FINN HAD BEEN FOUND on a street corner near Ellie’s office. Thankfully, she didn’t have to pass that spot on her walk to work, and each morning she determinedly avoided looking in that direction. Instead, she’d concentrate on the smells of toasted bagels cutting through the winter air from the bakery, or the thump of doors opening and shutting, or the line of cars driving down Main St. Anything to focus on putting one step in front of the other. After work though, Ellie felt drawn to the spot, like a moth to a light bulb, too alluring to resist even though it always burned. She’d go out of her way, walk up the hill and turn left, cut through the alley that led to the row of buildings on the river edge.
Finn’s corner, as it was renamed in Ellie’s mind, hadn’t always been so problematic. Woolworth’s, a local department store that was housed in a stately three-story building, had kept the block bustling. But Woolworth’s eventually closed for good, and with it, the main attraction to the backend of the city. It always saddened Ellie to see the store’s once grand doorway filled with huddled people, who would hurriedly jump up and beg when anyone walked by, overwhelming everyone with their wild eyes and persistent out stretched hands. Residents soon began to avoid this street, and the homeless took over.
Ellie worked at city council, and had once overheard the mayor comparing the darkened streets to an infested apartment. “If we flip the lights on,” he said, “they’ll scatter like cockroaches.” So, lights had been put in, charming, old-fashioned street lamps – the exorbitant bill had crossed Ellie’s desk - but even so the homeless stayed, and locals knew not to go there after dark. Ellie had avoided the beautiful, revitalized waterfront walkway the city had poured tax dollars into, and when Finn had begun walking downtown after school with his friends, she instructed him to avoid it as well. Some people just can’t be helped she had parroted back to Finn, a common expression heard round her office, when he asked why he couldn’t go there, even in the daytime. She could imagine Finn laughing with his friends, unaware that he was being approached, unsure of what to do when asked for spare change. And for God sakes, she had added, don’t give them any money.
A morning jogger had discovered Finn’s body, propped against one of the benches that looked out over the river. The jogger thought Finn was merely sleeping, as vagrants often did that hour in the city, but something in the cock of Finn’s head made him slow, and call 911. Ellie never found out which bench it was exactly. There were three, spaced evenly apart. She hoped it was the one with the least graffiti. She hoped the rush of the river was the last thing he heard, a comforting sound, similar to a baby rocking in his mother’s womb.
Finn had always loved to swim, winning a string of trophies in high school his sophomore and junior year. His slight, stooped shoulders began to straighten and bulge from all the laps he did with his swim team. Ellie had marveled at the change in him, the new manly muscles, the ease in which he slapped the back of his fellow swimmers, the intent way he listened to his coach’s instruction. At each meet, Ellie would cheer wildly, her feet stomping the bench in time to his arms slicing through the water. At the bell, his head would emerge, one hand grasping the pool side. He fist pumped the air when he learned he won, and Ellie would stand and applaud, marveling at this new, grown up Finn. At his autopsy he weighed 95 pounds, the beast of the boy he had become withered to a skeleton.
The swim team took up all of Finn’s time. Soon, he was away more than he was at home. It had always been just her and Finn, and she found herself newly lonely. When school began, Finn’s senior year, and the first report card arrived in the mail she was shocked by the row of Fs. She lectured on the importance of college, on work ethic and paying attention and Finn nodded, eyes glazed. Ellie suspected he wasn’t really hearing her, but still, she trusted him. She had never not been able to talk sense into him. He’d snap himself out of whatever teenage funk he found himself in. Senioritis, she thought to herself.
When the school called to tell her that Finn had been found unconscious in a stall, it was a slap of cold water. She met with the principal, the counselor, his English teacher. All sat around a table, all with grave faces. The counselor had hair across his hands and knuckles and Ellie focused on the movement of his fingers as he opened a file with Finn’s name across the top. He read in his deep voice testimonies from Finn’s teachers detailing his unpredictable behavior, his new aggression towards adults, and how he often fell asleep in class and couldn’t be woken. The principal pushed a box of tissues across the table towards Ellie when she began to cry.
Dabbing her eyes, Ellie asked how this would impact his place on the swim team, and she caught the counselor’s eyes widen.
“Ms. Perkins,” the counselor had said, “Finn was kicked off the team last month. He wasn’t showing up to practice, and the team has a strict policy about passing grades. Currently, Finn is failing all his courses.”
Ellie had been embarrassed she didn’t know this. But how was she to know? Finn took himself to practice.
“Why wasn’t I told of this?” Ellie demanded, but they didn’t give her an answer. Ellie recognized pity in the principal’s face, and bristled.
The counselor shut Finn’s folder and laid his large hands across Finn’s name. Meeting Ellie’s eyes, he said Finn’s behavior was typical in what they found in those under the influence of heroin. From her work on the City Council, Ellie knew opioids were becoming an increasing problem. A proposal for a treatment center was on her desk; she was required to edit it before it was presented to the public. Ellie had sniffed when she read it, dubious that it would be helpful.
“It’s in the schools?” she asked. Looking back, she wondered why she hadn’t realized it wouldn’t be. Heroin didn’t stay in the dark, uninhabited corners of the city, but flowed like water running downstream, looking for the path of least resistance. “How?” Ellie had asked. “Why Finn?” But she supposed no one knew, because all kept quiet. Eventually, the counselor broke the silence by handing Ellie a brochure for a treatment center and instructing her to contact Finn’s doctor.
Ellie screamed at Finn, but she was also screaming at herself. How many times had he fallen asleep upright, once even over his cereal bowl in the morning, and she had thought he was just over tired, working too hard? She had been so foolish.
Ellie had been warned that detoxing was difficult on the body and needed supervision, so, reluctantly, she checked him into a treatment center. Once home, in the empty house, she doubted her decision. Finn had stared at her, unspeaking, as he was led away. She had tried to follow, but a nurse had put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. Ellie had called out to Finn, I love you!, but he hadn’t acknowledged that she had spoken. She wished she could have walked him in, told him it would be all right. She wished he was here right now. Teens made mistakes. That was all this was. She herself had skipped school to smoke marijuana behind the building every day before sixth period. She had outgrown it, and so would Finn. Teenagers were attracted to the dangerous, but it didn’t last.
When, finally, Ellie picked up Finn, he looked healthier. He had gained weight, stood straighter and his lanky hair was washed and combed away from his forehead. She hugged him hard in the foyer, making him set down his suitcase to wrap his arms around her. He smelled different, but was still Finn. Eagerly, she signed the discharge papers and steered him out the front door. Once outside, she slapped her palms together, done. Ellie had never been superstitious, but she was tempted to throw salt over her shoulder.
“God, I’ve missed you!” Ellie exclaimed, now that they were alone, “Even your stinky socks.”
Finn smiled in spite of himself, and she thought thank God this is over. She had her boy back.
And for a short while, she did. Soon though, Finn would fall asleep at the dinner table, his head tipped back, mouth agape, a sure sign he was using again. She knew she should contact the treatment center – they had warned relapse was possible - but she didn’t want to admit defeat. Not yet. So, she kept on as though everything was normal.
She’d send him to school, nervous he would do drugs there, only to get the call that he hadn’t shown up to first period. After confronting him, telling him he needed to go back to the center, he left, slamming the door behind him. She didn’t see him for days, days that she spent sick with anxiety, too nervous to work, afraid he would come back home and she wouldn’t be there. She was woken in the middle of the night by the sound of breaking glass in the kitchen. Finn was there, hollow eyed, accompanied by a man who Ellie had never seen before. The man was older, weathered, and hopped nervously from foot to foot. Finn asked for money, and Ellie went to the closet and got her pocketbook. How could you say no to your child? Finn reached for the bills, but the other man stepped forward, edging Finn out of the way, grabbing the bills roughly. He ran and Finn turned after him, leaving Ellie alone with the door wide open.
Finn never came back home, but that didn’t stop Ellie from hoping. She stocked the refrigerator with his favorite foods, letting the bananas she bought rot because she refused to eat them so they’d be there for Finn. She cleaned his room and changed his sheets, bought a new book and placed it on his nightstand. She gave Finn’s description and her phone number to the homeless shelter in case he turned up there.
After work, she would walk the waterfront, eyes peeled for her son. Sometimes she found him. She’d rush up to him, push money in his palm. Each time, Ellie begged him to try detox again. “Please,” she’d always say, “Come home with me. It’s not too late.” Finn would promise that he would and Ellie would grab his arm, to lead him away with her. Finn would take a few steps, seemingly compliant, then would peel from her. Ellie had tried to keep up, running after Finn, reaching out to grab his shirt tail, but he was faster and she always returned home alone.
The last time she saw Finn, he was crouching in the alley behind Woolworths. It was late fall, so the sun was already beginning to set over the river. Ellie had walked back here after work, just in case she could see him, could try again to take him home. And here he was, no coat, crouched and jingling on one foot. Ellie knew from experience his agitation meant he hadn’t used in a while, and hope leapt up her throat. Maybe she could finally talk sense into him. It was then that Ellie saw a girl, further back in the shadows of the alley. A plaid blanket was wrapped around her head like a hood, her face downturned, though Ellie suspected she was listening. Ellie pleaded again, tried to convince Finn to come with her.
“I can’t Mom. Amanda can’t be out here alone.”
“I’ll call her mother. No mother wants her child out here. It’s going to be cold tonight, Finn. Come home. Bring Amanda.”
“How much to check us both in?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find out. Come home, and we’ll find out together. I’ll make you hot chocolate with cinnamon sugar toast like I used to.”
“No, I need money first. To check us in.”
“Finn, we’ll find that out. We’ll figure it out. If you want help, I’ll make sure you get it.”
Amanda crept closer, letting the plaid blanket drop off her head and drape around her shoulder. She stopped a few feet away and looked at Finn and he at her. Ellie felt displaced, like she was an extra in a movie, not privy to the true plot line.
With reluctance, Finn turned back to Ellie, his eyes wide and his jaw set, “Money first.”
“No Finn,” Ellie said more firmly than she felt, like she had when he was a toddler and she was close to giving in to whatever sweet he demanded.
Amanda hoisted herself away from the wall and took a careful step towards Finn. Her movement seemed to spurn him into action and he pushed Ellie against the brick wall, whacking her elbow painfully. He pulled her purse off her shoulder and ran off with her wallet, Amanda limping after, the plaid blanket billowing behind her.
The next day he was found dead, and though Ellie had looked for Amanda, she never saw her.
It was weeks before Ellie could go back to work, and during that time she didn’t leave her house, barely left her bedroom. She never turned on the TV, preferring the quiet, but she did think about the river. She couldn’t quite remember how the rushing river should sound. A fast chugging or a slow, soothing meandering? All the times she had walked nearby, on her way to Woolworth’s when it was open, or on her strolls searching for Finn, and she couldn’t recall the river’s sound. The first day Ellie went back to work, as soon as her time was over, she walked down to the river and stood, holding the back of the bench, listening. She stayed till it grew dark and the lamps lining the path flicked on.
Even though she knew he was dead, Ellie couldn’t stop looking for Finn. At first it was once or twice a week, but soon, it become a daily habit. The clock would chime five, and Ellie would nod goodbye, button her coat, and instead of turning right outside of her building to walk home, would turn left, up toward the river. Sometimes she was sure she saw his form, stealing in between the cracks of buildings. At such times she would instinctively reach insider her coat pocket, where she kept a wad of bills. It was a leftover habit – she always carried cash in case she saw Finn. The bills had grown in number – she was no longer giving it away, and she kept adding more as had been her custom each paycheck. Now the stack was as big as her fist, a large bulge in her pocket.
Ellie had the sound of the river memorized now. It nearly always sounded the same, but a discerning listener could tell differences: the charging rush after a heavy rainfall, the slow meander when there was no wind, the clap and roll when a storm was approaching. Ellie knew them all, and always stood, soothed by the varying sound. She was so enraptured she didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her, didn’t turn until the scatter of gravel behind her was unmistakable.
A young man stood behind her, tall, so skinny, his head hung low but his chin jutted forward, defiantly.
“Finn?” Ellie asked before she could stop herself.
The boy barely nodded, but stepped closer, reaching his hands towards her. And for a moment he was Finn, finally asking for help, finally willing.
“Finn,” Ellie breathed, relieved. She stepped toward him, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the cash, held into a coil by a rubber band. The boy stretched his fingers towards her and she put the money into his hands, clasping his hands tightly. She wouldn’t let him go now that she had him.
— SHAUNA SHIFF
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