Thy Will Be Done - Chapter 2

         It was a warm summer that year, and with no air conditioning, it made it sweltering in Fall River, a working class town on the south coast of Massachusetts. Once a bustling mill town, Fall River was home to the working class of the region. The home of many ethnic groups, the Portuguese immigrant community continued to call Fall River home. This was Stephen Hanson’s hometown. As a child, he was a child in an adult world, living in what was a senior housing complex just outside of the Portuguese neighborhood of Columbia Street.

         His mother and grandmother did their best with Stephen, and all in all, they did a great job raising him without a father figure in his life. His grandmother taught him to be polite to the other residents of the complex, although he could occasionally swindle people out of a quarter or two to get an ice cream cone at Nobrega’s Market by telling them that it was his birthday. He’d have to be careful who he told though, not wanting to hit up the same group of people on a regular basis. His mom worked odd hours, in order to be home in time to see Stephen off to school. While he went to school, she would sleep, often times meeting him at the top of the street barely awake, yet making sure he got home safely.

         Then one day, in a flash, Stephen’s life would change. Seeing an ambulance wasn’t uncommon at the housing complex. At least once a week, someone was being carted out, either covered or uncovered. Sometimes, there would be equipment attached to them. Other times, it would be a somber lift into the ambulance. Chances were, Stephen wouldn’t see those people again. This time was different. One of the two elevators was stuck on Floor 3. That’s where Stephen and his family lived. He wondered who was not coming back. His questions were answered moments later when he made it up to the apartment and saw the stretcher being wheeled down the hallway, with his grandmother on it. That would be the last time he saw his grandmother, unless of course you count the time in the funeral home when no one warned him who he was going to see.

         When he walked up to the coffin, it didn’t look like his grandmother. She was too still. She never wore makeup, just lipstick. Why wasn’t she moving? So many questions, and not enough answers, ever. For such a little person, there were so many big emotions racing through his mind and soul. He wanted to reach out and touch his grandmother’s hand, but she looked more like she was at peace rather than simply sleeping. A maniquin rather than the woman he called Memere. Stephen didn’t know about death, but he soon realized that his grandmother wasn’t breathing. Too afraid to cry, afraid of breaking the silence of the room where people he knew and didn’t know, were gathered. It was then that a darkness fell across Stephen’s life like a curtain over the final act of a Broadway drama.

         Soon after, Stephen and his mother moved out of the apartment complex into a worn down apartment near Kennedy Park. There was a shimmer of light in Stephen’s life: a dad. More specifically, someone Stephen’s mother met who was trying to act like a dad. But that all fell apart rather quickly once everyone moved into their new apartment.

         Michael Hatley was a tall, thin man who had a look of rage in his face even when he was happy. He was happy when he was drunk, plain and simple. Otherwise, he was a miserable case of a human being. Never one to hold down a job for any steady period of time, Hatley skated through life one drink at a time. Lorraine Hanson and Hatley were friends from school, and would occasionally meet up from time to time at a favorite watering hole. But that changed once Stephen came into the picture and the focus became clear. Once her mother died, she came to find solace in the arms on a man – and that man happened to be Hatley, who promised her the world, but came up extremely empty.

         Stephen would always ride his dilapidated bike when he heard the noises of his mom being abused by Michael. Even before the abuse, Stephen noticed his mom wasn’t doing well health wise. She would often sleep a lot, after feeling dizzy. Sometimes she would fall down at random, which caused her to need the use of a cane, and then a walker. He would hurt inside, wanting to help his mom, to no avail. And while he would leave with them fighting, he would usually come back to them sitting on the rickedy front porch, happier than before, as if nothing bad ever happened. There were no fights, no hitting, no abuse – at least that was the perception. That would give the young Hanson hope. Until one day when he came home from a long afternoon of riding his bike and he saw his mom sitting on the couch, soaked in urine, unable to move. Mike had hid his mothers walker in the attic, and while he was petrified of going in the attic, he had to for his mom. All the while, filled with rage, he made it his point to never let this happen again.

         Mike hadn’t returned that night, and Lorraine hadn’t moved, despite the fact she had the walker. When Stephen awoke the next morning, Ray Perrier, a friend of Lorraine’s, greeted him. Ray also happened to be a social worker with the Department of Social Services. Two trash bags, standing by the door, are all that Stephen left with that day. Who would take care of his mom? Not Michael. Even in his young mind, Stephen realized that Michael was bad news, let alone someone who Stephen would want to take care of someone.

         He only had to think back to the drunken purchase of a puppy one fateful afternoon. Hatley had come across the dog and in order to make good on another broken promise, he brought home this ragged looking dog. Ragged or not, Stephen was overjoyed – he finally had a friend. Since the move at the beginning of the summer, he had only a few friends, other than the few imaginary friends that he would play with while riding his bike. A dog was something he could grow to love. Something he could confide in. A dog was man’s best friend. Not in Stephen’s house. As soon as the dog had an accident, Hatley turned his drunken rage on the dog, and within days, the dog had begun to cower in one of the spare rooms in the rickedy house, shivering in fear. In short time, the dog seemed to have disappeared, unbeknownsed to Stephen the fate of the dog; he was more upset as to the general loss of the pet rather than the details of the demise of the pet.

         Driving away with Ray, something didn’t feel right to Stephen. Why was his mom crying? Why were some of his toys packed up in the back seat? Most of all, where was he going? It was on the start of a lifetime trip.