Kerry

It was the first Wednesday in August, and choir practice had run long that evening. It had been doing that a lot lately, what with preparing for the special Christmas music (some day I will get used to practicing Christmas music in August). Also, the new soprano soloist had needed a lot of extra time. She had a beautiful voice, when she could control it, but absolutely no confidence in it, and just needed a little extra attention and encouragement, I guess. As Director of Music, I had to do all I could to help her, but there were times when nothing seemed to work. This evening had been one of those times. I wasn't ready to give up on her - far from it - but I was tired, and I was frustrated. Oh, well, next week will be better, I told myself.

Also, I had stayed after practice to work on a particularly troublesome section of music on the organ, and to set up my registration pistons for the next Sunday service. I had promised one of the parishioners - a friend of mine - that I would play his favorite organ piece as the postlude that Sunday. It had been a while since I had performed the Widor Toccata, and my playing was still a little rusty in places. Oh, well, at least I could practice at home the next couple of days. Come Sunday morning, I would be ready. I liked to think I always was. And the minister had asked me at the last minute to come up with an accompaniment to a poem he had found and thought would make a good anthem. It showed promise, and I told him I would do my best. I would have to call the organ tuner first thing tomorrow morning - it was about time for the general tuning of the organ to be done, and I had noticed some of the reeds were beginning to falter. 

I had a lot on my mind, and I was tired.

I went out through the front door of the church and locked the door behind me. It was already dark, and there was never enough light in the parking lot. I noticed from a distance that my car was the only one left; the place looked deserted. I must be keeping late hours, I thought - even the custodian had already left, and he was known to keep very late hours at the church. 

As I approached my car, through the windshield I could see the figure of a man sitting in the driver's seat, and he appeared to be asleep. There had been a few auto burglaries and thefts in the neighborhood recently, and I was immediately angry. I stormed over to my car, ripped open the door, grabbed the intruder by the collar, and jerked him out of the car.

"What the hell are you doing in my car?" I demanded angrily. God, I was mad!

"Please, Sir, I was trying to do you a favor. I noticed that your car door wasn't locked, so I sat down in the car so that no one would try to steal it. I guess I just fell asleep." 

It was only then that I realized it was a young boy. In the dim light, I couldn't make out his features. His clothes appeared to be a little baggy on him, and he sounded like he was, indeed, tired. I became aware of a slight body odor on him, but nothing out of the ordinary for a boy his age - from his voice, he appeared to be about ten or twelve years old. But I was still angry. I know you have to make allowances for kids - they haven't yet developed mature judgment; but I couldn't let him think he had acted appropriately - it could get him into trouble.

"Well, what would you have done if someone HAD tried to steal it - try to scare him to death with your snoring? A security guard who sleeps on the job is fired on the spot, more likely than not."

"I am sorry, Sir. I guess I just was more tired than I thought."

Since he was just a boy, and he seemed genuinely sorry, I calmed down and decided to just forget it. "Okay, I'll let it go this time. But from now on, if you see a car that is not locked, either leave it alone, lock it if you know whose car it is, or try to find the owner if you think you know where to look. Getting into someone else's car without permission can get you into a lot of trouble. You understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

I threw my music satchel into the back seat and started to get into the car. The boy seemed like he was going to cry, but was determined not to. I thought I heard a low whimper, and started to wonder if my initial anger had scared him more than I thought. As I turned back to look at him, I heard him speak, barely above a whisper, trying but really failing to appear in control.

"Sir, since I at least tried to do you a favor, would you do me one?"

"You can ask," I said, my voice somewhat mellower than before.

"May I come home with you tonight? I promise I'll be good, I won't make any trouble, and I'll leave in the morning, but I don't have a place to sleep tonight, and I am awfully tired."

"What do you mean, you don't have a place to sleep tonight? Where are your parents?"

"My stepfather kicked me out of the house three days ago. My mom died last year."

"What about your father?"

"He's dead, too."

A million questions started whirling through my mind as I grasped the enormity of what this child had asked of me. Does he even realize what he is asking me to do? Is this kid telling me the truth about his parents? Is he a "Trojan horse" for some gang that he wants to let inside my house after he gets in? Is he really a runaway? And if he is, what would happen if the cops caught me with him in my car, to say nothing about in my house? What kind of kid is this? Can I trust him? Can I trust myself? I must have taken too long to answer, because he started to whimper.

"Please, Sir," he pleaded. I could see even in the dim light that his eyes were glistening, and he seemed so small and pathetic in those baggy clothes, and it was obvious he was going to cry in less than 30 seconds. Call me an old softy if you want, but I couldn't keep my heart from melting.

I know there are laws governing what to do with an abandoned or lost child, but I had no earthly idea at that point who I was supposed to contact, and it was almost 10:00 p.m. - they would probably be closed anyhow. (I know, I was tired myself right then.) Not being able to come up with a better solution on the spur of the moment, I made my decision.

"Sure, hop in."

The boy seemed too tired to smile, but he managed to anyway, and I began to feel better about my decision. He climbed into the passenger seat and immediately scooted over against me and leaned his head against my shoulder. He was asleep in less than half a minute.

I started the engine and pulled into the driveway. There was not a lot of traffic, but enough to keep me in the lot for about a minute before I pulled into the street. My house is about five minutes away from the church, but I started thinking: If this kid was kicked out of the house three days ago, I'll be willing to bet he hasn't had much to eat in those three days. I turned the opposite direction from my house and pulled into the drive - through of a burger place, apparently just before it closed. I ordered two baked chicken sandwiches (I thought they might sit better on an empty stomach than a greasy hamburger) and some potato salad. Then I headed home.

My street was well lighted, but my house was dark. I waited for the garage door to open, pulled into the garage, killed the engine, and hit the button for the automatic door opener to close. The only light in the garage was from the door opener, and it was still so dark I couldn't make out the boy's features, but he was still sound asleep with his head on my shoulder. I shook him gently to wake him up.

"Wake up, Tiger, we're home." He opened his eyes, but was still obviously not wide awake. I got out of the car and grabbed the sandwiches and my music satchel, unlocked the back door, turned on the kitchen light, and put the sandwiches on the counter. I waited a short time for the boy to come in, but when he didn't, I returned to the car. He was still sitting in the front seat, looking very tired and listless. He was apparently half asleep and didn't know what to do.

"Come on, Tiger, you need to get something to eat." He scooted over the driver's seat toward me, but he seemed to be in no condition to walk into a strange house on his own, so I slid my arms around his shoulders and under his knees and picked him up. He put his arms around me and buried his face into my neck, totally exhausted. As I carried him into the house, I noticed that he was very light - I doubted if he weighed seventy pounds. I managed to get him seated in a dining room chair. "I stopped and got you a sandwich and some potato salad, but what would you like to drink? I have diet Coke, root beer, iced tea, water, or milk."

"Root beer, please," he said. He seemed to perk up when I indicated he could have something to eat.

In the brighter light of the dining room, I could see that his face was dirty, as were his clothes. He needed to get cleaned up before he ate, but he was obviously much too tired, and I could bet that he was so hungry he wouldn't notice anything but the food, so I opened his root beer, put his sandwich on a plate, and set his food in front of him, then got mine and sat across the table from him. He started to eat ravenously, and even when I told him to slow down so he wouldn't get sick, he still managed to eat his whole sandwich before I finished half of mine. I thought about offering him the rest of my sandwich, but I thought he had better take this slowly for a while - I sure didn't want him to get sick.

"Thanks. That really hit the spot," he said.

"You are welcome. Since you are a little more perky now, I have a few questions. First of all, what is your name?"

"Kerry. Kerry Patterson."

"Glad to meet you, Kerry Patterson. My name is Michael Newman." 

"Glad to meet you, Sir." He reached across the table to shake my hand. I was surprised by the strength of his grip. This kid had learned good manners from someone, but if he was telling me the truth about his parents, who was it?

"How old are you, Kerry"

"Ten right now, but I will be eleven in two months."

"Sounds like your birthday and mine must be close together. Mine is in October, too."

"Mine is on the 12th."

"Mine is on the 8th. We are practically twins." Kerry giggled at this.

"Look, Kerry, I have some questions to ask you, and I want you to know right now that when we talk tomorrow, I want to know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, but right now I know you are tired and dirty. You need to get a shower and hit the sack. Do you have any other clothes?"

"No, Sir."

"That's okay. I'll wash your clothes while you are in the shower. Come with me, and let me show you your room."

I led Kerry back to the guest room and told him to get undressed. While he took off his clothes, I turned down the bed, got out a clean towel and washcloth for him, found one of my T - shirts for him to use as a night shirt, and started the shower so it would warm up. When I returned to the bedroom, he was standing there in his underwear, and his briefs looked like they had been worn for a month. 

Kerry was obviously tired, almost falling asleep standing up, but now, in the light of the bedroom lamp, I for the first time took a good look at him and realized just how beautiful a boy he would be when he was all cleaned up and smiling. He stood not quite five feet tall, maybe two or three inches shy, and I had never seen a child's body so well proportioned. His hair appeared to be mussed and dark, but that could be because he needed a shampoo, and possibly a haircut, although I had seen a lot of kids whose hair was longer than his right now. His face, as I could see clearly now, was triangular. His eyes were a beautiful blue, with eyelashes a little longer than most kids. His lips were almost those of a young girl, they appeared to be so delicate, even on his dirty face. He had a few very light freckles across his nose and onto both his cheeks, but otherwise his face was lightly complexioned, almost translucent - it probably would be after he was cleaned up. His arms and legs were slight - definitely not those of an athlete, but not overly thin, and he appeared generally healthy. He still had a little "baby fat" on his body, which made his "iny" of a belly - button more prominent, but I could see the outline of his lower ribcage. His hips were a little broader than his waist. I started to ask him to turn around so I could see his back, but I thought better of it.

I held a towel up between us for the sake of his modesty, and told him to take off his underwear, which he did, then I tied the towel around his waist. He was so tired, he had no resistance left in him.

"The soap is in the shower, there are more towels in the linen closet if you need them, there is a T - shirt for you to use as a night shirt, and your bed is turned down for you. Do you need anything else right now?" He shook his head. "If you are too tired to shower, would you prefer to take a tub bath?" Again, he shook his head. "Do you need me to help you in any way?" Again, he shook his head. "Okay, make yourself at home. If you need anything, I'll be in my bedroom just on the other side of the dining room. Okay?" 

He nodded, and I gathered up his dirty clothes and left the room, closing the door behind me. It wasn't long before I heard the bathroom door close, then I heard him enter the shower. I put his clothes in the washer, returned to the kitchen to clean up the remains of our meal, then sat down in the living room to do some more thinking. Kerry took about fifteen minutes for his shower, then I heard the water turn off, followed by the sounds of his toweling off. Finally I heard him go to bed.

"Well, Mike," I thought, "whenever you jump into something, you always jump in all the way, but man, you have outdone yourself this time." I thought of some of the things I would have to do tomorrow. First, I would have to call the church pastor and make an appointment to see him - he would probably know a lot about what I had to do - and also tell him that I would not be in to the church Thursday and probably Friday - I would need the time off to get Kerry taken care of. I would probably need to call my attorney and get his input into this situation as well. Then, if I had no choice but to put Kerry into another home, it would be better to do it before I got so attached to him. If, however, I could keep him, even for a little while, he would need some new clothes. I had my doubts about whether what he was wearing was even salvageable.

After a while, I realized that I was planning all these things under the assumption that Kerry would end up staying with me. I had not even considered the definite, possibly inevitable possibility that he could be taken by the child welfare authorities and placed God knows where, and I in all likelihood would never see him again. I had heard of all the scandals, slip - ups, and negligence that seemed to be associated with such agencies over the years. I knew they were chronically understaffed and overworked, but more than a few kids had been hurt or killed because of it. Kerry had already been through enough, and the thought of his having to deal with that, on top of everything else, made me angry again. I know I said some things to myself in anger that I couldn't tell anyone about, but I found myself nourishing the fervent hope that I could find a way to have Kerry placed with me and raise him myself. "Not surprisingly," I chuckled to myself.

I then started to debate about whether to try to contact Kerry's stepfather - maybe Kerry's story was not quite all true; he was obviously a well - behaved boy who had been taught some manners at some point. Even if his story were true and his stepfather really didn't want him, maybe his stepfather would at least like to know he was okay. After a while, I decided to let Kerry decide whether or not I called his stepfather.

After a couple of hours, I turned off the living room lights, went to my bedroom, and got undressed and ready for bed. After putting Kerry's clothes in the dryer, I got into bed and, not surprisingly, found that sleep would not come for a while. I was still thinking about all the ramifications of what I was in for. I knew I had to do things strictly by the book - absolutely legally. I didn't think there could be many objections from anyone about Kerry staying with me for a while, but as I thought more, I started to question my own motives - just to be sure in my own mind, I told myself.

I really wanted Kerry to stay with me if that was possible, but I knew a lot of people wouldn't look too kindly on a widower taking in a minor child, and if that happened, Kerry could be hurt by some well - meaning, but misguided person who couldn't keep his or her mouth shut. I knew I was not a homosexual, although there had been some baseless accusations to that effect when I was in the service. I had become active in a civilian men's chorus near the base, and there were known homosexuals in the group. The military services at that time took a very archaic view of perceived homosexuality, and there was little I could do to dispute the assertions that one of my men had made, even considering that he had no proof (there was none), so I had resigned my commission and received a less than honorable discharge. Although the service had given me an application for an 'Exemplary Rehabilitation Certificate,' I had never applied. I felt that applying would be tantamount to admitting that I had done something that I needed to be 'rehabilitated' for, and besides, the nature of my discharge had never really affected my life. I had had a good career, and had a number of friends who knew about, but didn't believe, the accusations that had been made. The officials at my church knew, and it hadn't mattered to them. I knew that I was not a pedophile, either, although I would be the first to admit that I loved children - boys and girls - and I would admit that I especially liked to be around young boys. For a number of years I had been, and still was, a youth league baseball umpire. Also, I had always really enjoyed working with the kids in the church youth and children's choir programs, and I had never even thought of doing anything untoward with any of the kids I worked with. Most if not all of them liked me, and a few of their parents had asked me to babysit for them. I had only done that a couple of times, but nothing had ever happened, and everyone appeared to be happy. Over the years, two boys and one girl had become especially close to me, and I had agreed to be godfather to one boy who was now thirteen years old. He had been, and still was, very special to me.

Besides, I had been happily married for over seventeen years and, although my wife and I had never had any children of our own, somehow we always had kids around. I had adopted two young boys shortly before I met my wife, and she had a son from her previous marriage. While they were growing up, their friends had considered our house to be the most fun in the neighborhood, and there were children almost constantly there. All three of my sons were grown now, and my oldest son and his wife had two absolutely precious little girls, now ages 11 and 8. They lived about 150 miles away from me, but I still saw them quite often, and the girls frequently spent weekends with me. Again, I had never even thought of doing anything improper with any of these kids.

But in spite of this, I would have to admit that these last few years had been very lonely for me, and I did not want to put any child in the position of being my "significant other." Kids have enough to do just being themselves, and should not have to bear the responsibility of being the only source of anyone's emotional health. My wife, Mary, had been killed in an automobile accident five years ago, and I was still reeling from the shock. I missed her - a lot. I missed looking at her across the dining table. I missed sitting next to her in the living room, just watching TV or reading. I missed lying beside her in bed and just talking. I missed loving her, and having her love me. I missed holding her and having her hold me. I missed her smile. And most of all, I just missed HER. I could still feel our overwhelming love for each other, and there were still times I could swear she was there in the room with me. I wondered what she would be telling me now. 

I noticed the tears in my eyes.

Then I heard the most terrified scream I believe I had ever heard in my life, and it was coming from within my own house!

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