The Year of the Rat
by Nico Grey
Chapter 4
I ran most of the way back to the church. I didn't feel safe until I was prostrate in the chancel and could feel that cool marble floor beneath me. And even then, I was probably trembling for more than half an hour before I slowly regained control of myself. My first thought, once I was calm enough to think, was to check my underwear and make sure they were clean. Surprisingly, they were.
I remained in the chancel for hours, trying to make sense out of what I had witnessed in the Park. The guy's penis reaming out my throat. Vomiting. The arrival of that kid. His brazen erect penis. Glowing eyes. Blood. Screaming. More blood. The sounds of a body being ripped apart. Always blood.
At times, I wondered if I hadn't lost my mind and imagined all of it. I recalled the voice in my head, telling me that the guy deserved what was happening to him, then trying to reassure me. It felt like other sounds and conversations I had been overhearing recently, that didn't seem to come from anywhere but inside my own head.
But there were parts of the night that felt all too real. I could still feel that penis violating my mouth and my throat. I could still taste what it had left in my mouth. I still felt the sharp sting of being backhanded into the dirt at the fat guy's feet. I could see the red glow from that kid's eyes. I could still hear my own screams as I ran blindly into the night. And most of all, I could still feel my fear... I could smell it...
I finally dragged myself out of the chancel and down the stairs to the basement as the first blush of predawn kissed the eastern horizon. Mike was sleeping. In that familiar setting, the fear was starting to leave me. Shame over my failure replaced it. I checked our supplies. Nothing was left but a few handfuls of Cheerios, a half bottle of aspirin, a dozen cough drops, a remnant of Vicks VapoRub in its jar, and a single Jolly Rancher candy.
Tears welled in my eyes. I had done my best to help Mike. It had been an utter failure.
I sat at the foot of the stairs, watching Mike sleep. My head dropped into my hands. My elbows were resting on my thighs, but something under my right elbow felt different. A small lump in my pocket.
Investigating, I discovered a lump of paper. A wadded up twenty dollar bill!
It wasn't much, but it would keep us going for another day or two.
Before Mike could wake, I dashed up the stairs and out into the city. I really didn't want to go back to that Whole Foods, but it was fairly close.
I spent more than an hour, patrolling up and down the aisles of that store, trying to match our limited resources to our most important needs. I got a lot of strange looks from the few customers and staff in the store. The cashier inspected my face closely as she helped complete my transaction.
I arrived back in our basement with store brand cheerios, bread, milk, a half gallon of apple juice, and a bottle of cough syrup in my bag. I also had an aching awareness of my own inadequacy. I had no idea how I was going to be able to get more supplies for us.
Mike stirred when I came down the stairs. He seemed surprised to see me there.
"Rat. I never noticed you getting up." Mike stretched and tried to yawn, but a coughing fit interrupted him. When it let up, he rolled back into our nest.
I filled bowls with cereal and brought one to him. He tried a faint smile, then his eyes opened wide.
"What happened to your cheek?" He sat back up and reached toward my face.
I recalled the backhand blow in the night. I didn't realize that it would look that bad.
"There's blood all over you!"
I brought my hands to my face. I didn't feel any blood flowing, but there was a lot of something crusted on my forehead and left cheek. That didn't make sense. I could still feel throbbing pain in my lower lip, where I had been hit.
But I did recall something. Blood. A lot of blood. I just couldn't recall how it had ended up on me.
I sifted through my memory, searching for details. Maybe I didn't want to know. Nothing came back to me.
I insisted that Mike drink some apple juice. Then I dosed him with cough syrup, before we both crawled into our nest. I didn't wake up until late afternoon.
Mike was sitting under a basement window and writing in his book when I open my eyes. He was immediately solicitous.
"I cleaned that blood off while you were sleeping, Rat. I couldn't find where it all came from. Just a small bruise," he indicated my right cheek, "And your lip. But you slept close to fifteen hours!"
I tried to do that math. That didn't make sense. Then I realized that he never knew I was out all night. I decided that I preferred it that way.
We spent the rest of the afternoon quietly in the church basement. Mike was coughing less. But he still didn't have enough energy to be more active. I didn't mind. I liked being outside, on the fringes of the crowds. But I felt completely safe, alone with Mike in the basement.
I didn't have much to feed us for supper. I wished I could have afforded to buy peanut butter for the bread. We settled for a meal of bread and apple juice. It was a reminder of my failure to earn what we needed.
When Mike climbed into our nest, I was still restless. I settled in behind him until he drifted off to sleep. When I was sure he was in deep sleep, I brushed the hair away from the back of his neck and kissed him. I needed to be out in the night. But I had no intention of going anywhere near Grant Park.
I noticed the auburn-haired kid and the blond girl from his crew as soon as I entered Gateway Park. They looked like they had been seated there for hours.
When he noticed me, he seemed surprised. I felt an odd sensation, almost like someone caressing me. But it was in my head.
It took me a moment to remember where I had last seen him, almost a week earlier. I felt sudden embarrassment for leaving him in the drug store to face that manager's wrath. I was ashamed to realize that I still might do the same thing if the situation repeated. It was what I do. I'm a rat.
But I still felt bad. I approached him cautiously. The girl and the kid exchanged some unspoken communication. He stood up. She remained seated.
Before I could open my mouth to explain myself or to apologize, he raised his hand to forestall me. His gentle smile was reassuring.
He reached out and took my hand. When he withdrew, he left something behind.
"I heard that someone owed you this." He looked into my eyes. He seemed sad.
He turned away and reached for his companion's hand. "Come on, Jenna," he said.
As they strolled away, I had an odd sensation in my mind. It wasn't really words, but it told me, "Everything is okay. You're safe."
I watched them walk away. A part of me wanted to join them, but I understood that I couldn't.
When they disappeared into the crowd near Navy Pier, I opened my hand. There were three crisp ten-dollar bills inside.
I cried as I lay in the church's chancel. I didn't understand who or how, but I silently thanked my benefactor and prayed for his soul.
I would go out in the morning and buy more supplies for Mike. I knew we needed food. Cereal, bread, juice and peanut butter. But I hoped that we could also afford more cough drops, Vicks, and maybe another bottle of cough syrup. I wasn't sure, but I figured that it should be possible if I was careful to buy what we needed at good prices.
I didn't need another crisis to tell me that I would need to earn more money for us. Mike had been sick for weeks. His symptoms got a little better whenever he had medicine, but he was still a long way from recovery.
My only work experience hadn't been good. I wasn't entirely certain, but I thought it might have been traumatic.
Still, I had learned from it. I knew that I would never again rely on an employer to pay me after he got what he wanted. Payment up front would be my policy in the future.
I knew that I could swallow whatever came out of a man's penis. Sure, it had been disgusting. But I had survived. I could do it again.
I had some vague recollections of a frightening experience somewhere that night. But I also had a feeling of comfort and security that hadn't left my head since the auburn-haired kid gave me that thirty dollars. 'Everything is okay. You're safe.' That feeling still resonated.
I knew I had to go back to work. It made no sense to put off what would have to be done sooner or later. I congratulated myself on my professional attitude. I did what was necessary.
There were a lot of experiences over the next four weeks that I hoped I would never have to relive. I learned a lot of things about what the human body — or at least the male body — can do. It was educational. It was often repulsive. It actually paid fairly well. I couldn't think of anything else a twelve-year-old might do that would bring home a thousand dollars in one week.
I worked every night of those four weeks. I didn't always work gladly. But I had a purpose, so I worked hard.
And I did learn things. I learned a lot about people; the weird kind, those who were decent enough to make unpleasant work tolerable, and the kind to avoid.
I learned how to give a professional hand job that would leave a customer trembling like jello. I learned how to achieve a very convincing tremble of my own. That pleased the decent customers. Maybe it helped to alleviate some of their guilt.
I discovered what it was like to give an expert blow job right through a successful conclusion (absolutely disgusting, but I learned that I could do it if I had to). I learned what it was like to have a customer swallow my penis and balls (actually kind of interesting, although I'm not really endorsing it. It always felt kind of risky.). Eventually, I even learned what it was like to have my butt licked (surprisingly, better than Charmin).
A few times, customers paid to watch me and one of the other workers do things to each other. That was also kind of interesting, although I always wished that it was Mike there doing that stuff with me.
I even put my penis up another guy's butt. One customer asked for me and that little guy that worked with us sometimes, to go out back with him. The little guy — his name turned out to be Marco — didn't mind letting me do it to him. I felt really bad that I couldn't let him do the same. But he just smiled and assured me that he had fun. It paid well, too.
I drew the line at licking butts or letting a customer shove their penis up my butt. But there weren't many new frontiers that remained for me to discover as summer began to draw to a close.
I had built up a decent bankroll by that time. We had good food every day. I kept Mike well supplied with medicine. But while he had more energy and his symptoms were doing much better, he still hadn't completely recovered.
I couldn't figure out how to help Mike any more. I wanted him to try to see a doctor, but we both recognized the risk that a doctor might go to the police. Then Mike would get hauled away and thrown out of the country.
Neither of us knew any adults who might help. We really didn't know anyone. I was a rat who was pretty new to the street when I met Mike. He was an illegal immigrant and new to the country when he met me. We had stuck together ever since.
I thought about that auburn-haired kid. He had helped me a little bit on two different occasions. I wondered if he would be able to help now. But I hadn't seen him around since I started working regularly. I was in Grant Park every night. He was never around the Navy Pier during the day.
I decided to take a night off. And it paid off. I had barely arrived at the Pier when I saw that kid. He was alone, standing near a railing and looking out over the water. He seemed lost in thought; wistful, perhaps.
I left him to his solitude. I found a nearby bench, sat, and waited.
Eventually, almost as if sensing my presence, he turned and glanced in my direction. The sunglasses he always wore made it hard for me to read his mood. I raised an eyebrow. He smiled faintly and nodded. So I approached him.
He told me that his name was Taryn and that he had lived in the area for a while. That was all I learned about him that night.
He learned a lot about me. I wasn't sure whether I was boring him. But every time I stopped explaining my story and our situation, he asked a question or two that kept me talking.
"It sounds like your friend needs some real medicine," he advised me.
I didn't understand what that meant. I had purchased cough syrup, aspirin, throat lozenges, even Vicks.
Taryn explained that Mike probably needed stronger medicine. I might need to talk to a specialist. He called those people pharmacists. He told me that I could find one at that drug store where I had first got Mike some medicine.
Nothing was spoken about our encounter there. I was all too aware that I was a thief. I had stolen from that store. How could I go back there again?
Taryn understood. He reminded me that Mike did need their help.
I wasn't used to making those sorts of decisions for myself. "What should I do?" I pleaded.
"Follow your heart, Rat," he told me. "It's a good one."
I didn't work the following night, either. Instead, I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside that drug store. In the fluorescent light, I saw the same manager moving around the store. I could still remember the force of his meaty hand as it descended on my shoulder.
It felt like there was an invisible force field preventing me from going inside. But Mike's need compelled me to go.
I reached up and tapped that huge manager's arm. It had taken me almost five minutes to creep up on him once I was inside the store.
He turned to face me. I almost ran. Instead, I cleared my throat anxiously.
"I need some help," I explained. "I was in here about five weeks ago. I stole some stuff."
He started to look angry. I think he recognized me then. My stomach really didn't feel very good.
"I want to pay for it," I assured him. "That's why I'm here."
His expression didn't change. But he waited patiently.
"I stole cough syrup, cough drops, aspirin, and Vicks VapoRub," I ticked off the items on my fingers, one at a time. Then I pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "I think it cost less than this."
He regarded me carefully. I had no idea what he was thinking.
"And who is going to pay for that display I had to put back together?" he demanded.
I gulped. I really hadn't thought about that.
"Is this enough?" I peeled five more twenties off my roll of bills. It was painful to think about the things I had to do to earn that money!
He looked at those twenties. Then he glanced at the roll still clutched in my hand.
"Where did you get all that money?" He sounded more curious than angry.
I couldn't even meet his eyes. I shuffled my feet and picked at the front of my shirt.
"I earned it." I couldn't say more. I was almost in tears.
He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes. I noticed a glimmer of understanding first, then sadness.
"Why did you steal the medicine?" I had the sense that he dreaded my answer.
So I explained. I don't know why I told a complete stranger so much about my life and Mike's. He could have just called the cops and turned us in. Instead he performed a miracle.
We talked about my finances. He made a few tutting noises about warm clothing and proper nutrition, before deciding that our medical needs were what he was best suited to provide.
He took me around the store, filling a shopping basket with a selection of basic medications, vitamins, and minerals to help make Mike strong enough to fight off most illness. I remember Vitamin C, Vitamin D and zinc, but I kept all the original packages so I would know what to replace when we ran out. He rang everything through the cash register and used his employee discount to reduce the price for us.
Then he asked me to come back in a couple of days. He told me that he had a friend who was a doctor. I wasn't to tell anyone about it — not even Mike — but his friend could write a prescription for some drugs he thought we would need from the pharmacist.
What I told him about Mike's symptoms convinced him that Mike had some sort of infection. He thought that a basic antibiotic like Doxycycline, and maybe something cheap and safe like Ivermectin, would help to clear most infections out of Mike's body. If they didn't help, then we would have to find some way to get Mike to a doctor. He didn't quite say it, but I got the idea that in a city as large as Chicago there was always some way to get around all but the biggest obstacles.
As I left, he reminded me to come back in two or three days to get the medicines from the pharmacist. Then he gave me a card with his phone number on it. I was having a hard time seeing clearly as I left the store.
I went back to work the following night. I wanted to make sure we had as much money as possible so we could buy whatever Mike needed.
Sometimes I was disturbed by the way I let strangers use my body. But mostly I enjoyed the feeling of hope that accompanied each encounter.
Mike was getting better.
My day of reckoning arrived. It was inevitable.
As Mike started to feel better, it was only natural that he wondered about the improvement in our situation. We barely had any money when he stopped working. Now we had enough money for lots of good food, vitamins and minerals, the medicines he needed to get better. We had soap, shampoo and toothpaste to help us stay clean. I had even found a nice jacket to keep Mike warm on cool nights and a new pair of sneakers for him. Overexcited about what I had accomplished, I was talking about some new blankets and even pillows for our nest. I knew that the weather would start to get cooler in just a few months.
Mike asked questions and I did my best to deflect them. His health was improving, but still a cause for concern. When I played mother hen, he became more concerned with avoiding my questions than he was with asking his own.
It had been a good night. I had more than two hundred dollars in my pocket and I hadn't done anything too repulsive to earn it. I was pondering whether it would be sensible to take some money from our savings to buy Mike new shirts and pants. I had also started to wonder if there was any room left in Mike's books for him to write, and where we could buy a new one.
As soon as I got home, I stopped briefly in the church to thank the god on the wall for looking out for Mike and me. When I scampered down the stairs to the basement, I was startled to find Mike awake and waiting for me.
He really didn't have to say anything. I knew that he wanted an explanation. And from the sadness in his eyes, and the direct look he was giving me, I understood that he was determined to get those answers and that the time had come for me to provide them.
Actually, I guess Mike didn't really need answers. He already had them. It didn't take much effort to put the puzzle together. He was just looking for confirmation.
There really wasn't any getting around it. Disappearing at night. Coming back with lots of money. I had never been very successful as a petty thief. And Mike knew that I had seen what went on at Grant Park. I had even offered once to work with him.
It made more sense to try to defend what I was doing. But that was hard to do. The tears in Mike's eyes when I admitted that I was working at the Park, hurt me a lot more than if he had been angry with me. I had to work there to help keep Mike alive. But witnessing his disappointment almost made me wish that I were dead.
"I really wanted to protect you from that, Rat," he explained, after my weak attempts to justify what I had done.
I found myself trying to comfort him. "You couldn't help it. You got sick." I missed the mark when I told him that working really hadn't been so bad.
"You shouldn't have to do that, Rat. It's easier for me because I'm gay."
I couldn't see how that made any sense. I had seen Mike with those men. He hadn't liked what he was doing. That was obvious. So how did his being gay mean he should be expected to do those things, but not me? We needed the money and he was too sick to work.
"It's who I am, Rat. My aunt's husband explained that to me when he left me here. He told me that my nature would help me survive. I guess he was right."
I couldn't believe that. The guy knew Mike was gay? And he just left him in a foreign country and told him to use his gayness to survive? That was outrageous!
It also raised a question. How had this guy even known that Mike was gay?
That was a question that Mike wouldn't answer. The color rose in his face. His eyes fell to his feet. He refused to say any more until I changed the subject.
I tried to make him agree that I should keep working, even when he was ready to go back. The extra money would help and he wouldn't have to work as hard and maybe get sick again.
"You're not gay, Rat." He refused to consider the idea.
But how did he know I wasn't gay? I didn't know if I was gay. It wasn't like picking sides in gym class — usually waiting to be chosen last — and then finding out definitively that you were either a shirt or a skin.
I had never thought about whether or not I liked to have sex with boys. I thought it was kind of disgusting when I had sex with men, but it wasn't usually terrible. What I did that time with Marco was weird, but it wasn't awful. After a while it had even felt pretty good.
I thought that maybe I should find out. And I really thought I should keep working to help Mike.
Mike refused to hear of it. He thought I was too young. He thought I should enjoy life until I had no choice but to grow up. And he didn't want that to happen too soon. It really tore at him that his illness forced me to do sex things with those men.
I knew that he was two years older than me. But on the streets, we were just two kids doing what we had to do.
"You did sex things for me. I had to do them for you!" I think that was the injustice I was trying to express rationally.
"I love you, Mike!" And that was the feeling.
We didn't say much more that night. Both of us were too emotional to continue the conversation. We crawled into our nest and let sleep restore our equilibrium.
When we woke in the morning, it was decided that I wouldn't be working any more. I'm not sure, but I think that maybe Mike's insistence was the result of my admission. I don't know if that makes sense. But I'm pretty sure it's the truth.
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