abused.”

“Look, he taught me how to inject heroin. I was high half the time he was doing me or some other trucker was doing it.”

“I see; so, William, what do you want?”

“What do you mean, what do I want? Everyone asks what I want, but it never seems to turn out. You know what I want? I want to be normal, if that is at all possible. I want to be able to go to see a psychologist or psychiatrist in the town where I live with a foster parent or someone who adopts me and go to a regular school. Just before I had to leave Warnton, a couple football players were teaching me how to be a football player. I had a real good chance to be on the JV team next year, but now I’m probably going to be sent back to Centerhaven or some other adolescent psychiatric treatment facility until I’m eighteen and pushed out onto a street in some city where I’ll probably end up using heroin again and finally ODing. I strongly suspect no one is particularly interested in me right now other than to find some place to put me where I’ll be out of the way. I had a future and now I don’t.”

“You seem to be a rather angry boy.”

“Wouldn’t you be angry if you were raised the way I was and lived to remember it?”

“I suppose I would.”

He looked away from the doctor and stared at the mirror-wall. He wondered if there was anyone in there watching. The doctor wasn’t taking notes, so someone must be recording this interview.

“Would you like something to drink?” Dr. Samson asked. “Do you need to use the toilet?”

“Yes and no,” Will said. “Water is okay.”

“One of our assistants will bring you your water and will conductor the next interview,” Dr. Samson said. He reached across the table and patted one of Will’s hands and stood up.

Will quietly sat in the room trying not to think of the future. As far as he was concerned he probably didn’t have much of one to think about. Certainly there was to be no more prospects of playing football. He wondered what it would be like to live on the streets in New York City. How long would he survive?

* * * *

When Will got his hearing in the courtroom of Judge Benedict back in Binghamton he was wearing regular clothes and sitting at a table next to his lawyer. He had a vague hope that this was going to turn out for the good, though for all that he had been through up to this point didn’t give him much confidence.

“All stand,” the bailiff said.

Will stood next to his lawyer. He looked around the courtroom and noticed that, other than them and Ms. Stadler, the prosecutor, a man and a woman were right behind the low railing that separated the audience from the area of the courtroom where the official business was conducted. He began to wonder who they were. After the judge came in everyone sat down.

“William, how are you doing today?” Judge Benedict asked.

“Okay,” Will said.

“Just okay.”

“It usually doesn’t get much better than that.”

“That’s a shame, but considering what you’ve been through I can imagine that you would feel that way. I’ve read the report from Hillsborough Psychiatric Hospital and was surprised at their findings. Will, at this juncture in your young life we have a problem as what to do with you. You seemed to have a successful foster placement up in Wayne County, but that ended when you entered Centerhaven. Then you took your little walk. You see, Will, we’re just not quite certain where we go from here. As this is an informal hearing, we shall forgo the usual procedures, if that is satisfactory with everyone. Good, let’s proceed.”

“Ms. Harrold, is Broome County willing to transfer civil jurisdiction over William Jamie Knowles back to Wayne County?” Judge Benedict asked.

“Yes, your honor.”

“Ms. Stadler, does Broome County have any reasons to hold William Jamie Knowles as related to any criminal activity?”

“Not anymore, your honor.”

“Mr. Daniels, is Wayne County willing to assume the civil jurisdiction over William Jamie Knowles?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, this went much better than I thought it would and I want to thank all of you for working with due diligence in seeing that this boy who was diagnosed with all sorts of things in all reality was only suffering from PTSD and a lack of honest human love. It’s surprising what love can do sometimes. In hindsight we can only guess what would have become of Will if he had been given the chance at love at the outset instead of being institutionalized.

“Mr. Daniels, I assume you have psychiatric care lined up for Will.”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Good; William, do you have any questions?”

“Why did you call me William Jamie Knowles and what does this all mean?”

“Why do they send me these cases?” Judge Benedict complained. “Will, while you were at Centerhaven it was discovered that your real name is William Jamie Knowles and, since that is the name that appears on your official birth certificate, as recorded in the county of your birth, it supersedes the citizen certificate issued by the federal government, so we must refer to you by that name. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure, at least I have a real name, but what does all that other stuff mean?”

“Well, it means you’re going back to Wayne County where you will live in a secure group home and receive educational services, practical training on how to survive once you’re living on your own, and whatever level of psychiatric care you require. That’s all we can offer at this time.”

“Oh, okay, I guess.”

“Very well, William, I accept your acknowledgement. I hereby declare this case closed.”

“All rise,” the bailiff said.

Everyone stood and the judge left the courtroom. Will turned to his lawyer and asked, “What happens now?”

“Now, well, that man over there is going to put you and your luggage in his car and drive you up to Wayne County where you’ll go into a secure group home. In all likelihood, you’ll live there until you’re eighteen. Of course, there is always the chance that someone might be willing to foster you, but at your age that’s quite a long shot. I’m afraid that’s the size of it.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Rheinhold for all you did for me. I probably would’ve ended up in some juvenile prison if you hadn’t suggested that psychiatric evaluation.”

“Will? I’m Bill Daniels; I’ll be your social worker while you’re in Wayne County. Come on, let’s get your things and I’ll take you to where you’ll be living.”

Will walked out of the courtroom wondering what had just happened. Everything he had hoped for was gone. Could he hope that he had a chance at normalcy? As he saw it now, he might have been better off to have stayed in Centerhaven instead of taking that little walk. He thought back to that time at Green Meadows when Dr. Widmark told him to “look before you leap.” He certainly hadn’t done that at Centerhaven.

“In what town will I be living?” Will asked as he heaved his luggage into the back of Mr. Daniels dark blue Ford Explorer.

“The group home is in Lyons, the county seat, but I have a gentleman in Warnton who might be interested in fostering you. I spoke briefly to him about you and he said he might be interested in giving you that chance for normalcy you’re seeking.”

“You know, I was getting there when I was living with the Jenkins and it was a shame what happened to them. When will I get to meet him?”

“Oh, in a few weeks; he’s had some trouble with his house and can’t live in it right now; and, he’s a new foster parent, so he has to attend a class to get certified. All of this means is that you’re going to have to live in the group home for a few months until you can go to his place for a visit. I’m sure you know how that works.”

“Yeah, I know how the system works, but I promise to behave. I really do want to be normal. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Can I drop the ‘Will’ and go by ‘Jamie’ from now on?”

“Sure, just remember to change your signature to ‘W. Jamie Knowles’. Why the change?”

“Well, you know, all the time I was with that trucker and afterward at Green Meadows and Centerhaven I was known as ‘Will’, but that name kind of puts a sour taste in my mouth. Does that make any sense?

“In many ways it does, Jamie.”

The End