Trafficked: a novel

by Sophia Rey

  “I don’t care if you make a little less,” Mom said. “We can make it on my salary for a while.”

  “Well, there’s no way I’m not working.”

  “Look Greg,” Mom said. “I’d rather live in poverty than live with a husband who’s going to lose it.”

  “I’m not going to lose it. I’m just afraid I might be in line for a law suit if I get so angry that I lose control for one second and wind up hitting one of those kids in self–defence.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “Yes. One of the BHTs on green hit a kid in the eye a few weeks ago when the kid tried to punch him.”

  “Maybe you can do something else.”

  “I have to. I just wish they’d change the requirements for being a police officer.”

  Being a police officer was Dad’s dream job, but he just couldn’t pass the tests they had for the different cities. He’d applied at Globe, Tempe, Mesa, and all the other East Valley cities and well as Prescott and Phoenix, and he just couldn’t pass the physical test. The problem was the wall. To be a cop, you had to climb over a 10 foot high wall during the physical test, and Dad was only five foot seven, and not good with climbing. No matter how much of a running start he took, he just couldn’t make it. Many times he came home with bruises all over his legs because he’d tried so hard to get over those things.

  So, while suffering through his job, Dad looked and looked for a new one. He applied at car dealerships. He looked into managing a Burger King. He even tried to look at some way to sue the police departments because the policy of having to get over a high wall was discriminating to women and people of small stature. But the lawyer said that since the same physical tests were given to every applicant, it didn’t matter, especially when it came to public safety. Maybe he should try a different job with the police. There were law enforcement jobs that didn’t have as many physical demands, but Dad didn’t want to sit behind a desk all day. He wanted to be out in the field where the action was.

  About three months after he started looking for work, he found what he thought was the perfect job. It was a job with the Sexual Victims Unit of one of the cities, and it involved looking at people’s electronic devices – computers, cell phones, tablets – to see what kind of sexually explicit material was on them. He’d also be in the field, interviewing victims of sexual crimes. He was really psyched. Of course he was still looking for jobs – jewelry store sales person, grocery store manager, insurance salesman, but nothing excited him more that the SVU Public Assistant job. “I think I really have a shot at this thing,” I heard him telling Mom at breakfast.

  I saw that Mom was cautiously optimistic. She had a look in her eyes that said, “I want you encourage him, but I don’t want him to be so excited that he isn’t ready for a negative outcome.”

  He’d gotten pretty good at interviewing by the time he applied for the SVU job, so he asked them at the end of the interview when he might hear from them.

  “In about a month,” they told him. “We have a lot of candidates to interview, and we’re not sure how many people we’re going to hire. Sex trafficking in the Phoenix area has skyrocketed and we might hire more than one person.” This didn’t shock Dad. He knew that the process took time. He kept working at The Gardens and applied for jobs, but he didn’t go about it with the same intensity that he had before.

  Mom and I really wanted him to get the SVU job. We prayed about it nightly. We prayed that the best person would get the job, and we prayed (secretly) that he’d be able to accept his not getting the job if they gave it to someone else.

  As the month went by Dad became more and more hopeful and also more agitated. None of the other jobs he applied for was working out. They would have hired him to be a manager at Burger King, but he learned that it would involve working long hours far into the night and that he would have to train, and retrain, scores of teenagers. He found out, from another manager there, that the crowd working there were a volatile, cranky bunch a lot like the kids at Gardens. “I’m not going to work long hours and get half what I get at Gardens and work with who knows who.” I heard him tell Mom.

  Finally, the end of the month rolled around, and then another week went by. the mood in the house crumbled. Dad got sad and grumpy. Not hearing back about the law enforcement job really deflated him. “I studied four years to get that Criminal Justice degree and these jerks walk right off the streets and get the jobs I applied for just because they’re taller than me or they know somebody.”

  Mom was kind enough not to say that a woman got the job. The city hired her because 80% of the trafficking victims were women and the police department thought victims would be more comfortable speaking with a woman.

  Dad got more and more despondent. He still loved us and tried to make up for his mood by taking me and Kai out for pizza or a movie, but the situation was taking its toll.

  “I just can’t provide for this family,” he cried to Mom. “I can’t even get a job as a Fry’s manager. I can’t get any job that pays anywhere near what I’m making at Gardens.”

  “I know. I know.” Mom tried to console him, not wanting to disagree with him. She knew he’d already heard a lot of stupid advice.

  “Why don’t you become a volunteer police officer?” one friend had asked him. Not only would he have been working for free, but he’d have had to pay for training…as if!

  Another friend suggested, “Miguel’s Warehouse has excellent benefits.” He didn’t get that it wasn’t just being paid, but what he was doing, that mattered to Dad.

  “I wanted to go into law enforcement to help people,” Dad said. “Using a forklift at Miguel’s is not what I had in mind.”

  Disheartened, Dad slowed down his job search. He hated going into The Gardens even more. Some shifts were better than others and he would come home in an okay mood. Other times he looked like he wanted to cry, but he never did in front of me or Kai. But after I was in bed, I would hear him crying to Mom. “I just can’t stand it. What am i going to do?”

  Mom would reply gently, “Why don’t you quit? We’ll get by.” I don’t think she wanted to say this. I just think she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  CHAPTER 8

  FINALLY, THINGS CAME TO a head. Dad came home very upset one day and told Mom, “Well, this is it. It finally happened.”

  Mom encouraged him to explain. He seemed sad and scared, but told us the whole story.

  “One of the boys, Alberto, sat in Bob’s chair. Bob had just gotten up to use the rest room. I knew this meant trouble so I asked Alberto to get out of Bob’s seat.

  “’F.U.’ Alberto flashed me a sign to make sure I knew who was in charge.

  “I couldn’t let it go; I knew what was coming when Bob came out of the bathroom. ‘Alberto, I’m asking you nicely to get out of Bob’s chair. You know how he gets when people disrespect him and you know that’s his chair so do what I ask and get out of there before there’s trouble.’

  “But Alberto was in a bad mood because someone had stolen some of his clothing and shoes while he was out visiting family on a day pass. ‘You let those little punks take my stuff and then you expect me to listen to you? F.U. I’m tired of this crap. Let him find another chair.’

  “’I’ll speak to Bob about the clothing issue when you get out of his chair,’ I told him.

  “’F.U. All staff ever does is talk to people. I have almost nothing to wear and I have to go around in these reeking clothes because my stuff is walking down the hall on those jerks. F*** this place.’

  “Just then, Bob came out of the bathroom and saw Alberto in his seat. ‘Get out of my chair if you know what’s good for you,’ he threatened.

  “‘Take off my shirt and I will,’ Alberto challenged him right back.

  “I knew I had to try and intervene because they were about to clock each other. I had Sylvia, the other BHT on the unit with me, call a code green – that’s a psychiatric emergency – so the workers from the other units would kn
ow they needed to come over to my unit and help. But before they got there I grabbed Alberto around the waist so he wouldn’t tackle Bob.

  “Bob yelled at me, ‘This ain’t your fight, Mr. Greg. Stay the hell out of it!’

  “So Alberto yells as he’s squirming and trying to get free from my hold, ‘Yeah, you moron. Keep your runty little self out of here. You’re always acting like you need to be tellin’ us what to do. You wanna be tellin’ somebody what to do, go teach kindergarten. That’s the only place you’re gonna find anybody smaller than you. I heard you wanted to be a cop. Bet they wouldn’t take you because they don’t want midgets.’ This is where he broke free of my hold and turned around, pushing me into the wall. ‘It’s good you didn’t have to run to some other unit for a code green because you’re too fat to run over there. You’re lucky to have any job, effing cretin.’”

  “By this point, they’d joined forces to fight against me. I was trapped against the wall. And they knew just what to say to make me angry. I couldn’t stop myself, honey. Between feeling like crap because I couldn’t get the SVU job, the constant back talk, and being trapped against the wall, I just couldn’t take any more. Before I could stop myself, I punched him. Unfortunately, he moved and I got him right in the eye. I didn’t mean to hit him there. It just happened.”

  “What are you going to do now?” said Mom.

  ************

  Dad was suspended without pay for a few weeks. “It’s so unfair,” Mom said. “You’re one of their best workers, and they suspend you for defending yourself?”

  “Yeah, but the kid’s parents are filing a lawsuit against the facility. They say I was out of control, which I was, temporarily. I still get angry when I thing about the way that kid was treating me. There are no consequences for these kids when they act up. That’s why they act the way they do.”

  “Some good came out of it. I got to tell them why that place is having so many problems. Those kids should be put in isolation for the way they treat the staff. At least they need to have some kind of discipline, but they don’t. Keeping kids happy is how they keep their money, so they don’t give a rip about us!”

  Being suspended did Dad some good. His mood cheered up considerably. He started searching in earnest for another job, saying how he was happy he could devote all his time to it, and that would probably make the difference. He was sure he’d get a job really soon.

  Still, with him out of work, I felt more and more pressure to get some kind of job – something that paid more than minimum wage. I tried waitressing, but it was so nerve wracking! Having Aspergers means I like to do things just right, and the restaurant environment was too chaotic for that. I never realized how much waitresses needed to memorize. I began to dread having someone ask me, “Can I have some more coffee?” or “Can you get me some ketchup?” I don’t know how they do it and keep a smile on their faces. When I was five it was my dream to be a waitress. I thought it looked like fun. Now I don’t know.

  But I needed something to keep my mind off of Mason. Ever since the accident he seemed to want me around to help him for PT on the one hand, but wanted to maintain some distance on the other.

  I couldn’t stand the idea of our drifting apart, so I made a plan. He seemed to be telling me, by his actions, that getting together even one time a week was too much for him. So I decided to lay low and ask him over in a couple of weeks. When I finally texted him and invited him over, he didn’t get back to me for a few days. I wondered if it might have bothered him to be at my house around Kai. Kai is such a brat sometimes. One time Mason said to me that he was a germaphobe and the next time he came over and we were eating something, Kai had to say, “Em says you won’t want to eat that day–old bread because you’re a germaphobe.” He brought up the germaphobe thing a couple more times, just to be rude. I finally had to take him aside and talk to him, tell him he was making me look bad…like I said all kinds of mean stuff about Mason all the time. I thought talking with him might make things better, but it didn’t matter – he just kept at it whenever he saw Mason. I finally resorted to telling him to go up and clean his room and stay out of my business or I’d do something about it.

  CHAPTER 9

  THIS TIME IS GOING to be different, I decided. Mason was coming over. I had prepared and planned an overnight for Kai with his friend, James. Ordinarily that stuff was left up to Mom, but she was so busy teaching, and with the tutoring jobs she’d taken to make up for Dad’s lost wages, that she just didn’t have time to plan stuff for Kai. And Dad? Well, there was just no depending on him right now. The pleasant attitude he’d had when he got suspended was gone, and he was even grumpier now that he was back at work. He’d barely look at me when I spoke to him. In an odd way I felt like he was jealous of me. “If I was your age,” he would say, “I’d go into the medical field” or “I’d do this” or “I’d do that.” It almost seemed like he was mad at me for being fired.

  It was so nice to think about Mason coming over. The last time he’d come over I suggested we could either go out for Mexican food or eat at my house. This time I decided it would be best if we just ate at my house. I would make a delicious peach crisp, and no matter what else I made I knew he’d like that.

  I got ripe peaches, organic rolled oats, brown sugar, cinnamon, and at the last minute I got some real whipping cream. I shook the whipped cream in its container while I cleaned the house.

  No one had been cleaning much since Dad lost his job. “Getting a good job is a job,” Dad would say, as he left his unwashed dishes on the counter. And Kai was a COMPLETE slob. He ate lying down on the couch and left crumbs all over the place…despite how many times Mom told him to use a plate. Worse yet, he brought in all these wood chips from the playground in our apartment complex. You couldn’t just vacuum them up. You had to get on your hands and knees and pick all the chips off the floor.

  The wood floor was worse. We had one of those couches you can see right under, and he left all kinds of stuff under them….popsicle sticks, crumbs of all kinds, empty juice boxes, and clothing. I knew it would take more time trying to talk him into cleaning than cleaning myself, so I just did it on my own.

  Time whizzed by because I knew Mason was coming over. The last time he came over to our house he spent four hours there – four wonderful hours! I could hardly wait! I turned on the radio and used my nervous energy to clean the floors and counters.

  I thought we should definitely spend some time outside later in the evening. I needed a break from the house. I pictured us sitting on the patio with the new wine glasses I’d bought at the dollar store for just this occasion. The last time Mason had been over he’d whispered in my ear, “Next time I come over I want to wanna sit out on the patio and have a glass of wine with you…without Kai.” Then, “Whoops! I forgot you were such a baby. You can’t drink yet.” I wanted to show him I could be sophisticated, especially since I hadn’t seen Mason much lately. As I cleaned I thought about what we’d talk about – how my Dad was doing, how Mason was doing with his recovery, whether or not Mason was going to stay in town or go to school in some other state…all important things to me.

  At 4:15 the phone rang. It was Mason. I thought he’d say he was running late, but he said he wasn’t coming at all! I couldn’t believe it! He said that his boss had asked him if he could stay at work until nine. It bothered me that he kind of made it sound like he had a choice, like he could have come if he wanted to. Like he decided to stay late rather than come spend the evening with me.

  I was so mad. How could he DECIDE not to come. If it were me it would be a no–brainer. I stormed around the house, shooting a peach against the wall. I was so tired of people taking advantage of me.

  At work the day before, two people had come in and dined and dashed. Mr. Stone, my boss, was so angry. He seemed to be mad at me when they left. “Did they just get up and LEAVE?” he demanded in a terse voice.

  “Yes. While I was getting food from the kitchen,” I said tentatively.

>   “I can’t believe it! What goes through people’s heads? Next time this happens you’re going to pay for it.”

  “It’s not my fault! I don’t even get a tip and now I have to pay?” People with Aspergers like things to be black and white, right or wrong. This just didn’t make sense to me.

  I asked Dad about this when he got home. I figured he’d know something because of his criminal justice degree. “That’s criminal! They can’t charge you for people who leave without paying. And I’ll tell you what else is criminal…what they’re doing at Gardens! They used to have us watching six kids apiece, but now we have to watch ten. I had to watch ten boys by myself today and they just about drove me nuts. One of them broke the locks on the cupboard and ate all the snacks. Another one broke into the nurses’ station and stole my lunch. And will they get punished for their rotten behavior? Noooo!”

  He was so angry. And I was angry. I was angry at Dad for not caring. I was angry at Mr. Stone. And I was angry at Mason. I was tired of people taking advantage of me. I decided I couldn’t handle working as a waitress anymore. There was a party at my friend Jolene’s house and I wanted to go. So I called Mr. Stone to say that I couldn’t work Saturday.

  “You can’t just get off,” said Mr. Stone. “You made a commitment. Trade with somebody.” I told him I didn’t know the other girls well enough to trade. “That’s not my problem,” he scoffed. “Kids these days. I’m so tired of people making excuses not to come in on the days they’re scheduled.”

  “I….I don’t want to work for you anymore,” I got out. “I…I just don’t think I fit in there.”

  “Well, that works for me. But you ARE coming in next Saturday unless you get a replacement.”

  “OK,” I managed to say, then broke down, crying. It felt like everyone was against me.

  When I went to bed that night my mind was churning. I just couldn’t believe Mason had chosen not to show up for the dinner I’d taken all that time to prepare. It was like he was a different person. I thought back to the last time we were together. We’d gone out for ice cream, then to the park. While we were at the park Mason wanted us to take a selfie of us, then some pictures of just me. We took probably 10 different shots – in front of some statue, in front of a mesquite tree, in front of a group of cacti. It was such a great time. Mason was so affectionate. He kept saying things like, “That’s a good one! I’m going to send my parents that one!” and “After our kids get older we’re going to show them these pictures and they’ll see how hot their mom was!”