Shelter, Chapter 2

by Glassbottom

It was two weeks since the incident, two weeks since I lost all self-control, drove down a deserted street, and kissed and fondled the most beautiful little girl I had ever seen. Goddammit, there was no doubt about it, I had molested her. Her name was Billie, she was ten years old and I had molested her. And I couldn't get her out of my fucking mind.

How was I supposed to forget that body, those legs, those eyes...?

And had I worried about the police coming to my door? Of course I had. I admit it. I was scared. I spent as little time at home as possible the week following the incident. I didn't feel like sitting at home waiting for them to show up at my door.

I ate out every night after work, I went to see a couple of movies, I hung out at the mall, I went to the park and chain-smoked. I went out for long drives, and some short ones too. I revisited the scene of my crime. I drove back to "the graveyard" and sat there trembling... remembering... touching her.

Finally, when the following weekend came around and I found myself sitting at home, safe and sound with no police knocking on my door, I knew I had dodged a bullet. I simply tried my best, if such a thing was possible, to put what had happened behind me.

I stayed sober Saturday and Sunday and through the week, keeping to myself at work, counting my blessings. But you see, that was it, the thing you would least suspect happening, and yet makes total sense.

It was two weeks since the incident, like I said... and I was let go from my job. Oh, they call it "laid off", but you know you're not coming back.

So I was sitting there in the diner after signing up for unemployment, sitting there all by myself, staring into nowhere, thinking about how it all came together, how if there was anybody who deserved to be let go it was me, especially after what I had done.

And all I could think about was Billie, my daydream and my nightmare rolled into one.

"Can I warm up your coffee, hun?" asked the waitress. She was smiling like she had been standing there a moment, and it probably wasn't the first time she asked.

"Yes, please," I said.

She was pretty. She was probably older than me, but hell, that didn't matter with some women. She had those waitress legs. At one time they were probably cheerleader legs, but she grew up. She had nice eyes and a gentle smile. She poured the coffee and turned and looked at me.

"That thousand mile stare speaks volumes," she said. "Must be someone very special."

"It's that obvious, huh?" I couldn't help but respond, her demeanor was so charming.

"Oh, my dear," she rolled her eyes, "you might as well be wearing a t-shirt that says 'I got it bad'."

"Yes, well, there's more to it than that," I told her. "I got a lot on my mind besides romance. I lost my job this morning."

"Oh, I'm sorry, hun," she said, losing the playfulness. "Tell you what. You don't have to tip me today."

"Nonsense," I said. "I always tip. Now don't lose that sweetness just 'cause I laid a bummer on you. You were cheering me up."

"Well, listen," she grinned, "I'll be back. I got other tables to check on, but I'm due for a break. Sound good?"

She went to take care of other customers while I sat there sipping my coffee. It felt good to be stepping outside my mind, thinking of something besides recent events, to be doing something that was in the moment. Of course the last time I had done something that was in the moment... but I couldn't think about that.

This was different. This was healthy.

Her name was Jennifer, this waitress, not Jenny but Jennifer, I asked her if there were any openings at the restaurant.

"I'm afraid not, hun," she said.

"Call me Georgia," I said. "It's going to be hard to find a job around here. I just thought I'd ask."

"Georgia..." she said softly. "Such a pretty name."

"Thanks. You know, it's not so much being out of a job. It's having nothing to do." "You need something to keep you busy?" she smiled, sort of like she was sneaking up on me.

"Um... well... " I backed off a bit. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well," she began, "this youth center where I volunteer needs more volunteers, just people to watch the kids, make sure they don't burn down the place or vandalize the property. Sometimes we organize things to make money... that kind of thing."

"Sounds like a million laughs," I said.

"Hey, don't get me wrong, it can be rough if you don't know what you're doing, but you may find you can really help out some kids who need it."

"Well, that part sure sounds rewarding," I said. "It just sounds... messy."

She looked at me and frowned, like she was disappointed.

"I'm sorry, Jennifer," I said. "I went through a bad divorce. I'm just afraid it would open up some old wounds, or rather some fresh ones."

"It's just really hard to get volunteers," she said, but she gently smiled and said, "I understand, Georgia, believe me.

"But if you change your mind, we've got a fund raiser tomorrow. We'll be washing cars down by Pete's Burgers. They're letting us use their water and parking lot. Bring your car and we'll wash it and you'll meet a bunch of the kids. It's mostly girls when we do these events. Boys don't like to get involved. You'll meet some of the volunteers, too. Mostly women like myself."

I smiled.

I envisioned a bunch of young girls, teenage, rebellious, in cut-offs and t-shirts, getting all wet washing my Malibu, and me getting wet watching them.

But that wasn't enough to make me want to go. As a matter of fact, that was the very reason for me not to go.

Youth center! Yeah, that was some place for me! Georgia Harris, sexual predator and youth center volunteer, come one, come all, take your panties down and spread 'em wide. Let Georgia have a good look at you...

"Well, I'll think about it," I told her.

"Well, listen, here's a card telling where the youth center is," she said, taking it out of her purse. "Randall Way and Oak Lane. It's not too far off forty-three. It opens Saturday mornings at ten, but of course tomorrow most of us will be down at Pete's washing cars. If you want to come by and check it out, hey," she spread her hands, "it's up to you. I really think you'll like the kids.

"Oh, stop by tonight if you want," she said. "Evenings are low key, nice time to meet people. Tell them I sent you."

"Like I said... " I tilted my head.

"Well, either way, it was nice to meet you," she said, taking my hand as she stood up. "Best of luck to you. Did you want another refill?"

"No, Jennifer," I said, "and you've been very nice."

"Well, here, I'll get your bill and see you out."

I paid the bill and gave her a friendly goodbye. I stepped outside and put on my sunglasses and shook my head.

Why did I feel guilty for not wanting to volunteer? Maybe because of the way Jennifer was about it. Maybe because there was something to what she said, the way you can help kids out. Maybe this volunteering thing, this helping out thing, it's a way to pay back somehow.

It made me think back to what those places were like when I was growing up. Some of those places were lame because they only pretended to help. The only ones that did you any good were the ones that let you come as you were, let you be yourself, and didn't come down on you for every little thing. After all, you might just as well stay home to get treated like shit.

I knew that well enough. Enough smacks across the face, enough beatings with whatever was handy, and you just wanted to be anywhere else.

I grew up knowing other kids who had it worse than me, a lot worse than me. The problem was that they were such pricks and bitches and bullies that you couldn't allow yourself to care. I mean, even if you could say something to one of them, even if one of them would allow it, would you really want to?

But it really got me to thinking, got me to thinking about going. Maybe I could help someone...

I went home and I sat quiet and thought about it. It was the first time I had thought about anything positive for a long time.

I laid down and took a nap. Not one of those long naps where you wake up feeling drained, almost sick, unable to face the world. It was a short, refreshing nap, highlighted by a dream in which I was a teenage girl again, and I was walking a trail through colorful woods awakening to a morning sun. I came to a clearing and looked down on a glistening pond, admiring the way the water mirrored the foliage above. The birds let their gift of song be known...

And I woke up, and all was well with the world. And I owed to Jennifer, and to myself and to the kids, and to the kids I grew up with, to drive down to the Youth Center and take a look around.

After dinner...

I took a shower, dried my hair, dressed casual in a brightly colored blouse and jeans, and threw together a rice dish for myself. One of the hardest things to get used to being alone is eating alone, and just cooking for one person.

After I ate dinner, I went and had a smoke on the balcony. I hear a lot of what goes on in the other apartments. That night was no exception. I heard a kid getting yelled at and then getting beaten... a couple arguing... a woman crying alone... a little girl singing above it all, like an angel.

Keep singing, sweetheart...

I had to get out of there. It was early, but Jennifer hadn't specified what time it was OK to drop by the place. I just had to get away from the noise, the ugliness I couldn't see but could hear. I grabbed my purse and sunglasses and locked up, descended the stairs, and went to my car.

The drive was not far, not far at all. Randall Way was right off Route 43 and not far from the Lee's Liquor's strip mall. That only crossed my mind in passing because I knew I needed more cigarettes. I would drop by there on my way home later.

I turned on Randall Way and drove down to Oak Lane. With nothing but houses on my right, I turned left. On my right there was a big parking lot and a barn at the far end. There were kids hanging out, some teenage and some younger. I turned into the parking lot and pulled into a space and shut off the car.

Looking out at them, I saw myself long ago. I saw myself walking around in hand-me-down clothes, my hair all mussed up, my shoes falling apart, all because someone else deserved it more than I did. It scared me.

Did I really want to get out of that car?

Yes, I did. And thus, I changed my life forever...

I hadn't got out of the car and walked ten steps before I heard a familiar voice calling to me. Not just any familiar voice, but one with the sweetest little drawl.

"Well, hello," she said, "fancy seein' you here," and I spun around to see her. She sat on a small hill with her back against a tree, wearing a tank top and little red shorts, those amazing legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, her flip-flops kicked off. She was puffing on a cigarette and it looked very sexy. "Your name is Georgia, right? You remember my name?"

"Billie..." I gasped, looking into those eyes.

(TO BE CONTINUED)