Chapter 3
Or how I ended up living in a madhouse
The drawing snaps off the wall with a pop. I lay it inside the notebook I use to sketch, then peel off another one.
«You leaving today?», it’s Steve, my roommate. He’s a decent guy, silent as a cat, though. He’s scared me more than once. He’s hiding something behind his back.
«Whatcha got there, Stevie?»
«A knife».
I stop in my tracks.
«Oh, you do?», the tension builds up in that last question. I’m not the greatest at hiding my feelings.
He approaches with a smile. Not a sneaky one, nor psychopathic, as you would expect in a situation of this sort, but a warm-hearted smile. I still jump back when he moves his arm.
A letter.
«If I’d wanted to cut you, you’d already be dead twice». I really do not understand his sense of humour, but I still accept the envelope. I manage to read 'two months' and 'attached' before he snatches it back and tosses it onto the drawings.
«Nuh-uh, not now. Read it when you're out of here. Alone», he emphasizes the last part.
I suppress a smile.
«You could have just kissed me».
«Yeah, keep dreaming, fag».
«I know you love me».
«No, I don’t».
«You wrote me a letter».
«That’s not love, that’s...»
I grab the back of his neck and squeeze twice. It has to be twice, or it means you’re about to strike, he once said.
«I’ll miss you too, Stevie».
«Don’t make me regret not having brought the knife».
Here in juvie, everyone acts tough, ready to punch at the first threat, but we're just kids trying to survive the world.
Steve hands me the last drawings, the last photos, the last notes I had pinned to the wall, helping me pack them into a box with the rest of my personal items. He lifts it, and we head into the hallway, where Jared awaits.
«Don't forget about the promise, okay?», he whispers as we're still out of earshot.
«What promise?», his face crumbles, betrayed. I can’t stand it, «I won’t, I swear. Freak Ink. You’ll put your signature on hundreds of people’s ass cheeks, you have my word».
«Eh, we’ll talk about that name later on», he winkles his nose, like he smelled something outrageous.
«We’re freaks, we ink, that name’s got everything»
«It’s a shit name».
«You’re a shit face», he really is not, he’s actually kind of handsome.
«Fuck, you’re annoying. I won’t miss you», and yet, I can still feel his shoulder against mine, while we wait for Jared to open the door to the yard, beyond which Steve can't pass. He should be in class, but Jared did us a favor, considering how close we've become.
«Don't disappear, okay?» He sways from side to side.
With a final wave, I leave the building, the door closing behind me. Winterfield waits for me leaning against a white Toyota. He's kept his word. He had to, I suppose, considering yesterday my social worker, whose name I have no intention of learning, assured me all the paperwork had been signed.
It's official now: for the next two years, I'll be living at the shelter, unless I can convince Alex to get the fuck out of there.
«Happy to be a free man?»
I can't bring myself to answer. Jared is munching at my ear with the usual speech: "Be careful, don't come back here, don't make reckless moves, follow the rules, listen to your mentors", and so on and so on.
And there I am, nodding, reassuring, yes I'll behave, no I won’t commit crimes, yes I’ll be a good boy, just wanting him to stop and bid an appropriate farewell. But no, I have to endure the whole tirade and play the diligent kid who listens without interrupting. After five minutes of "if I see you back here, I'll relegate you to cleaning the toilets" and other charming threats, he grants me permission to get into the car.
I watch the windows of the juvenile facility pass by, behind which I catch glimpses of the figures who have accompanied me during these months. One in particular, in the second-floor window, the one from the math class, seems to wave goodbye.
After a few futile attempts by Winterfield to start a conversation, the journey continues in silence, the radio brings little to no comfort in this awkward situation. We navigate through the city streets, the residential houses with their little gardens and identical trees watch and judge us.
Winterfield pulls up in one of those driveways, which looks like all the others but differs by one very important element. Sitting on the patio there’s Alex. They jump up as soon as soon as we open the door. Two arms wrap around me at chest height and curly hair tickle my cheek. I pat Alex on the back.
«Hey to you too» I manage, his grip is too tight.
«Hey? Are you serious? We haven't seen each other in like... ages, and all you can say is 'hey'?»
«You visited just last week».
«Shut up and hug me». We sway back and forth, right and left.
«I missed you», they whisper against my shoulder.
«I would've missed me too if I were you», a slap on my back, «Okay, I deserved that».
«You can bet your ass you did. Couldn't wait to get out of there to annoy me, huh, you rude boy?»
«Rude?»
«Forget it, it's a quote you wouldn't understand. I was referring to this interview I saw...», that’s when they start telling me about this British band they’re obsessed with and that, I get the feeling, they'll bring up multiple times, take out their phone, and show me the interview in question. All the while, I grab the box from the trunk, and we enter the house.
This place is huge, at least compared to what I’m used, and everything has this warm, mahogany-like tone, or something expensive like that. I hate dark wood. I used to love it, but not anymore. The last house we were placed had a mahogany table, with a clean, sharp edge. Tables usually have a round edge, to not cut people if they hit it. My head knows very damn well it was sharp. I won’t forget that table. I hate dark wood.
Winterfield leads me to a staircase leading upstairs, where I presume the rooms are. The corridor seems endless. Our footsteps are drowned out by angry shouting, hysterical even. Winterfield takes the box from my hands, and gestures for Alex to take my stuff to the last door on the right. I'm about to follow my favorite person, but the man stops me.
He knocks on the open door where the commotion is coming from, drawing the attention of the two parties involved.
«What's the problem, now?»
The two try to explain the situation, but they don't have the patience to listen to each other. Raising a hand, Winterfield stops them.
«One at a time, if you don't mind. Audrie, what's going on?», he addresses a girl wearing an orange floral dress that complements her dark skin. She brushes aside her braided hair with the grace of a diva, then crosses her arms and shoots a killing glance at her counterpart.
«Sair can't keep his hands off my stuff»
«I didn't take your diary, I couldn't care less about it!», his voice raises an octave.
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As Audrie is about to retort, Winterfield intervenes.
«As soon as I'm done with Noah, I expect to see you two and everybody else in the living room. I'll call an emergency meeting».
Audrie looks puzzled for a moment.
«Who's Noah?»
She didn't seen me. Can't blame her, Winterfield's bulk almost entirely covers me. Sure, I'm not a giant, but I still have some growing to do.
The man points at me with his thumb, and the two guys lean sideways to look at me.
«See you downstairs in five minutes, let the others know».
«Inshallah», Sair replies nonchalantly.
«Don’t Inshallah me, Sair. It's an order».
«You don't even know what it means...»
«I've heard it often enough to understand the meaning of it. No discussion, you'll do as I said. Now, go downstairs and call everyone».
Winterfield turns on his heels and nudges me to move. We enter the room where Alex is already hanging up my drawings.
«Noah, I found a letter in the box. Do you have anything to tell me?»
«We're about to have an emergency meeting, could you go downstairs, please? We'll join you in a moment, I'll just explain the house rules to Noah».
Winterfield intervenes, holding the door open to let Alex out. I gesture for them to go, and Alex, still confused, obeys. The man closes the door and leans against the desk.
«Sorry for the commotion, I would love to say it’s uncommon, but... Well, anyway. I’ll be short, I’ll just explain the basic rules, I assume you want to catch up with your friend today. This will be your room for the next two years, you'll share it with Alex. As you may have noticed, the other rooms are shared by three or more kids, while this one is reserved for just the two of you...»
I actually hadn't noticed at all.
«As you know, it's not possible to place a foster care kid with a shelter. Shelters aren't group homes, and this one is only minimally subsidized by the city, despite being officially and legally recognized as a shelter for homeless minors. My wife and I opened it privately, and as such, we manage it, along with a few of our friends. We live off donations, so each of our guests has the responsibility to maintain the facility. This means: cleaning, washing, tidying up, cooking for yourself and the others, in general, trying not to break anything and keep a clean and safe environment for everyone. Do you understand?», I nod.
«You and Alex are not just guests of the shelter: you are under my and my wife's guardianship. The two of us are your foster parents. And as much as you may not like it...» he adds, noticing my displeased expression, «...this is the best solution your social workers could come up with, given your resistance».
I bite the inside of my cheek until I can taste the iron.
«Why just the two of us and not all the rest of your “guests”?», I mimic the quotation marks.
«Alex can be very convincing when they want to be. Now, if you don't mind, we should go downstairs. You can settle in after the meeting, okay?»
I want to shout that this wasn't part of the accord, that I’ve never agreed to be placed under their care, but only asked for a place to sleep and a roof over my head without necessarily being tied to a place, free and able to pack up and leave whenever I please.
I want to punch him in the face, I want to see him bleed for deceiving me.
But I can’t. Not now, at least. I have to do things right, this time. I can’t afford another mistake. More than anything, we have to get out of here. Bunch of liars, no better than the last, I bet. I wonder how long it will take him to...
There’s no lock on the door, but there’s a chair, a good chair, made of sturdy dark wood. It will do.
I nod through gritted teeth and, with one last look at my things and the letter I so desperately want to read, I follow him downstairs.
Sitting on sofas, armchairs, and scattered cushions on the floor are about fifteen people, both teenagers and adults, I guess the “friends” Winterfield mentioned earlier.
Alex gestures for me to get beside them. I walk in between a couple of kids seizing me up and down, and sit on the very edge of a green sofa.
Winterfield goes straight to the fireplace and leans against it to look at everyone from above. Apparently, the man doesn't like to sit down. With a single gesture of his hand, the room falls silent.
I am definitely blocking the door tonight.
«You must be wondering what this emergency meeting is about. Audrie's diary has disappeared, someone took it».
He looks the teenagers straight in the eye, scanning each one of them.
Audrie raises her hand.
«The diary hasn't disappeared».
Winterfield looks at her perplexed.
«I don't understand. If it hasn't disappeared, then what's the problem?»
The girl stands up.
«I found my diary on the bedside table, but I'm certain I left it on the desk before going downstairs for lunch. Someone took it and read it. And I'm absolutely sure it was you, Sair. You were the only one in the room before lunch!»
Sair jumps to his feet, pointing a finger at her.
«Boos tizi, Audrie! I told you it wasn't me, what do I gain from reading it? It's just a waste of time, you're not even blackmail material».
Before the situation escalates, a girl who can't be more than fourteen, as slender as a twig, wearing glasses bigger than her face, steps in between them.
«Calm down, or I swear on my still-alive mother's grave that I'll beat you both stupid. I'm not kidding. Sit down».
In the room, once again, silence falls.
«Thank you very much, Heather. Next time, let's try not to use strong words or tones. And let's not swear on the grave of living people. Let's try not to swear on people's graves in general, okay?»
The girl nods, sits down, and calmly resumes speaking.
«It wasn’t Sair. It was me. I moved your diary, I thought it was mine. To be fair I told you five times to write your name on the cover. But I didn't read it, I swear».
Audrie looks at her for a moment.
«Don't worry, Heather, it's fine. It just bothered me that someone touched my things. Next time, be careful», I wouldn’t have crossed her either, to be fair. That one, Heather, I bet she’s got something going on. Something wrong in her head, you know?
Audrie sits down as if nothing happened, and crosses her legs.
«I'd say the case is closed. Audrie, don't you think you owe Sair an apology?»
She quickly turns to the victim of her slander and utters some brief and superficial apologies, accepted by the boy more for the sake of ending the whole affair than satisfaction.
«Moving on to the next item on the agenda, our new arrival: Noah».
The eyes of the entire room turn to me. And I sink into the sofa, wanting it to swallow me whole.
«Noah will be a stable addition to our family, just like Alex».
I thought it wasn’t a family, why is he behaving like the perfect next-door father?
«Noah, these are Corbin, Patrick, and Anne, those who made the opening of the center possible», he adds, pointing at the three adults I spotted from the stairs.
«And these are our residents. Guys, please introduce yourselves».
And off they go with names and greetings. When the murmur has quieted down, Winterfield claps his hands.
«Well, I think we've addressed all the issues. Does anyone have anything to add?»
No one volunteers.
«So the meeting is adjourned, you can go to your rooms. Audrie, Jeremy, you're on kitchen duty alongside with Corbin. You'd better join him, it's getting late. I remind everyone that dinner will be ready by six-thirty, so...» he pauses to look at the clock, «...in an hour. Be punctual».
The mass of hormones rises and disperses, Alex pulls me by the sleeve towards our room. Chatting about this and that, we spend our hour of freedom arranging what I brought from juvie.
To my pleasure, I notice that there are clothes hanging and folded in the wardrobe, almost all of my size, some a bit larger. Alex informs me that the Winterfields, after receiving confirmation for my custody, armed themselves with vague indications about size, taste, and lots of goodwill, and went shopping.
The wardrobe seems to have been raided by a lumberjack: I find about a dozen flannel shirts, all in different colors, except for two identical red ones that are always a classic. Black suit, blue jeans, tracksuits, nothing is missing. And t-shirts, at least twenty, neatly folded and stored in the drawers.
I'm still wearing the one I was arrested in.
«Why don't you change?»
I run my thumb over the toothpaste stain. I couldn't get it off.
«I like this one better».
I close the wardrobe and lie down on the bed to rest, the mattress doesn't bounce, it doesn't make noise, it barely bends.
Under my back, I feel a rustle of paper, Steve's letter. I completely forgot about it. I spread it out as best as I can and start reading it.
Noticing my smile, Alex approaches.
«Steve as... your cellmate Steve, right?» He tilts his head close to mine to read better. Instinctively, I pull back the letter, hiding its contents. Alex moves even closer, sitting on my bed.
«Is he your boyfriend?»
My face feels warm.
«No, he's not my boyfriend. He's just my cellmate».
«And they were cellmates...».
They jump up and run, singing loudly through the corridors about Steve and I K-I-S-S-I-N-G, and I chase after them, once again abandoning the letter on the bed.
"Dear Noah,
You know what I think about humanity, and you know I don’t like getting close to people and give them the power to make me sad, so how dare you enter my life and steal my affection? Good thing we are already in juvie, or I should have locked you up myself. But since I love you like a brother, I will forgive you this one time. Don’t get advantage of my weakness on your part.
And still, I have to thank you. I never had a shoulder to cry on, I never had anyone listening to me. Even if I read all of the books in the library, or the dictionary you stole for me - I wonder if they’ve noticed -, I still wouldn't have enough words to thank you properly. I really hope you won't forget about your brother. I'm counting on your visits, call me as soon as you can, so I can jot down the number I can reach you at. You won't get rid of me that easily, it's a promise and a threat. We need to talk about the tattoo shop, I really count on that job. I want to see your designs go viral, so I can say that I knew that artist when he was a kid afraid of the dark and closed spaces. I want to see you shine, become someone, do good. I believe in you, you're not just a statistic. You're Noah, never forget that.
I Love you, kid.
Steve.
P.S. Next time, choose a better fake name than Winchester. If you really want your own last name, come up with one yourself."