Chapter 3 - THE FIRST NIGHT
My apartment was not ready for a five-year-old.
That became obvious at 9:10 p.m.
I had:
One bedroom.
One office.
A couch.
No night-light.
No child cups.
No toothpaste that tasted like anything except aggressive mint.
Esmond stood in the bathroom holding the tube.
“This burns.”
“Okay.”
I found plain toothpaste at a pharmacy.
At 10:00.
He slept in my bed.
I slept on the couch.
At midnight, he woke and called:
“Uncle Rhy?”
“I’m here.”
“Bat?”
“No bat.”
“Glass?”
“No glass.”
Then:
“Where phone?”
I held it up from the nightstand.
“Here.”
“By me.”
I put it beside his pillow.
He curled around it.
The next morning, child services arrived for home inspection.
I tried not to take offense when the worker opened my refrigerator.
She needed to know there was food.
Then smoke alarms.
Sleeping space.
Medications.
Firearms.
None.
Alcohol.
A few bottles.
Locked cabinet not required, but I moved them high anyway.
Then:
“Where will Esmond sleep if placement continues?”
“My office becomes his room.”
“When?”
“Today.”
Good.
I took the day off.
Bought a bed.
Not an expensive themed bedroom.
A twin bed.
Sheets.
Lamp.
Small dresser.
Esmond chose green.
Then child interview.
He told the specialist Ulric had been angry for “a lot of days.”
Not constantly.
Not every day.
Important.
Ulric had cooked.
Taken him to school.
Read bedtime stories twice.
Also shouted.
Called Rhydian “the runaway uncle.”
Told Esmond:
“Your father would’ve chosen me if he was thinking straight.”
Then the day with the bat.
Ulric asked Esmond to practice saying:
“I want to stay with Uncle Ulric.”
Esmond said:
“But I don’t.”
Ulric told him:
“You’re five. You don’t know.”
Then:
“Daddy told me call Uncle Rhy.”
That triggered the argument.
No evidence of prior physical abuse.
One prior incident:
Ulric punched a kitchen cabinet after Esmond spilled milk.
Did not hit child.
Still frightening.
Then the investigator asked:
“Who makes you feel safe?”
Esmond said:
“Daddy.”
Silence.
Then:
“Who else?”
“Uncle Rhy.”
Then:
“Uncle Ulric sometimes when he isn’t mad.”
That sentence mattered.
Ulric was not a monster in Esmond’s memory.
He was an uncle who could be kind and terrifying.
May you like
More complicated.
More real.
