The Year of the Rat
by Nico Grey
Chapter 2
Mike and I spent most of the next few days at the church. Sometimes we talked. He was always trying to learn more about me. But we rarely talked about him or his past. It was almost like he hadn't existed before he suddenly appeared in my life.
Mike spent a lot of time writing in his books. He liked to look out the basement window while he wrote. Sometimes, when he thought I was distracted, he watched me and wrote.
I didn't always like being indoors. But after what had been revealed to me at the Navy Pier, I found myself spending hours in our basement in silent contemplation. Sometime I climbed up into the church and just stared at the outline of the cross on the chancel wall. Occasionally I prostrated myself in front of that icon and prayed.
I don't know what Mike really thought about religion or my need to pray. He just smiled gently and indulged my need.
I remained in our nest the next time Mike gently kissed the back of my neck and slipped out into the night. I was still curious about what he was doing. And I was still worried about him being safe. But I had questions on my mind. I needed to wrestle with them.
It seemed that Mike was going to Grant Park to do sex things with men for money. I had gotten over my concern about him getting pregnant. On reflection, that appeared a foolish thought. I had never heard of anyone except a girl or woman getting pregnant. I was pretty sure about Mike. In all the months we had lived together, I hadn't seen him naked. But really, I was pretty sure. We shared a nest.
So Mike was doing sex with men. It sounded like sex was fun. At least the auburn-haired kid at Navy Pier made it sound like fun. And tasty, too. But I really couldn't believe that.
I knew that Mike was doing sex with men for money. But maybe he was doing sex for fun, too. I didn't know why, but that thought bothered me.
It sounded like the kids on the pier did sex for fun. And it sounded like they did sex with each other. But Mike had never done sex with me. I don't think he had even tried to do it with me. Why? If it was fun, why not do it with me, too? I didn't have an answer. Was there something wrong with me?
Four nights later, Mike slipped out into the night again. I was just a few minutes behind him.
I was accustomed to the routine. From a distance, I saw five young guys greet Mike. It wasn't a warm greeting, like they were close friends. But they seemed to like him well enough. It was a co-worker kind of liking. Someone who was okay to spend time with until you went home to the wife and kids... or whatever.
I slipped silently through the trees and shrubbery until I found an outpost with a clear view of that clump of bushes. I watched. And I learned. I learned a lot over the next few months.
It seemed that swallowing a penis wasn't the only way to have sex. Sometimes I saw Mike or a co-worker use their hand on their employer's penis until that white stuff came out. Oh, yeah! Come. That must be why the kid on the pier called it that.
Sometimes the employer would use their hands or mouth on Mike or one of his friends. I had started touching myself when I was alone in our nest and now I understood that it did feel good. I guess that's why they did it.
Sometimes a man would hire two of the boys for the job. I guess that must have been fun, too. But it looked to me like the kids were just putting on a performance. They didn't get into it like the men did... or some of the kids did when they were alone with a man.
And a couple times I witnessed something really disturbing!
Some of the men liked to lick the kids' butts!!! I'm glad I didn't see that the first time I visited Grant Park or I would have puked my guts out! Then Mike would have heard me, and that wouldn't have been good.
I don't know why the men liked licking butts, but the kids seemed to like it. I tried to imagine that. By then, I knew that touching my penis felt good. But I couldn't imagine that having someone touch —or lick! — my butt would feel good. Wiping my butt after going to the bathroom never felt good.
The kids got into it! They'd start moaning and thrashing around. And the men would really get into it then. At least a few times, I'm sure I saw a guy's tongue going right into a kid's hole! It was disgusting!
But there's more!
There was one kid — he didn't work every time Mike was there — a little guy. I'm not sure he was any older than me. He had dark hair and kinda dark skin, but his butt was really white. Yeah. His butt. Really white. I know because he let a couple of guys take all his clothes off. Then he bent over and those guys put their penises right inside his butt!
I was amazed. If you had asked me before I saw it, I would have told you it couldn't be possible. But it was! I know. I saw them go right in. I was probably thirty or forty feet away, but there was no mistaking what I saw.
I think that kid liked it, too. He let them do it. And they gave him a lot of money! I saw him counting bills after one guy left. He had a wad of them.
After a dozen or so visits to Grant Park, I was starting to think that I was becoming a sex expert. And with all the things those guys could do to each other, I'm surprised that men even needed women. I guess it must be for the babies.
Of course, I still had a lot of questions. I had seen what guys could do with each other. I knew that there were parts of my body that I could make feel really good. I had watched Mike and his friends do those things and I had tried one or two of them at home. But I still didn't really understand why they did it.
Money. Of course. It felt good. Sure. But why go out on a chilly night and have sex with someone who appeared to be a stranger? It just felt really weird every time I saw it.
And what if someone came by and saw you doing it? I thought that would be really embarrassing. I couldn't understand why anyone would risk that kind of humiliation.
I also couldn't understand the way I was feeling every time some strange man took Mike out behind the restrooms and did sex things with him. I watched men do sex things with Mike's friends with a range of fascination, disgust, and awe. But every time I saw some man do something with Mike I felt sick. Sometimes I felt angry.
I enjoyed the respites permitted by Mike's work schedule. Sometimes we spent days together in the church basement; me reading, Mike writing, and both of us talking together about where life was going to take us.
With Mike, hope was always hovering on the horizon. He was certain that I would grow up and out of the church basement, that I would go back to school, that I would have a wonderful future. It took me months to realize that it was always my future that Mike was dreaming about.
Sometimes we got out of the church. I liked the excitement of the city, but I was always glad to return to the church and to our nest. I felt safe there.
I think Mike felt that I was safer there, too.
But he still took me down to the pier at least a couple of times every week. We could never afford the food, rides, games, and other amusements provided. Watching the excitement there was our entertainment.
A few times, we ran into one or more of those three guys I had seen on the pier the night I first learned about sex. They seemed to recognize us, too. We always got a friendly nod and a smile. It felt like the auburn-haired one paid us special attention, like he was checking up on us. I found myself wondering more and more about him and his friends.
Sometimes, when we were in the mood for a break from the pier, Mike and I would spend time on the Riverwalk down along the Chicago River. On other occasions we would go down to the beach and stroll along the shore of the lake. It was almost like walking a tightrope between two worlds; the towering concrete and glass of a bustling city to one side, and an untamed body of water that had been there for millennia on the other side. Sometimes, I wasn't sure exactly which way that tightrope was going.
Once or twice, I asked Mike about a visit to Grant Park. I had grown up just outside the city. I had heard about the entertainments and incredible sights there. But Mike always diverted my interest or distracted me. I got the message. He didn't care to visit Grant Park.
My parents rarely spared a thought for me when I was growing up with them. But I do recall my father remarking once that he had no desire to visit his workplace except when he was on the clock.
It was bound to happen. I got greedy.
I knew all I needed to know about what Mike was doing at night to earn money for us. I had come to know everything I really needed to know about sex. I mean, I was only eleven! What more does an eleven-year-old need to know?
But I couldn't help myself. I kept wanting to see more. Whenever Mike would gently rub my arm, check for a response, then tenderly kiss the back of my neck before he disappeared into the night, I was always just a minute or two behind him.
The scene rarely changed. Sometimes Mike would have a new co-worker. Of course, the employers changed every time, but many returned. I guess they appreciated how hard it was to find good workers. When they found one, they kept hiring him.
I never saw any new sex things after that little guy bent over for his employer. And he was the only kid I ever saw do that. After a few months, every encounter was just a variation on something familiar. I should have been bored.
But I was always anticipating something. A slender body and a head of long, silky brown hair leading some new employer around the corner and into the bushes. There I witnessed the same familiar but disturbing sights, as Mike allowed his employer to do something invasive to his body.
There were occasions that I found myself trembling with rage as Mike pulled himself back together and slipped away to the front of the restrooms, after being violated by a greedy new employer.
Summer wasn't far away. The nights were becoming much warmer. Mike was working more frequently. I was always there, taking notes.
The boys' customers apparently changed during the warmer months. Maybe they brought out people who just didn't care to do sex things during cooler weather. I recognized quite a few of the regulars, but Mike and his friends were starting to see a lot of new people.
Maybe I'm being judgmental, but it seemed like the new customers were a better class of clientele. They dressed better. They spoke better. They had more money. They seemed less desperate.
I didn't recognize the guy that Mike led out behind the restrooms. He was youngish and well-dressed; maybe he was a lawyer or a banker. He looked a lot like the people I had seen once during a school trip to the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. I know that Mike was acting very timid with the guy, like he wasn't comfortable around someone who exuded so much wealth and power.
I settled deep into my outpost in the bushes. I wondered how someone like this guy would treat a young kid like Mike, what he would want to do with him. I also found myself wondering what he looked like without those fancy clothes.
Some silent communication passed between the guy and Mike, before the guy spoke.
"I'll do you."
Mike nodded and reached for his zipper, but the guy pushed his hand away.
"I like to unwrap my own presents," he insisted.
Mike just shrugged and leaned against the trunk of a tree behind him. The guy fumbled with the button on Mike's jeans, then unzipped his fly. He didn't stop there. Without warning, he took Mike's pants and boxers straight down to his ankles!
Mike jumped, but the guy held on to his hips and reassured him. "I just want to appreciate all of you. What's wrong with that? How about I give you an extra twenty to enjoy the view?"
Mike looked hesitant, maybe even a bit scared for a second. The guy seemed to understand that a little salesmanship was necessary.
"Come on, junior. Don't go all Boy Scout with me now. You know this is pay for play. And if I can't play, you won't get paid. Would an extra thirty make it worth your while?"
Mike looked around nervously. Then he nodded briefly, so the guy grabbed the tail of his shirt and had it up over his head in one smooth motion.
I couldn't believe it! Mike stood there, being completely violated by this... person, and he just leaned back against the tree again.
I was shocked, disgusted, and then fascinated as Mike started to stand up straight. I don't suppose it was impressive, not even by fourteen-year-old standards. But I was impressed.
I had never seen this much of Mike before; not even close to this much! He was slightly built, but every part of his body was completely in proportion to every other part of his body. I noted a light almond complexion, clear skin, and the start of some decent muscle tone. I noticed the small patch of dark hair set above his impossibly straight penis. It was pointing directly to heaven!
Mike looked absolutely perfect. It really bothered me that he had to share that perfection with anyone else.
I couldn't take my eyes away this time as the guy knelt and started in on Mike. I thought that Mike seemed anxious, but he was making just enough noise to appear interested.
And after a while, Mike was more than interested. He closed his eyes, his breathing became ragged, his knees were trembling, and his body started shaking. Just before his convulsions climaxed, the guy reached around and grabbed Mike's butt!
He grabbed a cheek in each hand and separated them. A couple of his fingers disappeared into the cleft between. Mike's eyes shot open. He looked like he wanted to protest, but that expression quickly collapsed into shame.
I was outraged! The guy's hands were groping Mike's butt like he owned it! And even in that tawdry setting, I thought that there was still something pure about those pale white cheeks; something that shouldn't be desecrated like this.
I was trembling. It just wasn't right! That bastard could have Mike everywhere else for his money, but he couldn't have that!
I was too upset to react cautiously. I was too upset to think at all. I jumped up and ran. But just before I faded into the shadows, I turned back and saw Mike looking directly at me. I couldn't read his expression. And after running several more yards, I could barely make out where I was going.
When I arrived back in the church basement, I was far too keyed up to sleep. I kept trying to visualize Mike's expression as he saw me running away, hoping for some insight into what he was feeling.
I understood that he wouldn't be happy I had followed him to Grant Park. His reaction would probably be far worse because of what I had seen there.
I curled up in our nest and tried to relax. But sleep wouldn't come. I couldn't find any answers in the church basement, so I crawled up the stairs.
I knelt in the chancel and prayed for the answers I needed. When my knees began to give out, I prostrated myself before the faded icon. As I lay there on the precipice between despair and exhaustion, I could sense a warm glow that gradually enveloped me. I didn't open my eyes, but I began to feel that everything would be alright. From somewhere in unseen parts of the universe, hope began to gather around me.
I still didn't fall asleep easily. I waited in our nest for almost two hours — wondering how I could possibly explain myself and apologize to Mike — before sleep finally took me. I woke again, hours later, to a cold nest. I was alone. It was dark. But I was still aware of that warm glow lurking somewhere out on the outer limits of my senses.
When I woke to light beginning to filter its way into the basement, our nest was still cold. But as I gradually eased my eyelids open, I saw Sunny D, a pint of milk and a box of Lucky Charms set out on the floor in front of me.
Mike was sitting in some faint light beneath the basement window, writing in his large book. It took almost a minute before he noticed me watching him. When he did, his focused expression collapsed into embarrassment and something I would later come to recognize as despair.
He closed his book, put it and the pencils into his backpack, slung the pack over his shoulder, and started toward the stairs.
"Mike?" Where was he going? "Aren't we going to eat?"
I think Mike was as confused as I was.
"They're for you, Rat," he gestured toward the Lucky Charms. "You don't have to share them with me."
The idea that Mike wouldn't want to eat with me hurt almost as much as the pain I had caused him with my betrayal.
"Please? I'm really sorry, Mike. I promise..." What could I possibly promise that would compensate for what I had done to him? "Anything, Mike. Whatever you want me to do. Just please forgive me!"
I didn't understand the bewilderment that played across his face. Surely, he must have something I could do to make it up to him.
"Rat?" There was real uncertainty in his eyes. "You saw what I was doing."
I didn't need to ask what he was talking about. I nodded.
"You don't have to be nice to me. I'll just leave." He turned back toward the stairs.
"Mike! Please! Don't go!" In a panic, I untangled myself from our nest and struggled to my feet.
Mike half-turned back toward me, his inner turmoil revealed in the jumble of emotions expressed on his face.
"I need you, Mike! Please don't leave me!"
"What I was doing last night doesn't bother you?" He appeared to be sincerely confused.
I didn't understand. Of course it bothered me. But why would I want him to leave because of it?
I really couldn't explain myself clearly, so I just pulled out our bowls and filled them both with Lucky Charms.
We figured out our different perspectives slowly, in small snippets of conversation as we ate breakfast.
I learned what it meant to be gay. At school and in other places, I had already heard that it was bad. It was really bad. I had heard that word a lot. I had been battered repeatedly with it. But I didn't realize that it just meant someone who enjoyed doing sex things with other guys.
When Mike explained that he was gay, I was really confused. He hadn't looked like he enjoyed doing sex things with most of those guys in the park.
Mike explained that he didn't enjoy doing sex things with all those guys — and then he wanted to know how many guys I had seen him doing sex with — but because he was gay, he didn't mind as much when he had to do sex things with guys. And that doing sex things with those guys gave us money to buy food and other things that we needed.
By the time Mike was through explaining, the only thing I didn't understand was, if he was gay and was even willing to do sex things with guys he didn't like, why hadn't he ever wanted to do sex things with me?
Something changed in Mike's eyes when I asked that question. His expression grew softer. He explained that sex things were a way to earn money for us, but he would never ask me to do sex things just to make him feel good.
It was a strange explanation. There were so many things that Mike did to make me feel good. I wanted to do something that would make him feel good! But he seemed adamant about the subject. He would do sex things to help protect me, he explained, but he would never do sex things to exploit me.
I knew I had a good vocabulary. Despite my social problems, I always got good grades in school. But I didn't know that word. I made a note to look it up if I was ever in a library.
Once we had sorted through all that confusion, and I was sure that Mike wouldn't leave me, I thought it would be nice to spend the day down by the Pier. But Mike hadn't slept all night. I guess he was too upset. He needed some sleep.
Mike curled himself up into our nest. I curled into the nest behind him and wrapped an arm around him. Before Mike drifted off to sleep, I brushed the hair away from the back of his neck and gently kissed him there.
I didn't need much more sleep. But I enjoyed lying there, holding Mike safe in my arms while he slept. Occasionally, I kissed the back of his neck again, just to remind him that I was still there to protect him.
After that miserable night, I never followed Mike when he left me in the church basement. I wanted to go with him, maybe just to make sure that he was safe. But I understood how much it bothered him. Upsetting Mike was a lot worse than lying in out nest and worrying about him.
Once I suggested to Mike that I could help him with his work. If we both went out, he would only have to go half as often.
That idea didn't go over very well at all. It's the only time I can ever recall Mike getting really stern with me. He didn't go into a lot of detail, but he explained that sometimes people in his line of work got sick.
He refused to let me take that chance. I don't know why he thought it was fair that I had to let him take chances when he wouldn't let me. But Mike was in charge. That was enough for me.
Mike would disappear into the night every three or four days. We had a ritual. I had stopped pretending to be asleep. Before he departed, I used to press my crucifix to his chest and pray for God to watch over him. I don't know whether Mike really believed in religion, but he indulged me.
Instead of kissing me on the back of my 'sleeping' neck, Mike would kiss me goodnight on my forehead. After a while, I started to kiss him back. I don't know if that added anything to God's protection, but I figured that it might help. When Mike was gone, I'd climb the stairs and spend hours praying in front of the cross on the wall.
I don't know if anyone heard me. But Father Thomas used to tell me that God always hears our prayers. And praying did help me feel better and worry less while Mike was away.
Whenever Mike left for the night, breakfast the next morning was a special occasion. I'd wake to find his arm wrapped around me. Unless I had to pee, I'd just snuggle deeper into his embrace and revel in the knowledge that, once again, he had come safely home to me. And if I did have to pee, I hurried back to our nest before my absence could be noticed.
Once Mike was awake, he'd go out to buy breakfast for us. I often went with him, now. But I never let him be tempted into spending money unnecessarily to indulge me. It was always cereal — usually store brand Cheerios — milk, and some juice. Something that was filling, met our nutritional needs, and was cheap. The less we spent, the less frequently Mike had to go out and earn more money.
With the warmer weather, Mike and I spent more time out in the city. I loved being out where we could watch people. The church basement was safe and helped protect us. But out in the open air, I enjoyed the feeling of being alive.
Mike came with me, I suspect, as much to watch me enjoying myself as for any enjoyment he got out of being in a crowd. It wasn't that Mike didn't like people. But he had a wariness about him when surrounded by people. It was like he was always waiting for a hand to drop on his shoulder, and then something bad would happen. For Mike's comfort, when we were outside we spent much more time on the edge of the action, looking in and observing, than caught up in the swirl of activity.
I guess that must be kind of strange. I had my rat's wariness when dealing with people, but it still energized me. Being around people brought risk —and bad memories of my previous experiences with people — but it also felt like opportunity to me. If nothing else, an opportunity to learn.
Watching people. Mike did enjoy that. I'm not sure why, but sometimes it looked like he was taking pictures and storing them away in his head. I had no idea what he did with them.
I liked watching people, too. My motives were, perhaps, more hopeful. I had spent years of my life trying to fit into a family that didn't want me. I had spent years trying to fit in at school, until I figured out that no one there wanted me, either.
Father Thomas is the one person, before Mike, who really did seem to see something in me. I never understood what. I guess he was just a kind man who thought my life might have value, if someone would only provide me with an opportunity.
So he showed me that he cared with small indulgences. He gave me the sort of work a kid could do and rewarded me for it. He encouraged me to work hard in school and to recognize and take pride in my accomplishments.
I guess Father must have seen growth in me. I'm pretty sure he was upset when he was assigned to another church far away. I still have the crucifix he gifted me when he left.
He'd probably be disappointed in me over what happened to the money he gave me. One of my older brothers saw me with that money, just punched me in the stomach, took it, and sauntered away laughing. Father's good intentions were wasted because I wasn't strong enough to do anything but writhe on the floor and fight to hold back my tears.
That was why I left home. I felt like such a failure. I did go to my parents about my brother's theft, but they thought it was as funny as he did. My father told me I should have taken better care of it. I don't think he really liked Father Thomas, anyway.
I kept the crucifix carefully tucked away under my shirt.
Later that night, I packed some clothes in a bag and left. I took a bus into the center of the city. I hung out there for weeks, stealing what I needed to survive, until I met Mike.
I think maybe he met me first. Mike was probably standing on the edge of a crowd, watching people, when he noticed me. I wasn't stealing anything that day. Really! I guess he just noticed something about me that told him I needed someone to look after me.
A day or two later, Mike and I ended up together in a group of kids that were living on the street. After a while, he kind of took me off to one side and got me talking. When he found out that I was spending the nights on top of heating grates and under cardboard boxes in back allies, he offered to find a better place for me to sleep. He knew of a church that looked abandoned. And he was pretty sure that we could figure out a way to get inside...
Now we were both standing on the edge of a crowd. I don't know what he was thinking, but I may have been feeling nostalgic. Mike noticed me watching a group of school-age kids, boys about my age, horsing around near the Gateway Park. I guess I had been watching them for a while.
"Do you miss it, Rat?"
My return glance must have spelled out the question.
"School. Being with other kids your age." He looked miserable. "You can still go back. You're only eleven. It's not too late."
I didn't know what to say. I couldn't imagine any reason why I would want to go back.
I had never connected with the people that I grew up around. My family couldn't be bothered with me. My parents had their own lives. My older brothers? I guess maybe they saw me as competition. They ignored me as long as I stayed out of their way. When I didn't, they made sure that I wished I had.
The adults in my life. The professionals. Teachers and the like. I was just another small body that they were pushing through the system. They counted their numbers at the end of the year and collected their paychecks. I was tolerated as long as I didn't cause any trouble. So I learned not to cause them any trouble and they fulfilled their half of our 'bargain'. They ignored me, too.
I wish that the boys my age had ignored me. But I was small. I was different from them. In a world where many of them were trying to gain status and establish a place in the social pecking order, I looked like a target. I was picked on frequently. I was called a lot of names. Nasty names. Some of the kids abused me. Sometimes I was pushed around, even hit. The boys that didn't pick on me just ignored me. I was grateful to those boys.
Girls? They were probably the cruelest. They actually pretended to be interested in me. But I already understood that they were just toying with me. They wanted me to show that I cared, so they could cut me down, too. It was their way of establishing status. So I didn't give them the chance. After a while they stopped bothering me.
Mike's question gave me pause, but the answer was obvious. Maybe I was watching those boys out of a sense of nostalgia. But I wasn't missing anything — at least not anything real. If I was missing anything, it was what I once hoped could be.
There were only two people in my entire life that had given me what I really needed; that had treated me like a person. One was working in a parish somewhere near Peoria now. The other one was standing right next to me. I didn't want to go back. There was nowhere else I'd rather be.
But the question got me thinking... and worrying.
"What about you, Mike? Do you want to go back?" As I asked the question, I realized that I had no idea where he would go back to.
Mike had a distant look in his eyes. "If only I could..." Then he refused to say any more.
His answer troubled me. I hated the idea that he would leave me. But even more, I hated the idea that he was so sad. I wrapped my arm around his waist and hugged him. I suppose we got a few odd looks.
Mike wiped at his eyes surreptitiously.
"Maybe I'd go back if I could. But I wouldn't go unless I could take you with me, Rat."
I hugged him even harder.
That moment, in a way, marked a turning point in my life. It helped cement the sense of security that I felt around Mike, knowing that he would never abandon me. In my own mind, I also vowed that I would never abandon Mike.
Those school kids that I suppose I had been watching? They were something in my past. My only path stretched out ahead of me. There was no going back.
When we were out in the city, I began to pay closer attention to the people there. Not that I hadn't paid attention to them before, but in a way I had felt like a tourist among them. Our connection, and my interest in them, had been casual. Now I realized that they were a part of my future.
Mike and I spent time in the center of the city, sometimes wandering around The Loop. We frequently strolled down to the shore of Lake Michigan. Occasionally he would even take me to Grant Park now, although we avoided a certain corner of the park. Buckingham Fountain was amazing! A few times, when we visited the Park during the day and had spare time, Mike brought me to the Chicago Public Library — another world full of possibilities. I found out what 'exploit' means, and that was just the first step on a long journey.
Navy Pier and Gateway Park remained our favorite destination. Life there was so vibrant. I suppose it was a fantasy, of sorts. But while I was there it felt like anything was possible. Mike and I, we could live forever in a world full of wondrous possibilities!
When we visited the Pier, we continued to run into those three kids that had left such a strong impression on me months earlier. The kid with the auburn hair was often there. His other two companions were sometimes with him. Sometimes they were alone. I also noticed that a girl with long blond hair was a frequent part of their crew, and there were a few other faces that became familiar in time.
We usually nodded greetings when we bumped into each other. Words were never spoken, although I was aware that the kid with the auburn hair always focused his attention on us when he was around. I also noticed that the younger blond boy often followed us with his eyes. I didn't understand why, but he seemed concerned about us.
I was tempted to approach them, just to learn more about them. They seemed friendly. They appeared to be decent people. I thought maybe they cared about Mike and me — at least it felt that way. I considered the possibility that maybe we could become friends. It was an unfamiliar concept to me, but it felt like something that could be good.
I wondered why we only seemed to meet them at night. They looked to be street kids, like Mike and me, so they probably weren't in school. I wondered if they had jobs. And that thought brought me up short. Mike worked, but at night. Were there kids who worked during the day?
That thought made me feel funny. Maybe it was the pictures that came into my head. Maybe it was the faint laughter that seemed to come from nowhere. Maybe it was just that the little blond guy didn't look much older than me. I hoped that he didn't have to work.
There was something innocent about that kid. Maybe it was his youth. Maybe it was the bag of Jolly Rancher candy he often clutched in his hand. Maybe it was the way he didn't seem part of the world around him; an ethereal quality that distinguished him from other people. Maybe it was the way that he followed the older black kid around like he was orbiting the sun. Maybe it was the way that reminded me of someone else...
There were other people we met in our travel that became familiar. But those three guys and their friends felt like they were becoming a real part of my world, even if we had never actually connected directly with each other.
As summer arrived in Chicago, I found myself wondering more about what Mike faced when he was out in the night alone. The last new customer I had seen with Mike seemed a lot more aggressive than what I had considered his normal clientele. I hoped that guy was the worst that Mike would encounter.
I also worried because it seemed that Mike wasn't waking up in the morning in his usual upbeat mood. He slept longer and wasn't as eager to get out of bed when he did wake up.
It worried me more when he began to develop a dry cough. I had spent my entire life in Chicago, so I was used to the colds and the flu that was common during the winter months. But summer illnesses weren't something familiar to me.
When Mike didn't leave our nest one morning, that really concerned me. He fumbled in his back pocket, handed me twenty dollars, and asked me to go out and buy our breakfast. I did my best to buy the sort of food that Mike would buy, and to find it for as little money as possible, but it was really hard. Every step of the way, my mind was distracted by worry over why Mike was sick and what I could do to help him.
Afternoons were a bit better. Mike's energy increased a little once he got moving, so we would go out and spend a little time down by the water. But after an hour or two, he needed to go home. Sometimes he did a little writing in his books. But most of the time he just sat around looking miserable, then crawled into our nest early and was out for the night.
I didn't even think about the fact that Mike hadn't been working until he asked me to go out for breakfast one morning, reached into his pocket, and there was nothing there! I don't know what felt worse; seeing the fear and shame in his eyes, or my own panic as I realized that it would be up to me to solve the crisis.
I wasn't proud of the fact that my first instinct was to lie, but I'm a rat. I assured Mike that I still had money left over from the last time I went shopping. Then I crawled into our nest behind him and held him until he drifted back into sleep.
I didn't know what else to do. I had to provide for Mike and we had no money. He had made me promise to stop stealing. But I'm a rat. He needed to eat. It was all I knew how to do.
It wasn't the best idea I ever had. There was a Whole Foods Market about five blocks away from our home. I knew better than to try to shoplift from a store like that. But I had a plan.
The store was awfully busy on a Saturday morning. I hung around outside the store and watched for an opportunity. A harried, middle-aged woman with a cart full of groceries. She was distracted, trying to avoid traffic in the parking lot while she maneuvered her cart back to her parked car. I didn't think I'd get a better opportunity. So when she got to her car, then turned away to curse at a driver that had almost run her down, I snatched a bag out of her cart and ran!
I'm not sure she even noticed that the bag was gone. She didn't run after me and I never heard any screaming. But when I got away from that store I discovered that there had been a problem with my plan.
There was no way I would be able to convince Mike that I had purchased this particular selection of groceries for us. Most of the items were things we had never eaten before. Some were things I had never even heard of. There were certainly no Cheerios or milk.
I was torn between going back to the store and trying again, crawling back home to Mike and admitting that I had lied about having money, or crawling back home and admitting that I had lied and that I had stolen the food. There were no good options.
Mike had to eat. Option Two was out. I wasn't sure how many times it would take me to snatch a bag of groceries full of familiar foods...and whether I could avoid getting caught. I decided to sneak home and admit that I was still a rat. At least he wouldn't go hungry.
Mike didn't blame me. He did look awfully sad, but I think he was blaming himself.
I understood that our situation had become a crisis. Not only was Mike unable to work, he was so sick that he really didn't want to leave our nest. Even if I went on a one-rat shoplifting crime wave, I couldn't provide everything we needed. What we needed was help.
I tried to talk Mike into going to a hospital. He explained that he didn't have insurance and we didn't have money.
I told Mike that I was pretty sure we could find a free clinic that would help him anyway. He didn't try to argue with me. He just shared one of his secrets.
Mike was an illegal alien!
He didn't go into a lot of detail. But he told me that he had been born and raised in Canada: somewhere near Toronto, as I understood it. He didn't have permission to be in the United States.
Mike wouldn't say much more when I asked him how he got here. Apparently he hadn't been wanted at home. He was living with an aunt and her husband. They didn't really want him. So the guy had brought Mike to Chicago and just left him on the street about six months ago. In the middle of winter! Three or four weeks later, we met.
Going to anyone remotely connected with authority for the help we needed just wasn't going to work for Mike. It wasn't worth the risk, even if they could help him feel better. And I got the idea that Mike didn't think he would get better. Just thinking that was a possibility terrified me.
We picked at the food I had stolen; the perishable items first, since we had no refrigerator. I know that Mike hated the idea of eating stolen food, but hunger puts morality in perspective. He did what he had to do. If he hadn't, I was pretty sure that I could make him eat anyway.
Then we curled up in our nest until Mike drifted back into sleep.
I spent that afternoon racking my brain for solutions. I really didn't have anybody to turn to. I couldn't get in contact with Father Thomas. I wasn't even sure where his new church was located.
Getting help from the authorities wasn't an option, at least not unless Mike got so sick that nothing else mattered. I could go to the library for answers, but I had no idea how long I might have to search before I found anything useful.
I tried to think about what other people did when someone got sick. I didn't have much experience of my own with parents helping when I was sick.
But I had watched television. I had seen commercials, too. I thought that maybe medicine could help Mike feel better.
I made a list. Aspirin. Cough drops. Some sort of cough syrup —maybe something for cold and flu. I couldn't think of anything else, but I had seen a commercial for Vicks VapoRub that seemed to make sick kids smile. I added them all to my list.
I knew that I couldn't count on finding all those things in a customer's bag if I tried to mug someone leaving a drug store. I would need a different approach. I'd have to go inside. I'd become a shoplifter.
The idea of getting caught terrified me. I had no idea what would happen to me then. But much worse, I didn't know what would happen if I were hauled off to jail and Mike was left all alone in the church basement.
It took me a day to work up my courage. I picked a drug store that was part of a chain, then spent most of that Sunday afternoon and evening outside the store, casing the joint.
After dark fell, I thought that I had to make my move. There were fewer people working in the store. There were fewer people entering the store, too. Pedestrian traffic outside the store was decreasing. It felt to me like it was now or never.
Something made me glance over my shoulder as I started across the street toward the store. I didn't see anything alarming, although I did notice that a couple of those familiar kids from the Pier were drifting along with the foot traffic.
I cautiously entered the store through the automatic doors. The rat was inside the building. It took me a while to find the aisles where the medicines I needed were on display.
I didn't have a real plan, so I improvised. A bottle of aspirin slipped out of its package easily enough and disappeared into one of my pants' pockets. I tucked my shirt securely into my pants and a bag of cough drops disappeared down the open collar. I ripped a glass tub of Vicks out of its package and slipped it into another pocket. I was starting to feel confident that I might just be able to pull off the caper.
"Be careful." I heard the voice in the back of my head. But I was just a bottle of cough syrup away from success. I saw the sign for cold remedies two aisles away, and it was right on my path to the store exit!
"Go slow. Don't take risks." I heard the voice again.
But the cough syrup was now less than an aisle away. I glanced around and didn't see any workers nearby. Success was so close!
I slipped into the aisle that advertised cold remedies. I slid carefully down the aisle. I checked out the various products and found one that looked like what I needed. I glanced about carefully again.
The cold syrup package was a simple box. It opened easily enough. The box went back on the shelf.
"Be careful!", my voice warned again. It was starting to make me anxious.
I hunched into myself and tried to be inconspicuous. The store exit was no more than sixty feet away.
Nonchalantly, I slipped the bottle into my pants.
"I got you, you little rat!" A meaty hand landed heavily on my shoulder!
And, oh my god! There were almost rat droppings all over that floor!
A large presence loomed over my shoulder. I didn't have to turn to recognize that it was a store manager. I could smell him. Worse, he had me in his trap.
"Excuse me, sir. Could I get some help here?" It was a young voice. It was a hazy teenage voice.
"Not right now!" That growl was familiar. It was connected to the hand attached to my shoulder.
"But, sir! Oh, dear!" Followed by what sounded like a piece of furniture falling over.
I turned to see what appeared to be two or three display shelves and hundreds of packages collapsed around the feet of that kid with the auburn hair. I felt the grip on my shoulder loosen. I didn't take any time to consider my options. I just ran!
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