Angels Like You

Responsibilities

There was no one standing with a sign. I walked out of my gate, into the main part of the airport with my bags, and stopped. People bustled around me, going where they thought they needed to be, while I was at a loss. I was pretty sure that I was meant to meet the social worker as soon as I stepped off the plane, but there was no one standing still.

Kids were whining as their parents pulled them along. Men in suits were barking orders into cellphones. Retired people were smiling as they limped toward their gate. People were hugging as they welcomed loved ones back and crying as they said goodbye.

I gripped the strap of my duffel bag tightly to keep it from falling off my shoulder and pulled my ragged suitcase behind me. Three bags were all that it had taken for my mom to pack me up to move across the country in a single day.

I didn't have a phone to call my mom since she'd suspended that privilege. There were payphones somewhere, but I didn't know where and didn't really care to look. If my freedom started the day I moved across the country, I was fine with that.

At least I told myself I was as I walked to the pick-up area of the airport. Maybe the social worker hadn't been able to meet me inside and was parked outside somewhere.

I stopped near a fountain of a fish. I wouldn't have known what car to look for or even who. My dad I would recognize, but not his wife or a social worker.

I sat down on a bench, putting my head in my shaking hands. I was fighting every urge to run. I knew I could do it. The drug and crime world was all interconnected. All it took was someone who knew vaguely of one of my old contacts and I was set. It was that easy and I was pretty sure my mother wasn't aware of just how easy it really was.

Something, though, made me fight the temptation. I stayed sitting on the bench with my head in my hands until someone's hand grasped my shoulder and they said my name.

I bolted to my feet, ready to deck whoever it was, until my brain registered the man who was an older version of myself.

"I've been looking all over for you. I ended up going to the wrong gate. I walked past you three times before I realized it was you."

"That's what happens when you're never around." The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

A small flicker of pain on his face was the only reaction. We stood in silence for a few moments, staring at one another, before he cleared his throat.

"How about I help you with your bags and we head out?"

I slung the duffel bag back over my shoulder and gripped the handle of my suitcase. "I've got it. Let's just go."

He gave a curt nod before he turned and started walking toward the parking lot. I lagged behind him. Every step I took was a step further from the life that I was forced to leave.

He led me to a black car that was rusted on the doors and had seen better days. I threw my stuff into the trunk and got into the passenger seat as the car whined to life.

Dad pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. He lived about an hour from San Francisco and it was going to be the longest hour of my life. Maybe not the longest. There was a time when I had taken a concoction of drugs that made it feel like I was in a permanent nightmare until they'd worn off.

"I guess we should talk about some things," Dad said after a few moments. The radio was quietly playing music, but I couldn't make out any of the words. "Your mom called and gave me an overview of what the past few months have been like. The social worker gave me a little more detailed report, including your criminal record that I was kept in the dark about."