Saving Tommy

<5>

The young woman searched silently with her eyes, scanning across the swings and slides littered with toddling children, out, out across to the opposite sidewalks, the corners, the windows. She held her breath.

She had persuaded the girl to meet her here—yet this was the third Sunday, and a large part of her was losing hope.

A wave of nausea swept over her as the crash of glass resurfaced in her ears, the scream, the figure running out to hide amidst the darkness and between the branches of that twisted front yard oak tree. She had walked that route many times with her husband after dinner. They had reported it the police several times, yet it still continued. And so instead of turning a blind eye, the woman had tied her golden retriever to the nearest pole and stepped off the sidewalk. How the girl gasped when she approached, pressing back against the wood as if she could force herself to merge with its solid surface.

"Shh... shh... I mean no harm, I'm here to help."

Shaking. Dark, terrified eyes, staring.

"He cannot touch you here, you are safe."

And just to prove it... to herself as well as to the girl, she raised the small black canister of pepper spray into the feeble light of the nearby streetlamp. A small comfort, yet it was what she could give.

"Here... Tell me, what is your name?"

The girl only stared in response. It was unsettling, yet expected. The woman soldiered tenderly on, taking out a small notebook pad and a pencil, writing as best she could in the feeble light.

"I wish to help," she repeated in quiet earnest. "Every Sunday afternoon, I visit the park with my family—the one a few blocks down from here—and if there ever comes a time when you can do so, please, meet me there, if only for a few minutes. I... I have some good friends who can help as well."

She did not know what else to say. Yet it seemed enough for, to her greatest joy, the girl replied with the barest of nods, her clenched fingers relaxing just a little, as if to accept the woman's paper. The woman carefully slipped it into the girl's hand, being careful not to make physical contact. Then, not knowing what else to do, she slowly rose and waved goodbye, walking quietly back out to untie her dog. She hesitated. If she concentrated, she could still make out the girl's form, huddled in the grass. Yet, she said to herself, she had done what she could. The rest was up to the girl. So, with a breath, she faced the sidewalk, and resumed walking down the street.

The woman shifted a little on the wooden bench, taking a deep breath before opening her eyes again, a slight tip of a smile on her lips. Her husband was not quite happy when he learned what she had done that night, protesting that he should have been there to protect her. What if the man had come out and seen her talking to the girl? She acknowledged his point, and promised to be careful—only because she knew how much he loved her, and only because she knew deep inside she would do it again in a heartbeat.

Yet it was proving tedious, seeing so much suffering, yet being unable to do anything about it. And that is what drove her through her education. After her aunt became frustrated and dumped her on a family of distant relatives, she had struggled each day to hold on. Yet through hard work and unexpected support from a dear friend, she had been able to attend community college and transfer to a local UC as a psychology major. Things were slow, yes, but she dug deep and worked hard. Now, five years later, she was working on her masters in counseling, had a wonderful husband to support her, and another family addition coming on the way—though her husband did not know that quite yet.

A little whimper broke through her thoughts, and the young woman looked down to find her golden retriever begging for attention with those dark brown puppy eyes. She smiled, rubbing behind his ears, not noticing the sudden cast of shadow, the silent shift. It was only when the dog turned his head out of her hand, that brown nose twitching and sniffing curiously did she raise her head.