Taking Sides (Locked Out)

by Patrick Jones

  “You Todd Morgan?” a middle-aged African American woman asked. Her colorful dress stood out against the drabness of the lobby. “I’m Mikayla Franklin, Hennepin County Social Services.”

  Todd nodded and accepted another business card thrust in his hand. “This way, Todd.” Todd followed as Franklin talked. He was going home, but the bad dream seemed far from over.

  The police were still at the house when Todd and Franklin arrived. Everything looked the same. “We’re still working on finding a long-term placement for you,” Franklin said. She talked fast—In a hurry to get rid of me, Todd thought. “So just pack enough for two nights and school tomorrow.”

  On the way to his room, he peeked into his sister’s room. Her book bag, which was always on the floor next to her dresser, was gone, so she’d already been home and left.

  “Hurry up!” Franklin called from the living room.

  Todd slowly walked into his room. He gathered up his book bag and charger. Packed his gym bag for his wrestling meet. Folded a day’s worth of clothes into another small bag.

  “All set?” Franklin said when Todd returned to the living room.

  “No, I need one more thing.” Todd headed for the wall full of photos and awards. He snatched the photo of him and his dad, with Todd’s division wrestling championship trophy between them. Gently, he placed the photo inside the small bag. Then Franklin hurried him toward the door. Todd closed it and started to lock it.

  “Leave the key with me,” Franklin said. “The police may need it to process more of the scene later.”

  “I’m not giving my key to strangers,” Todd said.

  “Todd, we’re talking about the police.” Todd said nothing. Franklin sighed. “Let me give you a realistic preview of what your life is going to be like in the short term until this all gets sorted out. You are going to meet a whole of lot of people you don’t know, like me, like lawyers, and cops, and foster parents. You can either trust that we’re looking out for you, or you can keep that attitude and make it harder for everyone—mostly yourself and your sister. Is that really what you want?”

  Todd handed the key to Franklin and slammed the door behind him.

  He didn’t say anything about the spare key his mom kept under the garden edging. Unless Tina got to it first, it would be waiting for him when he came home again.

  “Mr. Parker, thanks for working with us on such short notice,” Franklin said. Todd stood with her outside a large run-down house in northeast Minneapolis. “This is Todd Morgan.”

  “Where does he go to school?” asked Parker, a large man with a small voice.

  “Green River Academy.” Todd and Franklin answered at the same time.

  “Does he drive?” Parker asked. Todd shook his head. He’d planned to take driver’s ed this summer.

  “Well, then he’s not going to Green River unless he has a limo take him,” Parker said. “So it looks like he’s got the day off tomorrow. Try to get him by noon so I can get on with my day.”

  “By law you have to provide him—” Franklin started

  “Not to a private school I don’t,” Parker cut in. “Check the rules.”

  “Then you need to get him enrolled at Northeast,” Franklin said. Todd didn’t know much about Northeast, except it seemed every time there was a gang shooting on the news, it involved a kid who’d dropped out of that school.

  Parker mumbled something Todd couldn’t hear, which was fine. He wasn’t interested in anything Parker or Franklin had to say.

  “OK, Todd, I’ll see you later.” Franklin smiled, but Todd could tell she was faking, just like Murphy. Just like his sister. Everybody lied to him but his dad. Franklin turned and walked briskly toward her car.

  “All right, get inside,” sighed Parker.

  Todd kicked his bloody shoe against the creaky wooden front porch, then followed the man. The inside of the house was dimly lit, but Todd could see it was cluttered, disorganized. Nearby but out of sight, he heard stomping feet and raised voices—boys arguing.

  Exhaustion settled into his bones. “Where’s my room?” he asked.

  “Room? This is an emergency foster placement, not a Hyatt. Your room is there.” Parker pointed at a sofa in the front room. On it was a small pillow and thin blanket. “Breakfast is at 6:30. If you’re up, you eat. If you’re not, you don’t. Anything else you want to ask?”

  Yeah, Todd thought, a lot of things. Where’s Tina? Why are the police blaming my dad for what happened? How did our lives fall apart so fast?

  But by now he knew better than to expect answers.

  7

  Todd’s phone jolted him awake. He fished it from his pocket. It was a text from Benton, one of his wrestling pals at Green River. Before he read it, Todd paused and soaked in the strange surroundings. From another room, he heard loud voices, lots of them—kids’ voices. He wasn’t at home—he was somewhere else—his father was missing—his mother was dead—his sister was—where? Why?

  It’s all over the news, said Benton’s text.

  Todd didn’t need to ask what “it” meant. Do they know where my dad is? he texted back.

  No, they’re looking for him, Benton responded. Then he followed up with a bunch more questions, one per text, ending with How’s Tina?

  Todd knew Benton, like lots of his friends, had a thing for his sister. Todd scrolled through the string of questions, trying to decide if he could answer any of them.

  A meaty hand swiped the phone out of Todd’s. “No phones before school,” said Parker as he put Todd’s cell in his pocket. “Get cleaned up.” He pointed toward the hall.

  “I’m hungry,” Todd said.

  Parker pulled out Todd’s phone and showed him the time. 7:00. “I warned you.”

  Two black boys, about ten or eleven years old, ran out of the kitchen and past the couch. One pointed at Todd’s face, and both snickered. Todd wanted to ask, “What’s so funny?” but the kids had already dashed into another room. He stood up, keeping the thin blanket around him, and headed into the bathroom.

  When he turned on the light and stared in the mirror at his face, he saw why the boys had been laughing. During the night while he slept, someone had taken a black marker and written the word “cracker” on his forehead.

  With no phone or computer access in the Parker house, Todd sat watching TV, mostly local news. As Benton had said, the story was everywhere. They kept showing the same picture of his parents, from some fundraiser they’d attended. They looked so happy. Todd didn’t know what had changed. Maybe money. A lot of the fights had been about money. Money being spent, money mysteriously disappearing … most of the details had been fuzzy to Todd.

  The doorbell rang. “Todd, get your stuff!” Parker yelled from the other room. “That’s someone from the County to pick you up.” Todd thought the way everyone said “the County” made it sound like the Empire in the Star Wars movies.

  Todd gathered his few things while Parker opened the door and whispered back and forth to a young man, maybe thirty, black, well dressed. Then the young man came over to Todd, hand outstretched. “Todd, Bill Martin, HC Human Services.”

  Todd shook his hand. A light grip, not firm like Todd’s father had taught him. “What’s going on?” Todd asked.

  Martin talked way too fast, yet repeated himself. He also threw around lots of initials: PSF, APB, HCMC. But the main point was that Todd was headed to a new foster home. Martin used the words “excellent placement” about five times.

  “He took my phone,” Todd said, pointing toward Parker. Parker heaved a sigh, then took the phone from his pocket.

  Todd reclaimed his phone, picked up his bags, and headed for the door. On the porch, Todd told Martin, “I have a wrestling meet today, at four. The bus leaves Green River at—”

  “Sorry, Todd,” Martin said. “That won’t be possible, at least not today.”

  “Can I at least go back to school tomorrow?” Todd asked as he climbed into the backseat of the car. These cramped compacts
were a far cry from the Lexus sedans that his father traded in for a newer model every year or two. “I can’t afford to miss another day. I don’t want to get behind and—”

  Martin cut him off again. He seemed to like talking more than listening. “Todd, the law requires us to keep you in your same school, but only for public schools. The County can provide you with a bus pass to get to Green River, or you can attend Northeast High just down the street. Of course, even that might only be temporary.”

  “What do you mean temporary?” Todd asked. He felt like a tennis ball on the Green River court.

  “This is a short-term placement, thirty days,” Martin explained. “After that we’ll have to set you up with something else. With your father probably going to prison—”

  “He’s not going to prison!” Todd burst out. “He’s innocent.”

  Martin sighed, “OK,” but he didn’t sound as if he believed Todd—more like he just wasn’t willing to discuss it. He turned on the radio, and a few seconds later he answered a phone call.

  Martin had been jabbering into his cell for a solid five minutes when Todd’s own phone rang. Todd didn’t recognize the number, so he let it go, but the same number kept calling. Martin, absorbed in his own phone call, didn’t seem to notice.

  Finally, when the radio was in the middle of an especially loud song, Todd picked up and whispered into the phone, “Who is this?”

  8

  “Can you talk?” The voice on the other end was Todd’s father.

  Todd lowered the phone. “Can we pull over?” Todd called to Martin over the music. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Can’t it wait? I’m on a tight schedule.”

  “If I piss all over your car, what’s that going to do your schedule?” Todd snapped. Hearing his dad’s voice had energized him, making him feel like a man.

  Martin sighed and pulled into a Taco Bell parking lot. Todd almost didn’t wait for the car to stop before opening the door. “Hey, get me a coffee. Get a receipt,” Martin said and handed Todd a five dollar bill.

  After slamming the car door as hard as he could, Todd walked into the restaurant. Once safely inside the building, he spoke into the phone, hand over the receiver. “Dad, are you OK?”

  “I’m fine, Junior,” his father replied. “Look, this is a pre-pay cell and I don’t have much time left on it. I’ve been talking to people, lawyers. This is all very complicated.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Todd asked.

  There was a pause. Behind Todd, people placed orders at the counter like it was just another day.

  “Dad, are you there? What do you want me to do?”

  “Have you spoken with Tina since your mom came at me?”

  “No.” Todd started to explain all the things he’d gone through, but his dad cut him off.

  “You have to talk to your sister,” his dad said in a tone as strong as his handshake. “I think she’s got the wrong idea about things. You saw what happened, right? How your mother came after me with a knife and how, to save my life, and yours and Tina’s, I had to fight back.”

  The instant replay ran again in Todd’s head, but it seemed fuzzier than before. “Yes.”

  “And that’s the story you’ve told the police, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So you need to talk to Tina, to make sure she says the same thing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m staying with a friend, but I know I have to turn myself in. That’s what my lawyer says, but I don’t want to do that until I know that Tina’s on board. It’s up to you, Junior.”

  “I won’t let you down, sir.”

  “I know you won’t.” The words were so clear and strong, it almost seemed to Todd like his father was standing right beside him, hand on his shoulder.

  “I’ll call back in a few hours, but you can’t tell anyone we’ve talked, got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re a good son.” The line went dead.

  “What took you so long?” asked Martin when Todd got back to the car and handed him his stupid coffee. “And where’s my receipt?”

  Todd felt the slip of paper and the change in his pocket, along with his growing collection of social workers’ business cards. “Where’s my sister?”

  “I can’t talk about that, Todd.”

  “Why not?” Todd asked. “She’s my only family. She needs me! Why can’t I see her?”

  “Not my call. Detective Murphy said no contact.”

  The conversation was clearly over, but Todd’s head pounded with words he was holding back: Why does he get to control my life? Even in his own mind, Todd wasn’t sure whether he was Murphy, Martin, or …

  He shoved the thought away and slumped in the backseat.

  9

  A large white van filled the small driveway of the house. Smaller than the Parker place, this house didn’t seem as run down, although Todd wasn’t holding out much hope for the inside.

  At the door, an older man greeted them. Martin introduced him as Mr. Sorensen. He wore a yellow polo shirt and a green sweater. Todd noticed he moved slowly and spoke even slower. Martin and Todd stepped into the house, which smelled like the wrestling room after a hard practice.

  “Mr. Morgan, put your things in box five.”

  Mr. Morgan sounds so weird, Todd thought. That’s my dad, not me.

  The older man pointed toward a row of numbered cardboard boxes. Todd’s name, written on a piece of masking tape, was on box five. As he put his bags in the box, Todd saw tiny remnants of other pieces of tape, fragments of names. He was hit by a deep longing for his own house, with his own stuff, where he wasn’t just borrowing space for the short term.

  “There’s coffee in the kitchen if you want it, one cup a day,” the man said. “Or if you want a soda, you can have that instead. One of those a day. If you want another, it’s a dollar.”

  “How long am I going to be here?” Todd asked.

  “That’s up to you, Mr. Morgan,” Sorensen said.

  “If it is, then I’m leaving now.” Todd started to lift his bags from the dumpy brown box.

  “And where would you go?” Martin asked. “I’m sorry, but until things get sorted out, you’re in the system now and this is the placement. An excellent placement, I might add.”

  Sorensen reached out his hand, but not for a handshake. In his right hand, he held a bunch of papers that looked like the small booklet coaches handed out at the start of the season. “This is my house. These are my rules.”

  Todd took the papers.

  “You violate any of these rules, I call the county and you end up elsewhere.”

  Todd glanced at the front page. Under the headline Sorensen House Rules was: “Watch ye therefore: for ye know not when the master of the house cometh. Mark 13:35.” Each page, Todd noticed, had a similar Bible quote at the top. There were twenty pages of rules and quotes.

  “If I’m going to be here for a while, I need to get more things from my house,” Todd said. He wondered if asking for things was against the rules or if it would cost him a dollar.

  Martin sighed and looked at his watch, his normal routine. “OK, last trip. I’m a social worker, not a transportation system. Speaking of which, here’s your bus pass.”

  Todd took the small card and tucked it in his pocket. He’d never had a bus pass before. “Good, I’ll use it to go to Green River.”

  Martin sighed, then looked at his watch. “That’s your choice. I hope you like sitting on the bus and don’t like sleeping. That’ll take two hours, I bet.”

  10

  Martin was wrong. It took more than two hours to get from North Minneapolis to the west suburbs by bus. And Todd had been standing in the wrong place to catch the bus from downtown, which added to his time. He’d never been late to school before. In a way, it felt like this was his first day at Green River, back in the Lower School. Like all the years he’d spent there counted for nothing now.

  The guard at the d
oor stopped him and directed him toward the main office. Another first. His dad had long ago made it clear that winding up in the principal’s office was unacceptable.

  At the main desk, Todd said, “I’m late. What happens?”

  The office manager stared at him, looked over her shoulder at a coworker, and then dialed her phone. “Wait just a moment,” she told Todd before speaking into the phone, almost secretively: “Todd Morgan’s here.”

  A moment later she hung up the phone. “Dr. Marsh wants to see you, Todd. She’ll be back in just a minute. You can wait in her office.” She pointed Todd in the right direction. Todd did as he was told.

  The office was nothing like he’d expected. It was warm, filled with photos, awards, banners, all of it celebrating Green River. Todd sat in a comfy tan chair across from Dr. Marsh’s empty desk. Checked his phone. His dad hadn’t called back yet. No one else had called or texted except for Benton yesterday morning.

  “Todd, thank you for waiting.” Dr. Marsh strode into the office. She wasn’t alone. Standing with her were Coach Colter and Mrs. Lang, the school counselor he was assigned to but never visited. “Everyone in the Green River family was shocked and very saddened by the news about your mother. We’re so sorry for your loss. Your mom was a lovely woman.’’

  Of all the words Todd had heard from people on the other side of desks in the past few days, the single word was felt like a blow to the gut. His mom belonged to the past tense.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Dr. Marsh asked. Todd didn’t know what to say. It was like asking a starving man what he’d like to eat. There were too many needs to make one choice.

  “My dad’s innocent,” Todd blurted out. It was the only thought he could wrap his head around. “It was self-defense. I was there. I saw the whole thing. He’ll get his name cleared soon. Then things will go back to normal.”

  The adults exchanged glances. Todd was so sick of adults doing that. Doubting him. Not listening to him.