LIW&B Chapter 11

"I don't like havin' roommates. They stuck you in here because you're almost as big as me, but I'll still kick your ass. You're just a kid. I'm fifteen. If you mess with me or any of my stuff, I'll beat the shit out of you."
Happy had never heard such threatening aggression. Only desperate, dying rats had directed anything close to the spite this angry teenager displayed. Rats had bared their teeth and cursed their maker. But that was a long time ago. Mel sheltered the boy, leaving him soft and stupid.

Happy remained oblivious to the danger. He barely understood the words. Only moments ago, Ms. Janice, the newly assigned case worker, watched the boys introduce themselves and shake hands before she left. Happy was sincerely glad to meet a new friend. Brian was not.

Brian held a few pounds and inches over Happy, gruff and mean enough for a man more than twice his age. Brian had been in too many fights. His youth was dead and gone. He was a big, angry bully, experienced in the carelessness of the system and the predators roaming for children. He had as little hope for adoption as he had respect for parents. Brian didn't wish to be adopted. It had only hurt before. He wished to be free.

Brian was molded more than raised. His sculpture was brutish from necessity, calloused like a shield. Thick curls of black hair surrounded his portly face to make his appearance jovial. The dark splotches of young whiskers scattered randomly on his pale skin turned the joke into a dark one. His voice stayed low and serious when he laughed.

"I can't believe your name's Happy," Brian continued. "You parents must've been fags. You're probably a pussy just like them."
No one had spoke to Happy this way before. Where most of the children in the residential center instinctively shrank to such language, Happy could only do his best to interpret. Hostility was a foreign tongue Happy didn't recognize.
"Yeah, I guess so," Happy agreed with a smile, "I didn't know my first mom and dad. I only know my dad Mel, but he didn't name me."
Brian looked at this smirking newbie and couldn't be certain if he was serious or giving him attitude. Brian didn't like kids giving him attitude and fought hard to stomp it out. He went with his gut and decided Happy needed a warning.

"Don't get smart with me, pussy!" Brian demanded. He shoved Happy backwards with both meaty arms. Still off guard, Happy reeled backwards into the desk at the foot of his bed. The impact bounced him to the floor. Brian moved forward, getting closer and he launched a diatribe.
"This is my fuckin' room and I don't take any attitude! I'll beat your ass if you ever get smart with me again! And if you tell on me it will only get worse!"

Happy could only think to sit and listen. His aches subsided without notice. Happy could withstand the blows, but he struggled with their intention. He sat on the floor and looked up at Brian like a student to a teacher.

"You're just another keeper!" Brian shouted down, "No way anyone adopts you. You're too fucking big and ugly. You're gonna be here a long time so you better learn fast and do what I say. I'm the king around here."
Brian stood looking down at Happy, waiting for a challenge. Happy had no interest in making the rules. He just looked at his tormentor and replied, "OK".

Brian kept watching, wanting a reason to keep going. Happy only sat still aside from reaching back and rubbing his new abrasion. At last Brian accepted the surrender. He returned to his bunk and grabbed a magazine he had no focus to read.
"I told the doc I didn't want any roommates. He's a fuckin' liar like the rest of 'em." Brian said this to himself more than Happy. He flipped the pages in the magazine with no aim.

Happy got up off the floor and returned to the bags he laid on the bed. The boy still wasn't entirely sure what he was doing in this place, but it was beginning to feel more permanent than he thought. He questions for Brian but now had caution to ask.

The room was typical dorm design, two beds, a bunk on each side with a desk at the foot. The walls were white and the tile speckled gray, as dreary as most of the children. One window broke up the center of the room that looked down to the loading bay of the facility. Happy's room was on the eighth floor. There were a lot of dreary children here, "keepers" as the chronically unadopted were known. Despair slid down the walls like the paint was fresh.

Happy thought about Ms. Janice as he unpacked. She had been with him most of the day. Happy had filled out a lot of paper work and taken tests. Ms. Janice had explained his schedule, 2 classes in the morning and 2 in the afternoon, with a meeting with a counselor three times a week at the end of the day. It was all new to Happy and sounded like fun. But none of the kids, of whom he saw quite a few, appeared to be having fun. Even Ms. Janice didn't appear to be having fun. She smiled behind a voice that didn't mean it.

Ms. Janice took great pains to keep her perspective professional. She wasn't a robot. She wouldn't look at children as units. She wouldn't reduce the human factor in her job. A lot of her colleagues did. It's a survival mechanism, a method to block the emotion that could tear you apart after years and years of escalating tales of child abuse. Any person worthy of the position would have stress from seeing such pain and years of stress can kill. Ms. Janice fought the stress and took steps to reduce it, but she wasn't a robot. She was a professional social case worker on behalf of children's welfare, no more no less. That's all she could sustain.

Happy was a child, but he was another child, another child of hundred after hundreds more. To say he wasn't a number is facetious. Happy was a child and a number, a statistic of loss and regret, of unwanted babies and mistakes, of unwanted adults who remembered their losses too well. Ms. Janice didn't love Happy any more than any of the children she registered which was no more than she loved any child of God. She worked for the welfare of children because it was her job. If it was for love the pain would be too great. Happy knew nothing about the reasons behind the facade. He only sensed the lack of connection between herself and other people. If she was a different person at home, he would never know it.

Ms. Janice had taken the results of Happy's tests and worked out his schedule. His abilities in reading and spelling leveled at the bottom tier, his handwriting was illegible. These all indicated the lack of designed education that matched his profile. Ms. Janice noted how Happy's personality reflected the opposite of his test results. Happy had talked her ear off all day, overflowing with initiative.

The most telling result was Happy writing his name. On his first test, he wrote "Happy" and stopped. He moved on to the test.
"Write your last name too, Happy," Ms. Janice asked.
Happy thought about it and frowned.
"Last name," Happy said, "I don't know. I never wrote it before."

Ms. Janice bent her brow. This was a new one for an eleven year old. Ms. Janice grabbed his folder and read.
"You were living with a Melvin Stotch," Ms. Janice advised. "Is your last name, Stotch?"
Happy looked to the ceiling and back and Ms. Janice.
"Mel's my dad. His name would be mine." Happy didn't know a Melvin.
"Is Mel who you were living with?" Ms. Janice asked.
"Yeah, I live with my dad," Happy confirmed.
"Well, then your last name is Stotch," Ms. Janice deduced.
"Thank you!" Happy said then moved and stopped again with his pencil. "Can you spell that please?"
Ms. Janice also noted the episode and emphasized it very dramatically.

Happy recalled the episode himself as unloaded his clothes. It had been a long day. Happy thought about the questions on the tests, and the cops and his cats. He thought about Mel least. He didn't purposely avoid it, but naturally avoided those thoughts which bring the most pain. Instead, Happy thought about pancakes as he put some underwear in his desk drawers.

Suddenly, he heard a sound, a beeping, a voice from home. Happy moved so swiftly, Brian lifted off his bunk and stood ready for war. Happy walked over to the window and looked down to the loading dock. A row of dumpsters caught his eye and then garbage truck backing up before them.

Happy sat and watched as the truck unloaded each dumpster into its tank. The boy became dreamy and drifted home. He would soon memorize garbage days and times and never miss a show. Brian glared at Happy's hypnosis and didn't understand it, which meant he didn't like it. He moved around the desk and grabbed Happy by the back of the shirt.

"What are you looking at down there?" Brian asked and looked down at the garbage truck. This only led to more mystery and anger. He looked at Happy with disgust as he still watched the trucks with love. Brian impulsively shoved Happy again. This time the thug moved forward with the push, sending Happy crashing against the concrete wall.

"You gettin' off watching a fucking garbage truck!" Brian exploded, his baby jowls jiggling with rage and spit. "What kind of a freak are you?"
Happy hit the wall with arm and shoulder. His shoulder took an impact that would bruise deeply. Happy had never experienced such an attack. He just sat and watched Brian yell. The lonely boy became incensed with the silence.
"Answer me, Freak!" Brian yelled and moved in to beat him.

"Happy Stotch? Hey, what's going on in here?"
Brian stopped and backed up. He knew a floor counselor when he heard one.
"Are you OK? Brian did you hit him?" The counselor entered the room, understanding what he had stopped. Brian was known well. The counselors wanted him to be free also. Only 27 months before he was old enough for the state to want it too.
"I didn't hit him. He fell," Brian lied.

Happy was on his feet before the counselor arrived at his side. The counselor's name was Rob. He rubbed Happy's back to comfort him and become the warmest face Happy had seen since leaving home. He seemed sincere in his concern against this bully. Rob had reported Brian's behavior before.

"Are you all right?" Rob asked.
"Sure," Happy said.
Rob didn't see the same look of fear he saw in most kids, but he still knew the score. He wouldn't push it. Not today.
"Well," Rob surrendered, "OK, but I saw what was going on." He gave Brian another look that told him the same.

Rob turned back to Happy, "Are you Happy Stotch? You've got a phone call."
Happy nodded his head and forgot about his shoulder. "Is it my dad?" he asked.
"Yes, I believe it is. Follow me."
Rob turned and walked out of the room with Happy behind him. Brian stood facing the wall, his back to the entire exchange. He remained in the spot stewing and smoldering until Happy returned.

The call was brief. Mel spent the day drinking and wiping his eyes. He wanted to hear his son's voice, but too much would bring him to collapse. He had to stay strong like he had that morning. He had to keep his boy strong. Happy was the one that needed strength most.

So Mel just asked what Happy had done and let the boy ramble on while he stayed silent. Every word risked breaking a dam in his heart. Listening was bearable but speaking almost impossible. To stifle tears in his voice, Mel added some phony coughs in with the real ones. The entire call lasted less than five minutes, but it felt like an eternal struggle.

Happy returned to his room feeling replenished of exuberance. He entered his dorm room wanting to square things away with his new friend. Happy talked to the slouched back of wounded kid he wished to please.
"Hi Brian," Happy greeted, "It was a call from my dad, just asking how things are."
It was gasoline on the fire. Brian wiped his own eyes and turned around.
"Your dad? What dad? If you had a dad you wouldn't be here."
Happy didn't know how to answer. Once again, he was unsure what the boy meant.
"I'm just here to visit, I guess," Happy tried. "I live with my dad and 700 cats."

Brian didn't understand Happy either. He was tired of trying. It was easier to abuse him and that's what he did. Brian didn't make a sound. He made a beeline to Happy who stood smiling back. Happy had never seen someone rear back their arm to punch him. He made no effort to move.

Brian clamped his teeth together and threw a fist into Happy's cheek. Skin broke upon impact and blood squirt through a narrow stream. Happy's eyes shut involuntarily and his knees buckled. The big, bald boy hit the floor and Brian started to kick him.

"You don't have a dad, Freak! You're just a fuckin' keeper!" Brian yelled.
He gave Happy five kicks in the stomach before he stopped. Brian knew his latitude. Counselors wouldn't come running after one loud outburst. Those happened all the time. They waited until the second to confirm a continuing battle.

Brian walked back to his bunk and sat down, mindlessly grabbing the same magazine as before. It was more difficult for Brian to stop hitting somebody than to start. He sat on his bunk and flipped pages, trying his best to stifle a second outburst.

Happy remained in a lying crouch while the shocks worked their way through his body. Blood dripped to the floor under eye and started a pool. The side of his head heated with swelling. Happy could hear his heartbeat. He began to sit up as soon as the throbbing in his abdomen disappeared.

"Get up, you pussy, before a floor counselor walks by," Brian watched him hawkishly. The kids couldn't close their dorm doors. Happy was risking his probation.

Happy got to his feet. "I'm sorry if I made you mad," he apologized to the brute and walked to his bunk.
"You're damn right you're sorry," Brian barked. "As long as you're in this room, you do what I say. This is my room! You got that, Freak?" He demanded.
Happy only stared and nodded. He sat on his bunk and stretched his legs, wincing at the pain this brought to his stomach.

Brian stood up to finish his demands. "As long as you're in here, I decide what you do. Any time you're not in class or counseling, you'll be where I tell you to be. And you're sitting at my table at lunch so I keep can an eye on you."
The latter demand stemmed from loneliness more than any idea of keeping order. Brian made friends by taking them hostage, a charm learned from more than one abusive foster home.
"And remember," Brian concluded, "If you tell and get me in trouble I'll beat you until you don't remember nothin' anyway." And then in a lower, more sinister volume, "I'll kill you if you tell."

Happy sat reclined on his bunk looking into the eyes of this dangerous animal, ravaged and rabid since birth. The boy didn't know evil enough to recognize it. Happy still thought the hitting was due to something he wasn't understanding. Happy thought the whole event must be his fault. He felt no hatred for his abuser, just caution and concern.
"I don't want to tell anybody anything," Happy said. "I just want to be friends."

Brian stiffened, unaccustomed to such an even answer not powerless and soaked in fear. It almost made Brian believe they could be friends. Such an idea was a foolish indulgence to the broken boy. He assumed it was deception like everything else.
"Fuck you, Freak," Brian answered. "We're not gonna be friends."
Brian returned to his bunk and laid down. He rolled to face the wall away from Happy and would stay there until morning, fully dressed and all. His sleep would be haunted by scarred memories.

Happy dressed for bed and slept without incident. The next day started his new life and routine. Happy would learn to enjoy his classes and fear Brian. He would learn to avoid Brian whenever he could, particularly after counseling sessions. He would sit beside him at lunch, the only two boys at their table, and stay quiet while he threatened and complained. Happy would learn to read emotions, not just from Brian, but from every child and every member of the staff. Happy had never been exposed to so much human interaction and it was time to learn.

Mostly Happy thought about home and how great it would be when he returned. Within a month of brief phone calls with his father, he would understand that he couldn't leave. Mel never said it outright, but he never mentioned coming home. It brought more pain Happy couldn't place. Happy wanted to go home, and wasn't exactly certain why he couldn't.

Happy was a very bright child as Ms. Janice noted to the counseling staff. He absorbed change and adapted quickly, aware of his surroundings. Ms. Janice gave a very positive report of the boy's potential. What wasn't noted and remained unseen was the way Happy noticed open doors and unattended exits. Happy thought it didn't appear so difficult to leave. Maybe it was OK after all.

Happy did what he was told, but he always thought of home. On evenings when he would hear the warning beeps of the garbage truck in reverse, he would think of where the garbage went. He knew it went home. He watched the dumpsters fill the tanks and drive away, a free ride to the yard he held so dear. But he would do what he was told. He thought Mel would want it that way. So he would stay until the old man told him different.