Zachary

Chapter Seven

Here's another one, folks. The one you've all been waiting for.(;

Drum roll, please.

xo.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

 Every single person’s eyes seemed to stare right at me as we drove past.

I wanted to stop the car.

I wanted to ask my dad to pull over so I could give the little old man on the corner the granola bar I knew we always kept the glove compartment.

I wanted to get out and give my sweater to the little boy who was clutching onto his baby brothers hand as they searched through the trash can.

I wanted to help them. All of them.

How could somebody allow themselves to get to this? I wanted to know what was running though their minds at that very second when they realized all hope was lost. I wondered why none of them went somewhere to go get help.

But I already knew that answer. Sometimes, life was more complicated than that.

I looked over at my dad and quietly pleaded for him to pull over. He responded by locking the car doors and driving on. I looked down at my lap then, unable to meet any more of their gazes. There was nothing I could do for them, and it killed me.

My dad kept looking over at me and mumbling, “I’m so sorry,” under his breath. I said nothing. The only thing I was paying attention to was the hem on my jeans.

After driving straight for quite some time, my dad made a right onto a sketchy alleyway that connected to a parking lot. Pulling into one of the few open spots, I looked up to see a dull red, green, and tan brick building with green doors. Printed on the side, in big grey letters, were the words, “Union Rescue Mission” and the address of the building. My dad cut the engine and we sat there in silence for a good minute.

“Are you ready?” my dad finally spoke up. I wiped the remaining tears from my eyes, and nodded and grabbed my sweater.

We walked up a small ramp that led to the entrance of the building. A nearly toothless man stood outside the door, playing jazz music on a saxophone. My dad tossed a $5 bill into the case by his feet. The man smiled his toothless grin at us and continued playing as we walked inside.

The room smelled like a mixture of dirty socks and Windex.

The room we had walked into seemed to be a waiting room of sorts. A reception area with a window was situated in the corner and a group of chairs lined the back walls. My dad knocked on the window at the desk. About two seconds later, a red headed girl popped her head out and smiled at us cheerily.

“Can I help you?”

My dad nodded and leaned against the counter.

“Yes, actually you can. You see, my daughter and I…,” he motioned towards me. “…have an appointment with a certain Ms. Dixon.”

The girl looked down at a clipboard and ran her eyes down it. She looked up at us suddenly and grinned, ear to ear.

“I’ll let her know you’re here, Mr. Robinson. Just a moment.” With this, the window was slammed in our face. My father and I exchanged stunned glances.