Not A Runaway

Unconscious

I found her frail in the fetal position on the bench. I was making my regular trip to the bar, sure it may not yet be legal, and I won’t be eighteen until February 8th, two weeks from now. I knew the bartender from the foster home where I had lived until I left at sixteen. He pretended as if I were old enough as did everyone else, for no one messed with me I was untouchable there, as anyone would be after winning a fight with the worst of them. This girl, I knew everyone on this side of town so how come I didn’t know her. I observed her from a distance at first and noticed the bag slung over her shoulder, big enough for a couple set of clothes and necessities but not to bothersome to carry. Right then I knew she was a runaway. Just then she looked up, I guess I wasn’t as quiet as I had thought. She asked her voice smooth and frail, with an underlay of confidence.

“Do you know where there’s a motel or someplace cheap to stay”. I noticed right away she wasn’t Irish possibly American or Canadian.

 “There’s a bar down this block. You can stay at my apartment for a night or two if you don’t mind comin’ to the bar with me first”. I spoke evenly as to not alarm her.

“I’m Nicole”. Flat and dull was her response.

“Trevor” I said extending my hand to help her up. She seemed surprised by the gesture but took my hand none the less. We walked in silence side by side to the bar. I studied her over, small heart shaped face pale beneath her auburn hair, dark in comparison to my caramel colored hair. Her jeans clung to her petite figure outlining her long legs. Her black sweater was loose on her figure and didn’t do her justice. Last but not least I regarded her eyes, green with a pale blue ring on the outside. Her eyes were unique to her look, deciding they fit her somehow I looked ahead. When we were inside she seemed slightly uncomfortable, me, I was right at home. An hour later around one a.m. she had accepted three beers from guys she didn’t know and downed two while working on the third. Shit. I realized I hadn’t asked how old she was anyways. She had a mature presence; still she only looked sixteen or seventeen. Is she my age? She had looked innocent and now she looked dazed and distant. I made my way through the crowds to her and grabbed her by the arm pulling her outside. Suddenly she dropped, I thought she had tripped but there she was on the bar floor out cold. Maybe I hadn’t kept correct count of her beers. No, no it wasn’t my fault, how old was she anyways. She felt dainty in my arms as I lifted her from the ground. It was my job to help her now. Back at my apartment my roommate jumped from his chair saying he’d be in his room, I assured him that I hadn’t brought home a girl to sleep with. He came over.

 “What the hell did you do to her man?” He said it as if I had knocked her out myself. I felt tense at the thought of the guys at the bar treating girls like that, hitting them to the ground. Like I’d ever hurt a girl. He seemed to realize my uptight position. He came quickly to understand.

“So where did you find her” he said more solemnly.

“She’s a runaway, I told her she could crash here for a while, but that I was on my way to the bar first. I don’t know how old she is. I forgot to ask. She had three beers the strong kind.” I spoke slowly so there was no room for him to doubt me.

“To much alcohol, she passed out.” He finished for me, and then continued to play his video game. I put her on my bed with a blanket over her and laid down on the couch. My roommate had gone to bed by now so the living room was free.