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Dawn Breaks Jerry walked faster, the night wind pushed at his back like a relentless bully. Tears streamed out of the corners of his eyes falling across red cheeks. His hair whipped around falling into his face, then rising up again like the phoenix out of the ashes. His reluctant feet stumbled onward down the busy sidewalk. Jerry didn’t remember when he had stopped taking his medicine; it could have been a few days ago but then again, it could have been a few weeks. The medicine had made him sluggish and apathetic. He had often thought that it trapped him within himself. He remembered deciding not to take it, whenever that was. He would let his mother put the medicine in his mouth, but he would spit it out after she left. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea, he thought to himself. Jerry wandered the city. He had no specific destination. He just kept walking. He spent most of today hiding out in the marshes of “The Fens.” An old man with a dog had stumbled upon him there and Jerry had run. The old man kept calling after him, “Wait! Wait! Don’t run, your bag!” But Jerry had run, and run. He didn’t stop until he got to the Boston Common and that was when he realized that he had indeed left his bag behind. Jerry sat beneath a big willow tree and cried. People stared at him, but people always seemed to stare at him. At five o’clock he had got up and walked down along Tremont St.. He didn’t know where he was going. He found himself walking through the theater district, and he felt very angry with all the people walking around. Jerry feared and hated the rich, or those who pretended to be rich. There they all were dressed up in their black coats and dress pants. They laughed and talked, not noticing the boy sitting up against their precious theater wall. He stole a few wallets from the smiling laughing fools. He kept the money and threw away the rest. He began to walk away from the brown sullen trashcan, but turned back, ripping the metal cover off. He reached his hand in and pulled out the group of wallets. He plundered through them, tossing the credit and ATM cards back into the trash. He rifled through them more, going through everything, eventually throwing the expensive leather wallets back too. He kept only the money, already in the left pocket of his faded dirty jeans, and the pictures. Jerry didn’t know why he went back for the pictures, he just knew he had to. Jerry ran back the way he had come up Tremont St., past the Park St. station. He ran on past closing shops and laughing restaurants. He stopped at Government Center, there were grates here, he knew. The grates blew warm air up from the subways. He slumped down next to a homeless man who smelled of cheap whiskey. He began pouring through the picture he had stolen. Happy smiling faces looked at him through the plastic coverings. Pictures of beautiful girls and giggling babies were mixed in with group pictures of families. Tears exploded from Jerry’s face and he tore apart the family photos dropping the pieces into the grates. The pictures of the babies and children he also tore up, ripping the happy little heads off the happy little bodies. He kept the pictures of the pretty girls with their pretty smiles, maybe, he thought, perhaps they would smile for him. His body gave out a deep sigh; ragged tears ravaged his face. Jerry hated crying in public, but what did he care? The only witness was a sleeping bum. A dirty hand with a dirty bottle extended before his face. Jerry’s eyes followed the arm up to the body to see the homeless man had awoken. Jerry grabbed the bottle and took a deep swig. He coughed, choking on the burning liquid inside. He had never thought it would be like that. The homeless man laughed, Jerry’s eyes narrowed, feeling hurt, but the man smiled at him urging him to take another sip. Jerry smiled too, he took another sip and it wasn’t as bad as the first. The homeless man and the boy finished off the bottle. Jerry was relaxed now; the world seemed soft and fuzzier. He wasn’t mad any more. He and the man both had army jackets on. The man talked about Nam and coming back, Jerry didn’t listen, he just nodded and when the man would laugh so would he. After all, with a little whiskey, the world was a funny place. They both laughed when the man pulled another bottle from his stinking dirty jacket. Jerry counted the money he had taken. It took him fifteen minutes, he kept losing his count and he and the old man would laugh. He counted five hundred twenty-seven dollars. He had never seen so much money before. He didn’t need it all, what would he do with it. He had only stolen it too get back at the smiling laughing yuppies. He gave the old man half the money. The old man laughed and tried to give it back to him, he wasn’t bad, so Jerry insisted that he take it. Jerry rose on shaky legs to leave. “Thanks mister,” Jerry said. “You call me Tex, like everyone else. Thank you kid,” Tex said and held up the second bottle, still half full. Jerry took it with a laugh and walked down the steps toward Fanuel Hall. Jerry climbed the stairs leading up to the dining area of the Durgin Park Restaurant. His Uncle Mike had once taken him here for his birthday. Jerry had loved the strange restaurant; they had sat with a family from Oregon. He loved how all the tables had the old fashion red and white checkered tablecloths and how you had to sit with strangers sometimes. The whole restaurant had sung “Happy Birthday” to him. The man from Oregon even gave him a twenty-dollar bill. That was all before the medicine and the doctors. Jerry was led to a table near the front windows, no one else was sitting there, and the restaurant wasn’t busy. Jerry let the waitress pick something for him, he couldn’t think straight. Her name was Dawn, Jerry thought she was very pretty, she was in her early twenties. He stared at her, ‘but she won’t notice me,’ he thought, ‘after all I’m just a kid to her.’ She flashed a polite smile and blushed a little, noticing his staring eyes. With a hushed giggle she walked off to put his order in and bring him a glass of ginger ale. Jerry leaned back in his chair, he felt like crying again, the pain returned, red flecks of anger salted his brain, he didn’t know why. Hearing footsteps, he looked up. It was Dawn; she was back with a large glass of bubbling ginger ale. She set it down in front of him with a smile. He wiped the beginnings of tears away from his eyes hoping she hadn’t noticed, he didn’t think she had. She began to walk away; Jerry took his bottle of cheap whiskey out and poured some in the ginger ale. A slim delicate hand reached out snatching the bottle away from him. Pissed off, he looked up; it was Dawn, how could she, he thought she was nice. “Hey,” she said crouching down next to him. “We can both get in trouble for you having this in here.” She took a swig of the whiskey; her eyes closed as a slight wince escaped her throat. Her lips formed a soft smile; her eyes were still closed, as if finding momentary peace. She slipped the bottle into the pocket of her apron. “Besides, you look like you’ve had enough anyway.” She grinned at him and put a light hand on his arm. Jerry smiled back, she was nice. She stood up, looking down at him, she cupped his cheek in her hand, and she flashed him another smile and walked away. Jerry began to drink his whiskey-soaked ginger ale. Dawn brought his food a few minutes later. “Pork Roast is my Favorite!” Jerry beamed up at her. “How did you know?” “I didn’t, I just guessed.” She laughed through a smile. She was glad she had gotten it right. She was glad that she had made him happy. Most customers she didn’t care one way or the other, but she cared now. * * * Jerry stayed at the restaurant after he had finished his meal. He had nowhere else to go. The whiskey was wearing off, slow and soft. Dawn brought him desert, glasses of water and some hot chocolate. When the restaurant slowed down, she would sit and talk to him. “So you think the Red Sox will win it this year?” Dawn asked, hoping he might be interested in sports. She stared directly into his eyes, tilting her head to the side waiting for him to respond. “I don’t watch baseball,” Jerry said looking to the floor. He felt ashamed. He knew that as a fifteen-year old boy he should be obsessed with the Red Sox and how fast Pedro Martinez’s fastball was. “Oh,” the simple word stumbled out of Dawn’s mouth with all the grace of a one-armed gravedigger. “That’s okay they always lose it anyway,” Dawn hoped that she hadn’t made him feel awkward. “Yeah,” Jerry said, a smile painted itself across his lips. He didn’t think that Dawn really followed baseball either. No self respecting Bostonian baseball fan would ever say that the ‘Sox always lose it anyway.’ They always seemed to blame the loss of the season on someone else. “So you have a girlfriend Jerry?” Dawn asked this expecting to embarrass him a little. Jerry blushed, looking down at the floor he smiled. “Don’t worry honey, you will soon enough if you keep smilin’ like that.” “Hey Dawn!” Dawn’s boss called to her. She rustled the boy’s hair. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Jerry decided he had better get going. He didn’t want to get her in trouble. He reached into his pocket to get the crumpled up wad of cash. He pulled it all out; he took fifty from the pile, more than enough to pay for the meal. He decided against it, he put the fifty in his pocket and slipped the other two hundred dollars half way under one of his glasses. He got up to leave, Jerry turned to the back of the restaurant, he decided he had better go to the bathroom and wash up before he left, he felt dirty, but didn’t mind because he knew he would be clean again. When he came back Dawn was there, smiling at him. She held the money out before her. She shook her head back and forth, disbelieving of the amount of money he had left. “I can’t take this,” she said. “It’s too much.” “I don’t need it,” he smiled up at her. “It’s too much, I can’t take it,” she laughed, smiling at him. “Really I don’t need it. I can’t use it. I don’t do anything but read anyway. It’s not like I’ll need it for baseball tickets or anything…” At this Dawn laughed. She sighed and looked to the floor. “Ok but next time you come in here you eat for free. Ok.” He had convinced her to take the money but she didn’t feel good about it. She needed it after all though, and she thought that he somehow knew that. She smiled at him again. She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. As the soft full lips touched his cheek all trace of the anger that seemed to always rule his brain, was banished. He knew what he had to do. He had to go home, back home. He had to start taking his medicine again. He knew that’s what he should do. “By the way,” she said. “Those men over there want to talk to you. They asked for you while you were in the bathroom. Who are they?” Jerry looked past her. Two men stood by the door. He didn’t know them. One was an older white man in a jacket and tie. His stomach was stuck out a little. He was talking to the young black man by his side. The black man was whispering to the older white man. The black man looked up and saw Jerry. They began walking towards him. * * * “Come with us Jerry, it’s time to go.” The black man placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and they began walking to the staircase. Dawn stood, unmoving, watching what played out before her. The older white man stood next to her. She could see that the boy’s hands were behind his back, she wondered why. Then she remembered, she had watched them cuff him right in front of her. She was very confused. She didn’t understand what happened. She turned to the older man with a sad questioning look upon her face. “I....” she trailed off. “I don’t understand,” she finished. “We’ve been looking for him for four days.” The older man said, looking down to the floor. “He killed his little sister with a lead pipe.” The man, a cop she thought, choked on his own words. “When his mother came home, he went after her. He beat her half to death too. If his older brother did not come home from work when he did, she’d probably be dead right now. Jerry ran when he heard his brother come in," The cop trailed off and walked away. Dawn stood, tears rolling down her face. Her fist pumping, closing and then opening slightly and pumping closed again. She stood for minutes, fists clenching and unclenching. Choking gasps racked her body. She didn’t understand. She slid, back to the wall, to the floor. Her hands landed, like falling pillows, in her lap; the crumpled wad of cash lay upon her open palm. |