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He found them in the worst part of town, the four of them sitting on plastic milk crates in an alley behind a bar. Two of them were smoking and talking with their heads hung low, and the other two were playing some kind of fast card game, throwing their cards on the ground and pulling fresh ones from the deck that sat between them.
The professor was sure they hadn’t seen him yet. He peered around the corner, hoping to hear a name or two before making his presence known so he could better pass himself off as Miguel. But the distance was too great to hear anything except an occasional loud obscenity from one of the card players and a peal of laughter from the smokers.
He took a deep breath to brace himself, then stepped around the corner and walked straight towards the four teens.
One of the card players saw him first and jumped up yelling Miguel’s name. All four were soon rushing to greet him, skipping like boys rather than acting like the young men they were. They picked him up under the arms and carried him to where they had set up home. He laughed in spite of himself at their greeting.
Then their questions began.
“Man, did you run away from that guy who hit you with his car?”
“Yeah, we saw you a few days ago still with him and you acted like you didn’t even know us. Our feelings were hurt man, really hurt,” one complained with a fake pout. The other teens laughed.
“So what did that old guy do to you? Are you still a virgin?”
They all laughed again. The tallest teen grabbed him by the chin and turned his head one way then the other.
“Looks like he took pretty good care of you, except for that shirt.” He examined the hole ripped by the fence nail.
“So what happened, punk? You gotta say something.”
They waited for an answer.
“Not much. We rode around a lot. I lived near the ocean.”
The teens laughed louder yet.
“The ocean? Oh man, he’s a surfer dude now.”
“Fancy car, ocean view, and he comes back here to us.”
“Yeah, why did you leave your free ride, man? I wouldn’t have if I were you.”
He sought a reasonable explanation, one both vague and short. “There was some . . . trouble with the police.”
The teens all aha–ed in unison and shook their heads as if they expected that answer all along.
“Man, old guys picking us up is always bad news in the long run.
What’d I say?”
“You’re lucky he didn’t hurt you, man.”
“Yeah. He better not come back here if he did.”
“Did you he at least give you any money?”
They fell silent again.
“No. Just free meals.”
They all groaned and playfully waved him away.
“Then it was all for nothing, man, all for nothing.”
“Hey, free food ain’t bad. I’d take it.”
“So you got nothing to show after all that time?”
“Hey man, you hungry now?”
“Yes.” The professor answered the last question immediately, grateful for something to eat.
The teen who asked pulled a sandwich out of a paper bag at his feet, tore off a hunk and handed it to him. “Here you go. We take care of our own around here.”
“Yeah,” said another teen. “It’s good to have you back because your sad little puppy face always gets us plenty of extra change from the sweet old ladies driving by.”
The group laughed again, this time not too loud, as if they all knew that was only too true.
Marlowe finally realized why they had missed Miguel. He took a bite of the sandwich, wondering how much Miguel’s absence had cost the teens in handouts.
“Hey, how’s your mother doing?”
“Yeah. Is she getting better?”
The professor froze for a few seconds in disbelief then slowly lowered the sandwich from his face. “My . . . mother. I don’t know. I guess I haven’t seen her in a while.”
The teens groaned their disapproval.
“Man, at least you’ve got a mother.”
“Yeah. Or at least one that’s still willing to see you. Mine won’t.”
“You better go see how she’s doing, man. They gotta be close to letting her out.”
Marlowe thought a moment. “Do you know if she’s still in the same place?”
“You’re asking us?”
“Yeah. How would we know?”
They stared at him.
That wasn’t the answer the professor was hoping for. He decided to try a different approach. Now that he knew Dorning had lied to him about Miguel not having any family, he wanted to see Miguel’s mother for himself, if only to satisfy his curiosity.
“Well, would one of you guys mind going with me?”
“Why? Afraid of running into your old man? Can’t say I blame you, the way he smacks you around.”
He froze again, stunned to learn both of Miguel’s parents were still alive and in the immediate neighborhood.
He tried not to sound too surprised. “Yeah, that’s it. I sure don’t want to see him again, do I?”
“I’ll go with you,” the tallest teen said. “Got nothing better to do.”
“Great. When can we go?”
The teen pulled a wristwatch missing its strap from his baggy pants pocket. “If we go now we can be back in time to catch the lunch traffic. Don’t wanna miss all that fresh loose change.”
“Okay.”
They hurried from the alley into the street. The professor hung just far enough behind the teen not to make it obvious he was following him.
At one intersection he anticipated a right hand turn and took it, but the teen went left instead.
“Hey, where you going?” the teen called out to him. Marlowe sheepishly caught up with his guide. “Sorry.”
They continued on their way.
The teen glanced at him with scorn. “Man, how long ago was it you last visited your poor mother? She used to be all you ever talked about.”
They arrived at the rehab center, a dirty building with a crumbling facade like all the others on the block. At the front desk, a nun sat talking on the phone. When she saw the boys, her face brightened. She hastily ended her conversation and hung up.
“Miguel! Where have you been, child? We were so worried about you. Your mother has been asking about you for weeks.” He face darkened a bit. “And your father has been looking for you, too.”
“Uh oh,” the teen said.
The nun got up. “Follow me. Your mother has her own room now.”
The professor was relieved he no longer had to pretend to know where he was going.
They climbed a flight of poorly lit steps then entered a hallway that smelled of urine. The nun opened a door and ushered them in. “She’ll be so glad to see you.”
She left the room, closing the door behind her.
He stood there, staring at a woman sitting up in bed. She seemed pale yet alert as she watched a soap opera in Spanish on a small color TV.
The teen gave him a slight shove in her direction. “Go on, man. She’s right there. Say hello.”
Marlowe approached her slowly. “Mother?” he said. The word sounded hollow on his lips.
She turned in surprise, letting out a cry of glee at the sight of him. She motioned him closer and pulled his head down onto her bosom, which heaved as she repeatedly called Miguel’s name.
The professor closed his eyes, his face smothered by the woman. “We had no right,” he whispered. “This isn’t right.”
She straightened him up and looked him over. “What did you say?” she asked.
“Nothing . . . Mother,” he said. He tenderly touched her face, sorry Miguel wasn’t here to savor the moment.
She kissed his hand then her expression turned stern. “Miguel. Shame on you for not coming to see me for so long. You know how I worry about the men taking you away, putting you in a new home. The police caught you once and I had to promise them you would stay off the streets, beg them not to take you. I was afraid they caught you again and I wouldn’t see you anymore. Don’t scare me like that, Miguel. You come and see me more often, okay?”
“Yes, Mother. I understand.”
Her stern expression dissolved into tears and she pulled him close once more.
Go ahead, Miguel, he thought. This is your time. He held his breath, concentrating on letting Miguel take over.
Nothing happened.
He hung his head, patted the woman’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m so very sorry.”
“That’s okay, Miguel, as long as you don’t do that to me again. You’re a good boy. Did Sister tell you? I’m getting out soon. Then I’ll get a job and we’ll be back together, just like before.” She reached for a handkerchief on a tray besides her to dab at her tearful eyes.
The professor saw something on the tray among the woman’s belongings that caught his full attention.
“Wait a minute. What is that?”
The woman looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
He pointed at the object, a thin, rectangular box. “That. I think . . . I think I know what that is somehow, don’t I?”
The woman’s face brightened. “You mean this?” She took the box, held it out to him. “Of course you know what it is, silly boy. It’s yours.”
Just as he reached for it, had it nearly in his grasp, he heard the door behind him bang open, and the teen cry out a warning.
Someone grabbed him by the ear and twisted him around. He yelled out in shock and pain, trying helplessly to free himself. When he looked up to see who was doing this to him, he gasped and nearly forgot how much his ear felt like it was being torn from his head.
He saw Miguel’s face, twenty years from now. The man reeked of alcohol and had coarse stubble on his chin, yet it was Miguel’s face nonetheless, staring down at him in a drunken rage.
“Father?” he asked.
“Who else would it be, you ungrateful little—where have you been? Don’t you know I’ve been looking for you?”
The woman leaned out from the bed, her arms outstretched, both of them just out of her reach. “Jose! Jose, no! He’s just a poor boy, my poor boy,” she sobbed.
“Leave him alone!” The teen charged forward and shoved the man away.
“So. You have a bodyguard now, is that it?” the man asked, unsteady on his feet.
“Just leave him alone,” the teen replied.
The professor couldn’t take his eyes off the man; even the smell of alcohol around him seemed eerily familiar. He suddenly felt lightheaded, a feeling he now understood.
“Yes! This is how it happens,” he said, and his eyelids fluttered.
He moaned and doubled over, then slowly rose again.
“Look what you did to him,” the teen said.
Miguel looked around the room in confusion and put a hand to his aching ear, unsure why it hurt. Then he saw his father and mother, his father glaring threateningly and his mother beckoning him to safety.
“Mama!” he said. The boy ran and threw his arms around her. “Mama, guess what? I was—I was—” He stopped, realizing he could never explain it, didn’t even know where to begin.
She pulled him close and rocked him back and forth. “It’s okay now, Miguel. Everything’s going to be okay.”
The teen opened his hard fists.
Miguel’s father looked sullen. “You haven’t brought me any money for too long,” he said to Miguel. “What good are you?”
“Jose, please,” Miguel’s mother pleaded. “He’s just a boy. When I get out, I’ll get a job and we’ll be a family again. You’ll see.” She stroked Miguel’s hair, smiled kindly at him. “We’ll have plenty of money and find a nice place to live, and things will be like they used to be. Okay, my Miguel?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Miguel’s father looked unconvinced. “You better get a job,” he said. “Because nobody will hire me. God knows I’ve tried.”
“If you stopped getting wasted—” the teen began.
“Stay out of this,” the father warned. “You’re just a bum like Miguel. That’s all either of you are ever going to be.”
“No, I’m not,” Miguel said. “When Mama gets a job, I’m going back to school.”
“School?” His father laughed. “What makes you think they can still teach you anything?”
“Because I’m not stupid like you say. I can have a good future.”
His father’s expression turned sullen. “A future? There is no future. There’s only today.” He turned to go.
Miguel left his mother’s side and ran towards his father. The teen put an arm out to stop him, but Miguel brushed it aside.
“Papa. We can try. At least . . . we can try.” He looked up at his father, wanting to hug him yet afraid. “But first you have to try not to be so angry all the time. That’s what keeps us apart.”
His father raised his hands up in surprise, then reached out and patted the boy’s shoulders. “Ah. So you want to be the new man of the family, is that it? Tell us what to do? You?”
“I just want us to be a family again like Mama said. You were a good father to me before you lost your job and got so mad about it. You used to play catch with me in the alley and take me to parades and the movies and even the circus. I remember all that and want it all to happen again. So does Mama, I’m sure. Don’t you, Papa? Don’t you want those days to return when we were all so happy?”
His father looked at his mother, who sat with a hand covering her mouth.
He rubbed Miguel’s head again, more gently this time. “Maybe someday those days will come back. We’ll see what happens,” he said, and abruptly left the room.
Miguel stepped out in the hallway and watched his father disappear down the stairwell.
The teen came up behind him.
“Man. I thought you hated school. Were you serious about going back or were you just kidding?”
“Serious,” Miguel answered firmly. “I want to be smart on my own.”
****
That evening, after begging for handouts and dodging the police who tried to keep the panhandlers away, Miguel ate at a nearby deli, his first full meal all day. He kept enough change to buy a thin pad of paper and a pen at a convenience store, then said goodbye to his friends and returned to his secret hiding place in the park. He hadn’t been there in weeks and was dismayed to find his blanket was moldy and decayed. He tossed it in the trash, hoping they would give him another free one at the Salvation Army shop tomorrow.
As he bunked down on a pile of leaves for bedding, he pulled out a sheet of paper from the pad and opened the pen. It was only a matter of time before Dorning found him, he knew, and whatever trick Dorning used to make him become the professor he was bound to try again. To prepare for that, he decided to write a letter to the professor he would keep with him at all times in the hope the professor would find it.
He stared at the blank paper under the fading light to gather his thoughts before writing his message in fits and starts as the crickets chirped and the moon slowly rose in the calm evening sky.