Tangent 2

It's midday when I wake up. Harsh beams of sun break through the front room's blinds, shining dappled light through my plants and onto the boy sleeping on my sofa. It's not quite like waking up from a nightmare, the dread filling me is more from inconvenience than terror. I was hoping to use today to rest; back to back shifts have been taking their toll, but I have an obligation here, unfortunately.
The boy looks peaceful resting there - a stark contrast to his demeanor last night. Only now do I get a good look at his face; his skin is a few shades darker than mine, his hair is a slightly reddish dark brown, and his features are boyish, almost a little androgynous, especially the faint freckles dotted under his eye. Somehow I hadn't noticed that before, maybe it was the darkness or just his fringe covering it the whole time, but there's a discoloured white patch covering the hole in his face where an eye should be. He might have been quite pretty were it not for that, and the handful of jagged pinkish scars on his forehead, cheek, and chin.
I stir him awake, and we barely exchange a word as we eat breakfast. Briefly, I explain that we're going to talk to the police. He's practically homeless, but there's got to be some employer or friend or relative that they can find who can help him. I'm not sure what the process is for taking care of someone like this, but there has to be something they can do. The boy seems unconvinced. Just nodding along with a pessimistic look on his face.
Outside, the air is cool. I let the boy borrow one of my coats, which is totally oversized on him, making him look even shorter than he actually is, but it's better than nothing. Or better than that smelly rag he had on before. It's not often that I go out at this time of day, my job makes that quite difficult, but I like it that way. These bright, bustling streets make me want to crawl back indoors, weaving in and out of crowds and vehicles.
I live in one of the more overdeveloped parts of town. The rent is cheap and there's usually a lot going on. The positives end there. Most of the buildings serve two or more functions; a shop with an office above and apartments further above that, or an old arcade converted into a handful of grocers with ware spilling out onto the street. What we're looking for isn't down here, it's on one of the levels above, a quick elevator ride up four or so stories to a street above a street above a street. Our zoning laws are totally fucked.
Public lifts are janky, but reliable, and better than walking up half a dozen flights of stairs. About twenty of us are packed in and shunted rattling upwards until we reach the next level. It's a little better up here, maybe twenty percent more natural light, and slightly more not completely decayed. There's even enough trees that you could probably trick yourself into thinking the rent was remotely worth it.
The local police station isn't too busy, thankfully. It's an older building, mostly brick built with some ornamentation, clearly meant to impose some sense of grandeur and nobility which is totally lost amongst the towering structures surrounding it, and further watered down by the mess of cables feeding into the sides like a horrible thick cobweb. Inside is a little nicer, a mixture of solid wood and exposed brick give it an almost rustic atmosphere. You could probably open a trendy coffee spot in here. There's even some big, mediocrely maintained potted plants.
We don't have to wait long before I can walk up to one of the receptionists and tell him our situation. He's an older man, with short brown hair that's turning gray, and more subtle than I'd expect a police official to have. I explain how I found the boy, who still won't give me a name, glossing over the exact circumstances but detailing how he doesn't seem to have any contacts or place to live.
"There's not much I can do." He says, in a sort of tired, unsympathetic tone, like I'm wasting his time. "I can check his record if I look at his link, but he'll have to give me that himself."
I look towards the boy, he seems to understand what I'm asking, unclipping the link from his wrist and passing it to the receptionist. He rests it on a plastic surface, some kind of interface no doubt, and taps away at his keyboard.
"There's a parent on the other side of town, I can contact them on your behalf?"
"I can't." He says, to me rather than the receptionist.
"You don't seem to have any other contacts, no residence, no job in the last year. You have any friends?"
The boy shakes his head. The man sighs, scratching his prickly cheeks, clearly not happy with this next option.
"Well, I can also see that you were released from a ward last year. If there's really nothing else then they might be able to help. Judging by the state you're in, it might be the right call."
"Absolutely not! He needs a roof and a job, not a prison."
"You could go to a homeless shelter, but in all likelihood they'll just send him back to the ward too, you might as well cut out the middleman."
"So you're not going to help us?"
"Look," the receptionist sighs, leaning over his desk towards me and lowering his voice, "there really isn't anything we can do. The relative has a pretty grim record, I wouldn't feel safe handing him over like that."
I stand there, frozen, unsure what I can say. There really isn't a single good option.
"You seem like a good kid. I'm not saying this officially, but maybe the ward is the right call. I know you're probably worried about him, but honestly look at the state of him. He'll just get himself into trouble out here, he could end up in a jail cell or worse."
I'm speechless, still. It's not like I expected much but this is worse than nothing; I come here looking for help and all they talk about is locking him away. The building feels hostile, suddenly. I'm keenly aware of the cameras above me, of the officer glancing over at us.
"Thank you." I say, my voice cracking slightly. Then I take the boy by his arm and briskly walk out the door, making sure not to look back. We leave and walk in a straight line, no goal in mind, no words exchanged, I just need to go, to not be here. Eventually the road terminates in front of an aqueduct. I let go of the boy and lean over the rail, staring at the flowing water with empty eyes. Or not quite empty, I seem to have started crying a bit ago, but I'm not sure why. Maybe I'm just tired.
"The parent," I say, turning to him, my voice shakier than I'd like, "would you be safe with them?"
"No."
"If you don't want to go back to the ward, you could stay with me. For a bit. Until you find a job."
"I don't want to go back."
I hate this, why does it have to be me? Over a million people in this city and not one of them is going to look out for him. I don't even like him, I just can't bring myself to discard him like that. It's not fair, I can't let somebody else go through that.
"Stay with me then." I say, every part of my brain screaming for me not to. I think about every peaceful morning I've had alone in my room before I fell asleep, the freedom of no eyes watching me, a fridge full of only my food. I used to come back from a long shift and unwind by myself, it was the only little respite I had, and now I'm throwing it away. It's not a two person flat, it's barely enough for one of me, but I guess that's how most people live these days. Fuck.