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Randy: The Boy Who Made Us Smile
When the social worker popped open her trunk the stench of the smoke was almost more than we could stand. It was emitting from…
When the social worker popped open her trunk the stench of the smoke was almost more than we could stand. It was emitting from the two large trash bags that contained Randy’s clothes. There was also a small bicycle and a pair of cowboy boots. Together she and I dragged everything over to my car and jammed it into my trunk. Then we said our goodbyes. They shook hands without him looking up and he didn’t watch as she drove out of the parking lot. We got into my car without either of us saying a word. He buckled into his seat belt before I could ask him to and we drove away, the only sounds coming from the traffic.
As we turned into my neighborhood he shifted his body slightly in my direction.
“Is it okay if I call you Ma?”
“Yes, of course. What should I call you?”
“My name is Randall Joseph Wells, Jr. They call me RJ.”
“But what do you want to be called?”
“Call me Randy.”
And with that I pulled into the driveway and we both got out of the car. I had popped open the trunk but decided to leave it open to air out a little before attempting to go through Randy’s stuff.
