Steamy Dorm

by Kristine Robinson

  “Get in the boat, dude!”

  “Okay, remain calm,” the instructor said.

  Where was that gator now, I wondered, as the boy fixed his hands onto the side of the canoe.

  “Take hold of his life jacket and help him up, carefully,” the instructor calmly ordered.

  He had maneuvered his canoe close to the boys, as the boy managed to haul his upper body onto the canoe. His friend clamped onto the bottom of his life jacket and, a second later, the boy’s legs settled into the boat.

  “Well done, boys!” the instructor said.

  Marion had turned a ghostly white but was trying to remain calm.

  “Okay, everybody,” she said, “everything’s okay!”

  She looked at me and raised her eyebrows quickly before turning her canoe again.

  “That was insane!” Gabe said.

  We got back into our formation and headed up the river again. No more gators made an appearance, thankfully. An hour later, we reached a grassy embankment. We pulled the canoes up and unpacked a picnic.

  Marion came to sit with me in a shady spot, close to the instructor.

  “Well the boys are getting on really well!” she said.

  I looked around. They were all chatting excitedly in a big group.

  “Yeah, thank goodness!” I replied.

  I took a bite of my BLT sandwich.

  “You not eating anything?” I asked.

  “In a minute,” she replied, “Just enjoying the peace!”

  We chatted as we watched the group of boys. A large brown and white bird took off from one of the trees and soared across the sky.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” Marion asked. “If you don’t want to say, that’s fine,” she added quickly.

  I smiled at her and looked away.

  “Davie,” I shouted, “put that oar back with the others right now!”

  I turned back to Marion.

  “No,” I replied, “I’m not in a relationship. My ex and I broke up a year ago.”

  Marion examined the sandwich she had unwrapped. I could see a faint smile on her face.

  “Okay,” she said, “I hope it wasn’t a bad break up.”

  “No, it was mutual. We just weren’t the same people after a while and it wasn’t working.”

  “And you?” I asked.

  Chapter 2

  As I lit a cigarette, I glanced through the window. I knew Elena didn’t approve of my smoking, but it was silly to try and hide it from her, though I had tried to hide it from everyone the first week I started at the home. I sipped my iced tea and took another drag. The home was on the outskirts of town, in an old two-story face-brick building. It was not the ideal location, I thought, as a social worker. The boys were too close to the dangers and temptations in the city. They had put in an appeal for another location over two years ago.

  Across the road, at our favorite coffee vendor stand, a man kept looking in my direction. Was he looking at the building or me, I wondered. He was even taller than Elena, had a shaven head, a cutoff t-shirt, and tattoos covering his bare arms. He was one big red flag, in my books. He crossed over the road and began to walk towards the home. I glanced inside the office. The only person inside was one of the younger boys, relaxing on the sofa. The man kept coming closer. I stood up and walked towards the door.

  “Ma-Marion?”

  I turned around and glared at him.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I –err,” he mumbled and sniffed. “I knew your mother-”

  I stopped at the door frame. He did not look well. His skin was discolored and dark rings sagged beneath his eyes.

  “My mother-” I began.

  “I just –”

  He took a step closer. I stepped backward.

  “Yes, I knew Martha,” he continued, “I – err – need your help.”

  “Who are you?” I asked again.

  “My name is Thomas,” he said.

  He looked down. His feet were tapping quickly on the paving.

  “Did Martha ever mention me?”

  “No,” I said.

  He smelled like he hadn’t had a shower for a week.

  “What do you want?” I added quickly and sighed.

  I had heard so many bullshit stories from people, I didn’t have time for another.

  “I need your help, please, Marion!”

  “Why do you need my help?” I asked.

  I began to turn around and head into the home.

  “Ma- Marion, wait!” he said.

  He touched my arm and I jerked backward.

  “I – I’m your father, Marion!”

  “What!”

  I shook my head, turned my back to the stranger and stormed inside.

  ***

  “Marion, can I talk to you?”

  I looked up from my desk.

  “Yes, Gabe,” I replied.

  He looked around quickly.

  “We can chat in my counseling room?”

  “Please,” he replied, running his hand through his short black hair.

  I closed the door behind him and walked over to the far side of the desk.

  “Yes Gabe,” I said, “everything okay?”

  “Well-”

  I smiled and nodded at him.

  “I saw the – err guy,” he started and looked down, “I used to push for-”

  I hid my shock and kept smiling at him. He had been free of that dangerous life for almost a year, Elena had told me.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  “He found me, Marion,” he added quickly, “I didn’t go looking for him, I swear.”

  He looked up at me, his green eyes pleading for understanding. And forgiveness. Not that he needed it.

  “I understand, Gabe,” I commented, “Tell me what happened.”

  Gabe explained he had been at the shop with two other boys from the home. None of them were new boys and they were all allowed out of the home, as long as we knew their whereabouts.

  “When I saw him coming towards me,” Gabe said, “I recognized him immediately.”

  The other guys could see he was uncomfortable and the older boy blocked the man’s path.

  “Gabe, please I need your help!” the man pleaded.

  Gabe refused to talk to him and the older boys pushed the man away.

  “Gabe, come on!” the man shouted, “After all I’ve done for you!”

  Gabe explained that the older man’s name was Thomas and he was the last person Gabe would ever trust.

  “Thomas?” I asked.

  I frowned briefly.

  “What did he look like, Gabe?”

  “He’s tall. His head is shaved and he has lots of tattoos.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to confuse him or sidetrack his conversation, but as he spoke, the man sounded exactly like the one who had approached me earlier that day.

  “And,” Gabe continued, shaking his head, “He really sunk to an all-time low and claimed he was my father!”

  Gabe’s forehead was creased in anger and his face was turning red.

  “He’s such a bull-shitter!” Gabe said, “I hate him! How did he find me?”

  Thomas had also pleaded with Gabe to help him get out of the gang trouble he’d found himself in.

  “If you don’t help me, they’re going to kill me!” he had told Gabe too.

  I had a nose for trouble and this man was someone we had to get out of both our lives and quickly! Father or not. I wasn’t worried about my own safety, but Gabe was still vulnerable to the deceit and treachery that came with gang life. I knew I had to tell Elena. She was going to be mad.

  ***

  “We have to protect, Gabe!” I said, “If this man knows how to find him, he could be in real danger.”

  “I know, Elena,” Marion replied, “and I don’t want him getting dragged back into that life after he’s done so well here.”

  I picked up the telephone and dialed the police. The home had a good relationship with the Tallahassee pol
ice, which we’d developed over the years.

  “Yes Sergeant Anderson!” I explained, “The man is a known dealer.”

  I looked up at Marion as the policeman spoke on the phone.

  “Okay,” I continued, “Thank you, Sergeant.”

  “And?” Marion asked.

  “They will try and track him down and question him,” I replied, “In the meantime, we must just keep Gabe here at the home and phone them if we see Thomas again.”

  Though Marion nodded, I could see she was still very upset.

  “We’ll keep him safe, Marion,” I tried to reassure her.

  She sighed. “Thank you!” she said.

  She came closer and embraced me. She had never done that before and I froze for a second, before placing my hands gently on her back. I felt like I needed to protect her too. I didn’t like seeing her upset.

  “I’m taking you out for your favorite tonight!” I suddenly declared, “Chicken waffles!”

  Marion took a step back and turned her head to the side.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m not taking no for an answer,” I replied, “We’re going out for waffles!”

  Marion smiled.

  “Elena!” she said, slapping me playfully on the arm.

  At least she was smiling again. I had really grown to like her since she’d joined the team. I wanted her to be happy. As she walked away, I thought about how her small body felt in my arms. Her head only reached up to my shoulder. I had felt like running my hand through her soft blonde hair but stopped myself.

  My mother had never been affectionate, not to mention my father. I recalled when the police had come and taken me away from them one particularly bad night. They had been fighting again and their screams must have alerted the neighbors. Or the sound of the lamp smashing against the wall in our tiny apartment.

  My father had hit my mother before, but, as I watched from underneath the bed, I saw her head hit the floor. She looked at me after a few seconds with fear in her eyes, though she tried to smile.

  “Get up, you lazy bitch!” my father had shouted.

  She slowly raised her hand and pushed herself up on the coffee table, cluttered with empty alcohol bottles. I had never seen the cops before that night, though my father had put my mother in hospital on two prior occasions, I remembered at that age. I watched as his leg moved up in an arch and connected her chest, making a cracking sound. It was a sound I would never forget. I bit my bottom lip until it bled, not wanting to make a sound. She groaned and reached for a bottle on the table.

  “What you going to do with that, Curva!”

  I still swore in Romanian when I was really angry.

  My father grabbed the bottle from her and smashed it on the side of the table. I picked up a triangular shard, which had reached my hiding place. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but suddenly these strange uniformed men burst in the door.

  “Drop that bottle, right now!” the cop shouted.

  My father hesitated for a second. His English wasn’t good. Then his knees hit the wooden floor hard. The impact resonated through the boards and my small body. I had been scared when my parents were fighting, but when the other cop hauled me out from under the bed and grabbed my hand, I was terrified. He began to drag me towards the door.

  “Elena!” my mother had cried out.

  “Mama!” I cried back.

  Thankfully my mother left my father a year after that incident. I had never seen him since. When my mother died the previous year, I had no family left, in my mind. Luckily I had the home. The boys and staff became my family. Thomas didn’t know who he was up against, messing with Gabe.

  Chapter 3

  The waiter pointed us in the direction of a corner table, out of the main area. It was perfect. I pushed in Marion’s chair. I wanted to find out what was going on with her. I showed the waitress my ID card and ordered a bottle of wine.

  Marion stared at the menu for a minute.

  “Come on,” I prompted, “Order your favorite!”

  She looked up over the menu and giggled. “Okay, chicken waffles please,” she said.

  After the first sip of wine, Marion relaxed her back against the wooden frame of the chair.

  “How’s it going with your Ph.D., Elena?” she asked.

  “Good,” I replied, resting my glass on the square table. “I am still busy transcribing the last set of interviews, I did last month.”

  She nodded and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. Her hair always smelled like honey. I wanted to press my nose right into the gentle waves and inhale the scent deeply. She kept glancing around the restaurant and at the door. I could tell she was worried about something but would give her the chance to come out with it.

  After the food arrived and she was halfway through her waffle, and her second glass of wine, I saw her shoulders relax.

  “There’s something I have to tell you, Elena,” she said, resting her fork on the side of her plate.

  I looked into her green eyes and nodded.

  “Go on,” I encouraged her.

  My studies had taught me listening was a critical skill. It was not my best trait and I had had to work on it. The home had provided many opportunities to develop my listening skills, though. I couldn’t let the boys down, after what they’d been through and I didn’t want to let Marion down either.

  “That man,” she began.

  She pushed a piece of chicken around her plate with her fork.

  “Thomas,” she added, after a few seconds.

  “Yes,” I said softly.

  “I saw him,” she said, “He came to talk to me too.”

  I was confused but waited for her to explain. Her slim hand picked up the wine glass. She looked up at me. Her oval face and full lips, outlined by the red wine, were testing my concentration and listening skills.

  “He also told me, he’s my - err – father.”

  I gulped down the wine in my mouth, thankful I had managed not to spit it out.

  “Your fa – father?” I asked.

  I realized my tone had not been very neutral and quickly corrected myself.

  “Okay, tell me more,” I encouraged her.

  “He knew my mother,” she continued, “at least he said he did.”

  She looked down. I knew she had been closer to her mother than I’d been to mine. I gently put my hand on top of hers. That wasn’t part of my training. She didn’t move hers away and remained silent for a few seconds.

  “And what did he want, Marion?” I asked.

  It always helped to mention the person’s name, to reassure them that you cared. I didn’t have to force interest with her. Apparently, Thomas was a drug dealer and involved deeply in gang life. Gabe had been one of his crew, selling crack. Now Thomas needed help getting out of a situation with the gang. They were after him because they thought he’d stolen some of their merchandise, which he claimed he hadn’t. And of course, it was the most violent gang in the whole US.

  I couldn’t stop myself shivering when she mentioned the gang’s name. This was not good news. She and Gabe were in serious danger!

  “Marion, we have to tell the police that he’s with the BLs!”

  “I know, I know,” she began, “But what if he is my father, Elena!”

  I had heard all the dealers and users’ stories before. I had only been clean myself for two years and 11 months. I didn’t want to make her wrong, though I didn’t believe Thomas was their father. After the meal, I followed Marion out of the restaurant, towards her car.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to call the police now?” I asked her again.

  “No, Ele –” she began.

  She was staring passed her car, at the entrance to an alley. A group of five men began to approach us. They were not clients of the restaurant. I moved in front of her immediately.

  They crossed the parking lot.

  “Marion!” one of them called.

  He had on a hooded top.

&nbs
p; “What do you want?” I asked, moving my one leg slightly in front of the other and lowering my center of balance.

  I knew their type. You could not show fear. I could feel my knife wedged into the side of my boot, where it always was. I could retrieve it in a split second.

  A short guy with a shaved head took another step towards us.

  “Where’s Thomas?” he asked.

  Marion grabbed onto my left arm.

  “I – I don’t know,” she replied.

  He took another step closer. Marion moved behind me, but I stood glued to the ground.

  He patted the outside of his jacket.

  “You better not be lying bitch!” he said. “That cracker has run out of lives!”

  “She doesn’t know him, now back the hell away!”

  My hand was open and ready to grab my knife. I leaned down towards my boot.

  He raised his hands in the air.

  “Hey Ivana!” he said, “Chillax! We’re just having a conversation here.”

  He took a step backward. The guy with the hood pointed at me.

  “We’ll be watching you bitches!”

  They turned around and disappeared into the dark alley.

  Marion exhaled loudly and let go of my arm. She shook her head. I could see she was on the verge of tears.

  “I’m going to stay with you tonight, Marion.”

  I pulled her towards me and wrapped my arms around her tightly.

  ***

  Marion closed the door of her apartment behind me, locked the bolt and latched the latch. I had been to her apartment once before when she needed to collect something. The open-plan kitchen and living room, looked even neater this time. The door to her bedroom was closed.

  “I need another drink!” she said.

  She removed a bottle of wine from the fridge, placed it on the wooden counter and retrieved two glasses from a cupboard. Her hand shook as she unscrewed the cap on the half-empty bottle.

  “Here, let me,” I said.

  I took the bottle from her and filled the two glasses three-quarters of the way.

  “It’s going to be okay, Marion,” I said.

  And I did believe my own words. I would not allow anything to happen to her. After she had finished her glass, she moved over to the sofa and opened her laptop on the coffee table.

  “I want to find out about this man who claims to be my father!” she said.