A Good Deed *Set when he was about seventeen.*
He turned a corner, flattening himself against the wall, praying that he’d shaken the men in white. He was rewarded by the sounds of his pursuers’ footsteps hesitating, before going in the opposite direction, and finally fading all together. He breathed a sigh of relief, heading towards downtown Los Angeles. It was a hot, muggy summer day, and his shirt was sticking to the back of his neck as he surveyed the scene before him. It was eerily quiet. Many of the stores were little more than burnt out shells, reminders of the riots that had engulfed the City of Angels many years before. It didn’t bother him. He saw them as they once were, small mom and pop style stores, and as they would be, rebuilt many years from now. The circle of life.
The few citizens that were about in the heat of the summer sun avoided the strange-looking teenager, with clothes that looked like he had pulled them out of a dumpster, and eyes that had a vacant, glazed look to them, as though he wasn’t all there mentally. He would occasionally glance down and brush his arms, as though feeling bugs crawling on him, or stop in his tracks, and just stare off into space for a few minutes. The last of the drugs were wearing off now, and he found himself approaching Skid Row. He would blend in perfectly there, amidst the homeless, drug addicted population, the ones no one paid attention to, their eyes passing over them, or right on through, as though they weren’t even there. Just like him.
His head darted up at the sound of voices approaching, muscles tensing, ready to run again. His stance relaxed as a family came into view, jabbering on in what he thought was German, looking around and then glancing back at a map the father was clutching. Tourists. It figured. They would be the only ones stupid enough to have gotten this far out. If they didn’t get mugged, it would be a miracle. The smallest one, a girl of about six, looked straight at him, then tugged at her mother, whispering to her. He didn’t understand the answer delivered in rapid fire German, but he could make out one word: “Unwohlsein.” Unwell. His eyes began to dart for the nearest alleyway, wanting to just disappear. He didn’t need this shit.
Things then began to happen real fast. The Germans began to cross the street. From out of nowhere, a car came careening out of control down the street. The girl, panicking, darted out right into his path. He could hear her parent’s terrified screams. Without thinking, he darted out into the street, grabbing ahold of the girl. The car was almost on top of them, they’d never make it. He shut his eyes.
Something seemed to flex within his mind. Opening them back up, it struck him how quiet everything was. There was the family, frozen like a horror tableau. The car, only a few feet away, frozen also, the driver furiously attempting to gain control. And the girl, her hands raised over her head, a look of fright frozen on her statue-like face. It had happened again. That thing, whatever it was that allowed him to escape so easily, it was happening now. But he couldn’t think about that. He had to act. This wouldn’t last much longer. He wasn’t sure how he knew, he just did. He pulled the little girl over to her family, and went back to her car. The driver was pulled out, and he turned the engine off, thoughtfully placing the keys in the man’s pocket, at the same time relieving the driver of any spare cash he had in his wallet. Huh, that was strange. The man’s watch had stopped. With that, he turned and walked down the nearest alleyway.
The men in white found him eventually. In a diner called The Pantry, chowing down on a chicken-fried steak. He went with them with a resigned but defiant air, as always. But he made them pause on the way out. There on the TV was a reporter. He turned the volume up. “….and both parties were uninjured. No one can explain how they had such a miraculous break, although the mother of six-year-old Sara has one theory.”
The grateful, tear-streaked face of the mother, clutching her daughter with the protective air that only parents possess, spoke only one word: “Engel.” The teen walked out with a smile on his face, despite having been caught once again.