“Sure, man.”
“Can I borrow a dollar?”
15
Todd hadn’t expected so many people to show up at the jail on a Friday morning, but the line stretched out the door. Noisy, crowded, and full of screaming children. If this adult, something called a guardian ad litem, didn’t show, he’d start screaming too.
After getting home from Green River yesterday, he’d asked Sorensen who his legal guardian was. Sorensen was as unhelpful as ever. So Todd had called every number on the cards he’d been given, but only Martin, the guy who dumped him with Sorensen, bothered to return his call. It was like the adults were playing a game of musical chairs, and the music stopped on Martin.
Martin explained that pending the outcome of his father’s case, a judge had given the county temporary custody of Todd. Sorensen was his acting legal guardian in most matters, but a guardian ad litem—Mrs. Peters—would advocate for Todd. Todd hated to beg, but he’d come close when he got in touch with the Peters lady. And she’d agreed to meet him at the jail this morning.
So where was she? Even though the sign said “no cell phone while in line,” Todd took out his phone and started to dial the number he’d been given. Nothing happened. The phone had power, but it was frozen. He turned it off and on again hoping for a different result. Nothing.
“Todd?” A skinny woman with long straight black hair was coming toward him.
“My phone isn’t working,” was his greeting in return.
“That’s all right. I’m Peggy Peters. Let’s have a seat.”
“I don’t want to lose my place in line.”
“I know, but there’s a lot of paperwork to do first,” Peters said. “To be honest, you might not be able to visit him today. I’ve made a few calls, but the system is complicated.”
“When does he get out?” Todd had read up on bail. As soon as his dad posted bond, he’d be set free until his trial.
“Your father’s attorney hasn’t spoken with you?” asked Peters.
“No.”
“Your father might be in jail a long time,” she said gently. “He couldn’t make bail.”
Todd swallowed back the urge to throw something breakable. Why wasn’t he being informed? Why wasn’t he allowed to go to hearings or get this information first hand? He hated having to trust other people. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. But I’m your advocate, so we’ll figure it out together.” She handed him some papers and slowly went through them, eating up valuable time. Yet another set of rules. Just great.
“This explains what I can and can’t do for you. Remember, I’m a representative on your behalf, but you are your own best advocate. It’s up to you to communicate your needs.”
“I need to see my dad!” Todd shouted. It didn’t matter if his dad was angry, disappointed, or both. All that mattered was seeing him. “No more excuses!” He wasn’t the only one shouting. Family members were shouting at family members, and guards were shouting at everyone. The lobby was louder than a pep rally.
“I understand that, Todd. I’ll do what I can.”
Todd and Peters got back in line. Moments later, an older man with a cane joined the line, but the guard told him to leave. “No passes issued in the last fifteen minutes.”
The old man cursed under his breath and made his way slowly out the door. Just as slowly, Todd and Peters advanced in the line. Todd started to empty his pockets.
“Driver’s license,” the guard said. Peters handed hers over. Todd stood frozen.
“I don’t have one,” he mumbled. “I have my school ID.”
“I need a valid state or federally issued photo ID. If a person does not have such an ID, they can apply for one at … ” The guard rattled off his speech like he’d given it a million times. “A school ID is not a valid ID for admission to the visiting area.”
Peters started to argue with the guard, but Todd could tell he wasn’t listening. Like so many times over the past few days, another set of adults he barely knew argued about what was best for Todd. Todd didn’t even have the energy to be angry. In fact, the tension in his muscles was easing. As if he’d been working himself up for a wrestling match he knew he’d lose, only to find out it was canceled. He tried to get some of the rage back—some of the strength he’d felt a few minutes ago when he demanded to see his father. But all he could feel was a strange, hollow relief.
Maybe it was for the best after all. Maybe he wasn’t ready yet to see his father face to face—and to hear the words he knew his father was waiting to say: You failed me, Todd.
16
The landline phone at the Sorensen house had a cash box next to it. Calls cost a dollar. Sorensen should start his own discount store, Todd thought. Everything cost a dollar.
Todd found an old phone book propping up a bookcase and took it into his room.
“What’s that?” Antonio asked. He laughed when Todd told him. He laughed at Todd a lot, at everything he said and did, at how he dressed, how he ate, even how he slept.
But soon Antonio and the other two boys left for school. Sorensen had kicked out another boy. Antonio said Sorensen liked to kick somebody out just to put fear into everyone else. Plus, Antonio said, the more kids that cycled through The System, the more money Sorensen got from the county.
Meanwhile, Sorensen sat in the other room watching TV, as much as he wanted, unlike the one hour Todd was allowed. There wasn’t anything he wanted to see anyway. All Todd wanted was to find his dad’s lawyer. The name rattled somewhere in his mind; he’d know it when he saw it.
“You got that dollar?” Sorensen shouted at Todd from the other room.
Todd left the phone book open, went into the other room, and handed Sorensen the dollar. Sorensen muted the TV for a second. “Maybe you could spend it on some decent food,” Todd said.
“Listen, Green River.” Todd hated the nickname Sorensen had given him, which the other kids had adopted. “I get only so much money. You don’t like the food, I can call and get you another placement. Pretty soon word gets around about you, and nobody in The System wants complainers. So, if I was you, unless you want to end up on the street, I’d shut my mouth.”
Todd seethed inside, but said nothing. He went back into the kitchen and continued looking, going name by name, finally finding it. Minneapolis has way too many lawyers, he thought as he dialed the number. “Is Mr. Zukowski there?”
“Hold, please.” After way too long, the same voice came on. “Who may I say is calling?” Todd explained who he was. Back on hold.
Every now and then, Todd set down the phone and peeked in at Sorensen. He was asleep at 3:30 in the afternoon.
More time passed, more bad music. Then, finally, “This is Ed Zukowski.”
“Mr. Zukowski, this is Todd Morgan—”
“Todd, hold for a second.”
The second turned into minutes until the lawyer came back on the phone. “I should’ve talked to you earlier, but I’ve been so busy.” Todd glanced at the ad in the yellow pages. It seemed Zukowski did big business in personal injury suits and getting people off for DUIs.
“Why didn’t my father make bail?” Todd asked. “When is he getting out?”
“Your father didn’t have the financial resources,” the lawyer replied. “And no friends or family to come forward to put up bail. You wouldn’t happen to have a car?”
“I’m fifteen,” Todd answered. “Dad owns a car.”
“No, he leased a car,” Zukowski said and coughed loudly. “I can’t say much more.”
“Dad says that you said I shouldn’t talk to my sister. Is that right?” Todd asked. He imagined Zukowski sitting in a small office filled with overflowing ash trays.
“Well—” The lawyer was taking a while to come up with an answer. Maybe a response would cost a dollar.
“What’s going on with my sister?” Todd pressed.
“Todd, here’s the deal,” Zukowski said. “It is imperative that you and your sister tell the same story. Understand?”
“But she—”
“That’s all I can say about that. This is a very complicated situation with lots of moving parts. But there’s one other thing your father wanted me to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“How would you feel about skipping your mom’s funeral?”
Todd felt like he’d been punched. First no one had told him about the funeral at all, and now … “Why? Why would he want me to do that?”
“If you show up, it won’t look good for him. It’ll look as if you’re taking her side.”
“But she’s dead,” Todd said. He meant it to be a flat, firm statement, but his voice wavered in a way he hated. His dad would’ve been ashamed. “It’s not like they’re still fighting over us. It’s not like she can win.”
“No, but your dad can still lose,” said Zukowski. “In a big way.”
Todd swallowed hard. His mom had never missed a meet. Wrestling, track, cross country, she’d been at everything. Cheering him on. Hugging him after each competition, before his dad stepped in for a high five or a stern lecture. Nothing had kept her away—not weather, not sickness, not arguments with Todd’s dad. She’d always been there …
“OK, Mr. Zukowski,” Todd said. “If it’s what’s best for Dad, I won’t go.” But his voice still wavered, no matter how hard he tried to steady it.
17
Peters was late, but Todd was ready. He had gotten a government ID card and they slipped in at the back of the line. As he came up the stairs, Todd saw the same old man with the cane outside.
“Will you be in there with me?” Todd asked. Peters nodded.
“Will you tell anybody what we talk about?”
A head shake this time. “Todd, you’ll only have about twenty minutes,” Peters said. They moved slowly up the line.
“Why such a short time?” Todd asked. Peters answered with a flurry of facts. It seemed every adult he’d met recently knew either too much or too little. Nobody was honest.
“ID, please,” the guard said, and they finally made it to the front of the line.
“You the parent?” another guard asked Peters.
Todd laughed. The guard shot Todd a dirty look. He was good at it, Todd noticed. A real pro at hateful glares.
“No, I’m a guardian ad litem,” she answered. “Here’s all the paperwork.”
The guard held the paperwork away like it was a foul-smelling thing. He set it in front of him, picked up the phone, said something Todd didn’t catch, and then ordered the next person in line to come up.
“What’s going on?” Todd asked Peters.
“I don’t know,” she answered. She tried to talk the guard, but he ignored her. They went back to the chairs. After ten minutes, half of the visiting time, a woman in a different-colored uniform came out. She stopped at the desk, conferred with the guard and read slowly through the paperwork. She motioned for Peters to speak with her, which ate up more time.
Finally, Peters motioned for Todd to join her. “Sorry that took so long, Todd.”
Todd’s fists clenched. “What was the problem?”
“The County is your legal guardian and if the judge says you can visit, you can visit,” Peters said. “But that doesn’t mean the people here will make it easy.”
Todd looked up at the clock. It was 9:55.
It took him twice to clear the metal detector after forgetting to remove his belt. For a second, his mind flashed on the last time he’d gone through security at the airport, when his family took a trip together to Hawaii. It seemed like forever ago.
He started to run toward the visiting area, but a guard yelled at him to slow down. Another guard stood at the visiting area door. “No admittance fifteen minutes before—”
Behind him, Todd heard the first guard say, “It’s OK, let him in.”
“Which inmate?” the new guard asked. Todd told him. “He’s been waiting for you.”
Todd walked into a room that looked like a movie set. There was a wall with glass. On Todd’s side of the glass were people of all shapes and sizes, and on the other side were inmates, all of them clad in orange jumpsuits with numbers on the sleeves.
Todd grabbed the phone which connected his side to his father’s. “Dad!”
“Junior, I’m glad you made it.” His dad smiled, but his expression, like many Todd had seen over the past week, didn’t look real. Nothing about this place seemed real. His father looked smaller, older, uglier, scarier. He was unshaven, with dark bags under his eyes.
“They listen in on these conversations so I can’t say much,” his dad said. “Now, you’ve always been my boy. You’re a good son—I wish I could hug you, Junior. And I hope that soon you’ll be able to hug your sister. Can you do that for me?”
“I’ll do whatever you ask me to do.”
“I know you will,” his dad said, not comforting, but more like giving him an order.
“Like Mom’s funeral. I didn’t go because your lawyer said that you—”
His Dad cut him off. “You’re a good son.”
“Dad, why didn’t you want me to go to Mom’s—”
And again: “You’re a good son.”
Todd’s father pressed his hand against the glass. Todd did the same, thinking of the high fives his dad gave him after wrestling wins. “I’ll be out of here in no time, Junior. Just have some faith in me.”
Todd didn’t ask how his dad would get out of there if he couldn’t make bail. He didn’t ask why his dad didn’t have money. He didn’t ask anything else, period. He was too busy crying.
18
As Todd sat on the bus on the way back from the jail, he tried to imagine his mother’s funeral last Saturday. Had he done the right thing, skipping it as his dad had asked? Not even asked, ordered. Todd had always followed his dad’s orders. His mom hadn’t …
He couldn’t go back to Sorensen’s. Not after everything that had happened today. He switched buses and headed to his own house instead.
The spare key still worked, although the alarm wasn’t on. It didn’t need to be, since there was little left to steal. The big-screen TV, the gaming systems, all of it was gone. Todd rushed into his room and found most of it intact, except for the TV, which also was missing. His computer was there, which seemed odd. His sister’s room was more like the rest of the house: empty, totally empty. Not a piece of furniture, not a stitch of clothing; it was like Tina had never lived there.
Based on his limited experience, Todd doubted that any foster home would allow her to move in with all her belongings. She had to be somewhere else. In Iowa, probably, with their grandparents.
He had to find her. It was the only hope of getting his dad set free. He had to try again.
In the kitchen, Todd opened the fridge, one of the few remaining appliances. The light didn’t come on. He flipped on a light switch. Nothing.
Looking around the dimly-lit kitchen, he realized he was standing where his mother’s body had been. Someone had cleaned up the floor better than he had, but tiny specks of blood remained.
He replayed the scene once again in his mind, but it was getting fuzzier. The yelling in the dining room, more yelling in the kitchen, then the knife. When Todd opened the drawer, he discovered the silverware was gone. His mom had pulled the knife, he knew that. He could picture it in her hand. But then, nothing.
He began opening other drawers until he found a small black book, his mom’s address book. He rifled through the pages until he found the phone number for his dad’s parents in Iowa. Todd lifted the receiver, but the phone was dead.
He started looking for the cash he knew his mom had hidden. His mom’s things were mostly gone, but Todd found a twenty taped under the sink, and another twenty taped to the top of the fan. When he caught her hiding the money, Todd hadn’t asked why she was doing it. But he guessed he’d be using it as she had intended—as getaway money.
At the Greyhound Bus station, he found several pay phones, but only one was working. He dug out the change he’
d gotten for one of the twenties at a nearby convenience store and opened the address book. First, he called Southeast High and pretended to be a family friend. He asked for Tina, but the school secretary wouldn’t give him any information. Next he tried his grandparents’ house in Iowa. No one picked up.
The bus ticket line was as long as any line he’d stood in lately. And that was saying something. Todd finally made his way to the front.
“I need a ticket to Des Moines—how much?” Todd asked the clerk.
“Depends, one way or round trip?”
Todd stumbled for an answer. His life used to be so easy—just do whatever his father told him. But now he wasn’t sure that was best.
Todd heard voices behind him, grumbling from people who knew where they were going; people who knew their families, knew their homes. “Son, round trip or one way?”
Todd stared at the clerk and blinked the tears from his eyes. “One way.”
19
Like the Minneapolis bus station, the one in Des Moines contained several pay phones. The first one he tried was in working order. Another call, another non-answer.
He’d gone all this way on faith. Now he’d go a little farther.
Outside the station, a few taxis waited. Todd climbed into one and handed the driver the address. The driver looked him up and down. “This is about a half-hour drive. You gonna be able to afford that?”
Todd’s stomach clenched. How many bills did he have left? Probably not enough. He pulled out his wallet and started counting.
“Tell you what,” said the driver. “I’ll take you there, and you just pay me what you can.”
Todd looked up in surprise. The driver was watching him with an expression Todd hadn’t seen since his mom died. There was actual compassion in the man’s eyes. Not the fake stuff Todd had gotten from the social workers and cops. It must be pretty obvious that I’m in trouble, Todd thought.
“Deal,” he said. “Thanks.”
The taxi left downtown and headed west into a setting sun. Eventually the driver pulled off the expressway and into a neighborhood of old houses. Memories from long ago rushed back, none of them good: loud arguments between his dad and his grandfather about nothing. Louder ones between his dad and uncles, doors slamming, tires squealing.
Taking Sides (Locked Out) Page 4