Nightcrawling(79)

I lean over and touch his head. I shaved it so I could patch up his wounds and now it’s grown out enough that I can feel it instead of just the bare scalp. I whisper to him, “Trevor, baby, some people are here and they might be taking you someplace else for a while, okay? Don’t you worry, though. I’m gonna open the door, you just rest there.” I steady my pitch so my voice won’t crack like it’s threatening to: reveal all the wounds that make me up, all the fear I’m harboring in my gums.

I inch toward the door again and I’m scared of it, scared of what comes from this, what Mama opened up. Maybe she called Vern or the government or whoever owns the woman-in-the-suit’s ass. Somebody always owning the woman, knocking on the door so all she has to do is stand there.

My hand on the knob, twisting, pulling, no longer any barrier between me and them. Vernon standing there with a snarl. The woman, waiting.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“This is Mrs. Randall from Child Protective Services.” For the amount of work Vernon put in to get me to open the door, he seems wildly uninterested. Bored, even. “I’ll leave you to it.” He directs this at the woman, Mrs. Randall, and retreats back down the stairs.

Mrs. Randall’s got the kind of face that looks like one a child draws into the sun. Circular, sloping. With these locs that make her look like she should be a poet, like she should be wearing a shawl and not a suit.

She holds out her hand and I shake it. “Nice to meet you. May I come in?”

If I didn’t know better, I would tell her, “No.” Would tell her to get the fuck away from Trevor and that bed, to not enter the only space we have left to call ours. Instead, I say, “Of course,” and she steps inside.

It’s all over the moment she sees him. I can tell from the way her whole face arches as she takes in his scabbing. I can’t blame her. Trevor’s body is a visible testament to how this place has chewed him up. How I haven’t been able to do nothing about it. Part of me is even relieved because what if it’s me? What if I’m the one who has done this to him?

Mrs. Randall begins to walk toward the bed and I can see Trevor starting to shake, his body writhing, and I know if he wasn’t so injured he would be pressed up in the corner, trying to get away from her. I bypass Mrs. Randall to go sit on the bed with Trevor, gather him into my arms. He presses his head into my chest so he’s not looking at her or me or anything.

Mrs. Randall crouches down by the mattress. “Hi, Trevor. My name is Larissa. I was hoping I could speak with you.”

Trevor pretends not to hear, doesn’t say shit back.

Mrs. Randall redirects her attention to me, standing again. “How about we talk first? Outside?”

I nod, leaning into Trevor’s ear. “Imma get up now, Trev. I’ll be right back.”

I have to physically remove him from his place on my chest. He flops back into a pillow and buries his head in it.

I follow Mrs. Randall back outside and close the door behind us. We lean against the railing facing the pool, half turned toward each other.

Her eyebrows tilt. “Look, I’m going to be frank with you, Ms. Johnson. You are not that child’s legal guardian and clearly he is in some form of danger, which doesn’t look good for him or for you. Social workers have visited Trevor and his mother three different times over the years and I understand that you may have just been trying to help, but that is not your responsibility and it would have been far more appropriate had you called us.

“Typically, I would report you to the police for possible kidnapping and child endangerment, but I don’t believe that to be the case. He clearly trusts you and I will do my best to minimize the harm to either of you.” She pauses, glances away from me and toward the pool, then back to meet my eyes. “However, I cannot leave him in your care, not after there is so much evidence of his immediate danger and neglect. I will need to take him and he will be placed in a temporary home while we figure out the most stable circumstances for him. I will be pursuing a warrant which will allow Trevor to remain in protective custody. You will not be permitted to have any contact, at least for the time being. Do you understand?”

I know she’s telling me something that at any other moment would tear at my membrane, break me apart. The only thing I can focus on is how she must do this every day, how this woman stands in front of people like me and tells us the very thing that will most devastate us. How heartbreaking it must be to destroy that many spirits.

“Can I tell him?” The last thing I want to do is tell that boy he’s gonna be even more alone than he already thinks he is, but I also know it would be wrong to do it any different. I would rather break his heart than let a stranger do it.

“Sure. He’ll need a bag with all his necessary belongings. I’ll wait out here.” Mrs. Randall nods off at the pool, like it’s all over. She done her job.

When I reenter the apartment, Trevor is huddled in the same position I left him in, except now he has the blanket pulled fully up over his head and I can see the curled ball he has formed out of his body, as compact as a lanky boy can be. The floor creaks when I walk over to him, and I can see him shaking, the blanket rippling.

“It’s just me,” I say, trying to keep my voice as steady as I can. Try to make it sound like this is not the death of our life together, of dribbling and parties in the kitchen. “I gotta talk to you.”