Good Chance
Lisa folded
her hands and rested her chin on them.
“I have all day,” she said calmly.
Across the
desk from her, a sullen teenaged girl slouched in the blue chair. Her shoulder-length brown hair was caught up
in a messy ponytail; her clothes were dirty and torn, and she didn’t look like
she’d showered in a few days. She didn’t
smell like it, either.
“Fine, if
you won’t talk, I’ll start making guesses,” Lisa said after a long wait. She tucked a loose strand of dark brown hair
behind her left ear. “You’re a
runaway.” The girl tensed, her muscles
pulling tight against her grey t-shirt.
Lisa continued, “You’ve been on the road a few months, bumming rides,
doing odd jobs, hiding on busses, jumping trains...” she trailed off.
“So what if
I have?” the girl snapped. “What’s it to
you?”
Lisa
allowed one corner of her mouth to quirk up just a little. “You broke into my shop and hid in my storage
room, and I haven’t called the cops yet.
That’s what it is to me.”
The girl
fell silent.
“Now, let’s
start with a nice, easy question. What’s
your name?”
The girl
didn’t answer.
Lisa suppressed
a smile. She knew the girl wouldn’t
answer right away. She wouldn’t
have. She still remembered her emotions
at that age, even after twenty years.
The girl’s
green eyes darted toward the closed office door.
“Jason’s out there,” Lisa reminded her. “You won’t get far.”
Early that morning, Jason, Lisa’s assistant manager, had gone into the back storage room of the grocery store to look for a missing case of canned asparagus. He returned half-dragging a fighting teenager. Ali was screaming, cursing, and flailing at the tall thirty-year-old man who held her. When Jason saw Lisa, he spat out, “She was sleeping in the corner of the store-room; she must have been here all night!”
Lisa gave the scrawny girl a once-over and felt a pang through her chest. She knew her. Not this girl specifically, but the type. Teenagers convinced that the world was against them. She pointed Jason toward her office and said, “Let’s get her in there so you can open.”
The moment the girl was inside, Jason went for the phone. Lisa grabbed his wrist. “I’ll handle it,” she said firmly. Jason pulled away, brown eyes hard. Lisa repeated herself, staring the man down with every ounce of intimidation she owned. After a sullen glare at the girl, Jason retreated. Lisa had closed the door, ordered the girl to sit, and gone around to sit in her own chair. They had sat like that for ten minutes now, and the girl had yet to say a single word.
Lisa could almost read the girl’s mind. She was weighing losing her stubbornness and pride against getting the crazy lady to stop starting at her. Resisting a grin, Lisa adjusted her stare, trying to make it as intense as possible.
Finally,
the girl’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Ali.”
“Ali what?”
Lisa prompted.
“Alison
Burnett,” she replied mockingly, enunciating each syllable carefully.
“Thank you,
Ali,” Lisa said, meaning it. She was
glad Ali had given in; she did not want to call the police. Maybe Lisa would be able to get through to
her, after all. “How long have you been
in Bridgeport?”
“Got off
the bus yesterday.” Ali had apparently
decided to cooperate.
“And why
did you come into my store?”
“It was the
first place I saw that wasn’t a house. I
figured you’d have a storage room or somethin’ that I could hide in. I was right.
You didn’t notice me when I slid in there.” Ali stated the last fact proudly.
“Where are
you heading?”
Ali’s face
tightened. “Nowhere.”
“Nowhere
that you want to tell me or nowhere that you know of?” Lisa hoped to catch Ali off guard.
“I’ve got
nowhere to go.” Ali shrugged, as if that
fact was unimportant.
“Where did
you run from?”
Ali clamped
her jaw closed tightly.
“Where’s
home?” Lisa insisted.
Still no
answer. Ali’s eyes were wide, and her
tense muscles were trembling slightly.
Lisa let
out a long breath, and her face softened.
“Listen,” she said quietly, leaning across the desk toward the
frightened, angry teen, “I’m not going to pack you in a box and ship you
back. I just want to make sure somebody
knows you’re safe.”
“They don’t
care,” Ali replied immediately.
“They care
more than you think they do,” Lisa insisted.
Ali laughed
mirthlessly; the sound was so bitter that it took Lisa, who thought she was
ready for anything, by surprise.
“Trust me,
lady. Nobody back there would so much as
blink if they found out I was dead.”
Lisa propped her chin up on one hand and studied the girl again, making her squirm.
She is so much like I used to be, Lisa
thought. I wish I could just hand her my experience; I wish she didn’t have to
learn like this.
A low
rumble caught Lisa’s attention. “When
did you last eat?”
“Huh?” Ali’s face wrinkled up in an expression of
confusion.
“You heard
me.” Lisa kept her voice gentle.
Ali’s lips
moved soundlessly as she thought. “I had
a full meal day before yesterday. And a
guy gave me half his sandwich on the train yesterday morning.”
“But
nothing since then?”
Ali shook
her head.
“You didn’t
steal anything off the shelves?” Lisa
raised one dark eyebrow.
Ali
flushed, her sunburned cheeks reddening further. “Just a box of crackers. I figured you wouldn’t miss ‘em.”
Lisa stood,
and the girl flinched away from her.
Without looking at her, Lisa walked around her desk to the door and
opened it. “Jason?” she called softly. As she suspected, Jason was just outside the
office.
“Yeah?” Jason’s hazel eyes were wide; he was nervous.
“Would you
do me a favor and grab a sandwich from the deli? Tell them I’ll square the account later.”
“What kind?” Jason’s tone was suspicious, but obedience
was engrained in his psyche; he wouldn’t argue with a direct request.
Lisa beamed
at him. “Whatever looks the best to
you.”
Jason nodded
and hurried across the store, returning a few moments later with a tuna salad
sandwich. He had thought to put a napkin
with the plate.
“Thank
you.” Lisa gave him another dazzling
smile before closing the office door behind her. She set the sandwich on the desk in front of
Ali. “Go ahead and eat it.”
Ali shot
her a look that said Lisa was insane.
Lisa
repeated herself, but the girl still didn’t reach for the sandwich. “I know you’re hungry,” Lisa said, keeping
her voice level. “I’m giving it to you;
you can eat it.”
Something
in her tone must have convinced Ali, because the girl tore into the sandwich,
downing the entire thing in seven bites.
Lisa watched the demolition with a mixture of amusement and sorrow.
“You’re
still scared, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a
question.
Ali froze.
“You’re
scared of what will happen if they find you.
You’re scared of what people think of you. You’re scared of the cops. You’re scared that you’ll spend the rest of
your life on the run.”
Ali looked
up at her, the fear lurking in her eyes belying the tough set of her jaw.
“I know
what I’m talking about,” Lisa said, resuming her seat in the big leather chair
she’d bought herself for her birthday last year. “I know you better than you think.”
“I’ve never
met you before,” Ali said hesitantly.
She was, if possible, more tense than before, like an animal that has
just caught the smell of a predator and will flee the moment it knows where safety
is.
“No.” Lisa smiled wryly as the memories washed over her in a tidal wave.
“My parents just don’t get it!” she had
screamed at sixteen. She was tired of it
all. Everybody thought they knew better
than she did. Her parents gave her rules,
her teachers gave her rules, her coach gave her rules, and even some of her
friends gave her rules. Everybody
thought they could lock her up and force her into a miserable little cage. Unlike her sisters. Her younger twin sisters, Sarah and Theresa,
were perfect angels with identical blonde halos. They were musical, well-behaved, smart, and
thoughtful. Lisa, on the other hand, was
wild and rebellious. The twins’ idea of
fun was sitting in the living room playing a game. Lisa wanted to experience real life -- the
parties, the night life. How did you
know what was bad until you’d tried it?
Why couldn’t they let her make her own decisions?
So she ran. She packed a backpack full of clothes, a few
toiletries, and some food, and hit the road.
She had seventy dollars in her pocket, and no destination. The money didn’t last long. She met Christopher’s gang in Fort
Wayne. Christopher was dark-haired and
mysterious; he shared her need to experience life. For the first time, somebody understood her.
Lisa
snapped herself out of the past and back to Ali. “I used to be you.” She glanced down at her neat grey slacks and
her spotless white blouse. “I know it
doesn’t look like it now, but I jumped trains and hitched rides on busses and
begged half-sandwiches off nice old men.”
“You?” Ali
scoffed.
“Yeah.” Lisa settled more comfortably in her chair. “I ran away from home when I was sixteen. I thought it was great; off by myself, away from my parents. But it’s not great.” She leaned forward, peering into Ali’s grey eyes, looking for a spark of understanding. “By seventeen, I was pregnant. The father ditched me, and I had nowhere to go. I didn’t think I could go home; not with a baby on the way, so I went back to town-hopping for a little while. Then, one night, I got off the bus in Bridgeport, Maryland. Right where you did. I got lucky.”
Lisa shivered as she climbed off the
bus. The driver asked if she was all
right, and she said she was fine. She
didn’t need anybody’s help. She just
needed someplace to get warm. But it was
after ten o’clock, and businesses were closed for the night. And nobody would invite a shivering, pregnant
runaway into their house. Lisa caught a
glimpse of a lit window and trudged down the street until she reached it. A tiny barbershop on the corner still had its
lights on. Lisa fingered her shaggy
hair. “It’d be nice, but I’d rather
eat,” she muttered. But she had stood
too long, and the door swung open.
A white-haired man, only a few
inches taller than Lisa, stood in the doorway.
She couldn’t see much of his face, but his voice was soft. “Can I help you?”
“No, please, thank you, I...” Lisa backed up, but her foot found a wet
patch on the sidewalk, and she slid, landing with a painful shock. The man was beside her in an instant, helping
her to her feet.
“Please come in for a moment,” he
said, leading her toward the building.
His hand on her arm was firm, and the idea of warmth was so irresistible
that Lisa didn’t fight him. “I don’t
think I’ve seen you around here. My
name’s Timothy; Timothy Schwartz, and this is my wife, Nancy.”
Nancy, a short, pudgy woman with soft
hands, a grey bun, and a musical laugh, guided Lisa to a chair. “You must be frozen half to death! Let me get you a coffee.”
“Are you from around here?” Timothy
asked kindly.
Lisa looked up into his kind hazel
eyes, and couldn’t help herself. “I’m Lisa
Howell. I’m...I’m not from anywhere.”
The Schwartz’s had offered her a
place to sleep, and she’d accepted. They
acted as if each kindness was a favor she granted them, rather than a gift from
them to her. Before she knew it, she was
helping Timothy clean the shop, doing chores for
Lisa
returned her attention to Ali. “The
Schwartz’s took me in, and I found a new family with them. But after my baby was born, I realized that
my parents deserved to meet their granddaughter. So I went home for a visit.” Lisa paused to ensure she had Ali’s full
attention. “My parents loved me. They hadn’t given up on me. I was sure they would be disappointed and
angry that I’d gotten pregnant, but they were just happy that I was alive and
safe. And they loved my baby girl.” Lisa smiled at the cherished memory of her
formidable mother wrapping her in a hug so tight she thought her ribs might
crack, and of her stern father cradling five-month-old Danielle in his arms, a
look of ecstasy on his lined face. “I was
so wrong about them.”
Ali laughed
that awful laugh again. “So, the point
of all that is to say that I should go home again?”
“Not
necessarily.” Lisa’s grey eyes
narrowed. “It’s that you should take
advantage of a good thing when it slaps you across the face. I stayed here in
Ali shook
her head.
“Let me
tell them you’re safe,” Lisa demanded.
“If I tell
you how to reach my dad, will you shut up about it?” Ali asked in exasperation.
Lisa sighed
deeply. “Yes.”
“His
secretary’s number is 634-273-0847,” the girl rattled off.
“What’s his number?” Lisa asked pointedly.
Ali
shrugged. “He wouldn’t give it to
me. Said if it was an emergency, I should
call Irene -- that’s his secretary -- and she’d pass on the message. He said he didn’t want to be bothered with
hormonal imbalances.”
“What about
your mom?” Lisa regretted the words the
moment they left her mouth. Ali wouldn’t
have mentioned her dad’s secretary’s number if contacting her mom was an
option.
“Mom’s been
dead since I was seven.” Ali confirmed
her suspicion.
“I’m
sorry,” Lisa replied automatically.
“Why? You didn’t kill her. Dad did.”
Lisa was
silent, not knowing how to respond.
“I don’t mean
he pulled the trigger or anything,” Ali went on. “But he drove her to it. Then, he had the nerve to blame me for it.”
“I’m
–” Lisa cut herself off before she said
“I’m sorry” again. Deciding there was no
recovering, she moved on. “I’m going to
call Irene – that’s her name, right?”
Ali nodded.
The
conversation with Irene took a nauseating ten minutes. First, Mr. Burnett was “not taking
calls.” Then, he was “unreachable by
phone until next Monday.” Then, he
“might not be in touch again until the end of the month.” Finally, Lisa asked her to pass on the
message that Ali was safe, and gave the secretary her number. When she hung up the phone, she saw that Ali
was smirking at her, arms folded across her chest.
“Just
because your father’s secretary is incompetent doesn’t mean your father doesn’t
love you,” Lisa said defensively.
“He’s
sitting on the other side of the wall behind her,” Ali sneered. “He told her to do that. I called him once, about a week after I
left. I told Irene I was one of his
clients, and she put me through to his office.
I wanted him to know I was ok. He
told me he didn’t want to hear from me again until I was ready to come home and
behave like a daughter of his should.”
“And how is
that?” Lisa felt a sinking in her stomach
that she couldn’t explain.
“Father
thinks his daughter is a reflection on him, so I’m supposed to be perfect in
every way. Perfect grades, perfect
friends, perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect manners, perfect life.”
“And you
got sick of it?” Lisa prompted.
“You think
that would make me run?” Ali challenged.
“It
wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I’m
stronger than that,” Ali bit out, rising from her chair.
Lisa stood
to keep eye-level with the girl. “I’m
sure you are,” she said as reassuringly as she could. “But those expectations can put a lot of
pressure on a person. Did you feel like
you had to meet his ideals before he would love you?”
“You sound
like that counselor the school sent me to last year. She asked me that, too.”
“What did
you tell her?”
“I told her
that meeting his standards didn’t earn me anything. I measured up. Period.
There was no ‘what if’ involved.”
Lisa saw a
flash of something in Ali’s face. The
girl was lying. She could feel it. “Are you sure there was nothing?”
“Are you
calling me a liar?” Ali challenged.
Lisa barely
stopped herself from nodding. “I don’t
think you’re telling me everything,” she replied diplomatically.
“Why should
I? I don’t even know you!” Ali burst
out.
“No, you
don’t. But I want to help, and I can’t
do that unless you help me a little first,” Lisa replied calmly. “Why did you really run away?”
“I don’t
have to tell you anything!”
“Why, Ali?”
“Why do you
care?”
“Just tell
me.” Lisa kept her voice calm and
reassuring.
“No!” Tears rimmed Ali’s eyes, and her voice
trembled.
Lisa didn’t
insist again. She simply looked at the
girl, seeing her seventeen-year-old self in every movement, every word. This is
my turn to be Timothy and Nancy, she thought. I know her. I know how she thinks. I can turn her life around, just as they did
for me. This is my chance to make a
difference.
“Fine!” Ali yelled.
“You want to know? Do you really
want to know why the perfect daughter would run away from her perfect father
and her perfect school and her perfect life?
Do you?” She turned sharply and
pushed up her left shirt sleeve, revealing a small, puckered, perfectly round
scar. Then, she lifted the hem of the
shirt slightly, showing Lisa a thick pink line across her right side. Finally, she turned around and pulled her
t-shirt tight against her back. “Do you
see how the shoulderblade’s crooked? It
didn’t heal straight.” Ali’s voice was
tight, her words clipped.
The air
left Lisa’s lungs in a painful rush.
“Are you
happy now?” the teenager asked, turning back to face her.
Lisa nodded dumbly. A long moment crept by before she found her voice again.
Why did I think I knew her? How could I have been so blind?
“Thank
you,” she said at last.
“For what?”
Ali asked, shocked.
“For telling
me. I don’t think you’ve told very many
people.”
“Father
wouldn’t have liked that very much,” Ali replied wryly.
Lisa set
her jaw. Don’t be stupid, Lisa. She
had played the what-if game with her own life.
What if I hadn’t gone to
Bridgeport? What if Timothy and Nancy
had been asleep? What if they had
decided it was too much trouble to deal with a pregnant teenager? I would have given birth on the streets and
probably left Danielle at a hospital someplace.
She’d be growing up without her mother.
I’d still be on the streets...or dead.
Mom and Dad would never have known what happened to me.
She looked at this angry girl in
the wounded body. What about her? What if she
leaves here like this? She doesn’t have
the choices I did. She can’t go home. She’ll bounce from place to place. How long will she survive on the
streets? I can’t let it happen. I can’t play her what-if game, too. She was decided.
“Where are you going tonight?” she asked.
Ali
shrugged again. “Wherever a bus is
heading.”
“Would you
like a real bed?”
Ali stepped
backward, hands coming up in an automatic defensive posture. “What do you...”
Lisa
continued quickly. “My daughter,
Danielle, is away at college, and I know she wouldn’t mind somebody using her
bed for one night. I’m sure I’ve got a
spare shirt and pajama pants that’ll fit you.”
She measured Ali against herself.
“They’ll be a little big, but they should be close to the right length.”
“Why?” Ali
got out.
“I told you
I wanted to help.”
“But you’re
supposed to be calling the cops,” Ali said suspiciously. “I was hiding in your storage room,
remember?”
“I
remember,” Lisa replied, though in truth she’d nearly forgotten the
circumstances that had sent this angry waif into her life. An idea crept in, and she continued as if it
had been her thought all along. “And I’m
not handing out charity. Somebody needs
to clean up that storage room you were using for a bedroom last night. I’m sure you noticed the mess.”
Ali nodded.
Lisa smiled
at the girl. “If you’re willing to put
in a few hours of hard work back there, you’re welcome to spend tonight, at
least, at my house. You’ll have a real
bed with clean sheets, a hot shower, and enough food to stop that rumbling in
your stomach. And you won’t have to
worry about getting caught.”
“You mean
it,” Ali murmured. She sounded
surprised.
“I always
mean what I say.” She grinned. “You’ll find that out soon enough. Now, do we have a bargain?” She extended her hand.
Ali stared
at it for a minute. “How do I know you
won’t call the cops after I’m done cleaning?”
“How do I
know you won’t fill a bag full of food and take off?” Lisa retorted.
Ali smiled
weakly, the first smile Lisa had seen.
“You gotta
take a chance sometime, Ali,” Lisa pointed out.
Ali hesitated
so long that Lisa was sure she would refuse, then reached out with one
battered, dirty hand, and grasped Lisa’s clean, manicured one. “You got yourself a storeroom cleaner,” she
said firmly.
“Let’s
start with cleaning you up, and getting you some more food.” Lisa strode to the door. “I don’t think that sandwich filled you up.”
Ali followed, and Lisa heard her mutter, “Crazy lady.”
Lisa
grinned. Perhaps I am.
Back to
Stories List
