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“So, how has your week been?” I ask them as I turn over the lead to the boys. It’s one of the tools I’ve used to keep them interested and to build their friendship. They take turns leading, and as the leader, they learn to accept the responsibility.
It’s built them into a unit. Or it’s building them into one, day by day.
“Could be worse,” Samuel says with a little shrug as Tristan leads them down an alleyway, doing alternating wall jumps to avoid the potholes. “You know the home took in five new boys this week?”
“Five?” I repeat, and Samuel nods.
“The people are not doing well,” Claude adds as he vaults a garbage can. “More and more Parisians end up on the streets. Not all of them even reach the home.”
It’s true, and something that pains my heart. I’m a wealthy man, worth millions... yet I could be richer than all the models in the world combined and not be able to make enough of a difference. I can’t save them all, but I can try to do right by these young men. And in turn, hopefully, they’ll continue the course and help another child when they are able.
“Not that the home is doing well either,” Tristan grumbles as he drops back to let Claude take over.
“What do you mean?”
“I heardMonsieurJardin talking about it,” Tristan says, jumping to touch a bar over his head. “Donations are down, so they’re struggling with monies to keep everyone fed and clothed properly. And with break coming, the younger boys will need to be kept in line all day.” Truthfully, I’m more worried about Tristan staying in line. If he strays, the consequences could be much more severe.
Theodore interjects, “They’ll put them to work—mopping and scrubbing the dormitories.”
Samuel jumps to touch the bar too, landing gently. “It’s their filth. If they picked up after themselves, it wouldn’t get so disgusting.”
It’s not that bad. I’ve been in the dorms, but with children comes mess, and when you multiply it by several boys, the dirt increases exponentially too. The difficulty with funding is much more concerning, though.
“I can try—”
“Forget it, Simon,” Tristan says. “The boys in the home aren’t getting families. And we’re definitely not. Too old.” He points at Raphael. “Too broken.” He points at Theodore. “And too much of an asshole.” He points at himself. I note that though he judges himself harshly, he left out the two boys who wouldn’t be able to hear that sharp truth. He’s not as much of an asshole as he thinks he is. “Besides, we’ll have aged out soon enough.”
We reach the grounds of the home again, and I take over the lead, slowing everyone down for a cool down lap before we stop and stretch.
“I have been appealing to the mayor and the city officials, trying to do what I can,” I tell the boys as we stretch our calves. “Homelessness is a multi-faceted problem, and installing outdoor piss stations isn’t the solution.”
“Might as well piss on the mayor, for all the good it’ll do you,” Theodore says. “Seriously, Simon, what good is appealing to a bunch of selfish assholes who complain about the availability of caviar or whether thefoie grasis authentic? They’re not going to care about us unless it benefits them.”
“Someone’s got to care. I care,” I point out. We lie down in the grass, doing flutter kicks for our stomachs. “I’m going to keep coming, checking on you, doingparkour. You keep working hard in your studies, developing yourselves. And when you get out there, I promise you I’ll help you find jobs, maybe even a girlfriend or two.”
“Stop,”Tristan says angrily. “Cut the shit, Simon! Girlfriends? Come on, we’re barely above street trash! You really think a nice girl is going to want us?” He sniffs, laughing harshly. “Actually, I bet you could find some House Corbin girl who would. I bet they doanythingyou say.”
“Trist!” Claude thunders. “That’s out of line!”
“What?” Tristan spits bitterly. “It’s true, we all know it. In fact... why the fuck are you even here, Simon? You don’t know what it’s like being us. You probably wipe your ass with silk and gargle with champagne.”
“I haven’t always.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, the way I see it, you’ve got the world by the balls—job, women, money, all of it. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Life’s tooeasyfor you, Simon.Youwant to giveusadvice? Fuck you!”
“Hey, dumbass,” Theodore says, knocking Tristan’s foot with his own. “All that shit you just said? That’s why we should be listening to him. He’s actually been successful in life. Maybe he can help us with ours.”
Tristan jumps to his feet, ready to fight. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, did you listen to anything I just said? He doesn’t have to work for any of it! It’s all been handed to him! He won the genetic lottery with his looks, and everyone kisses his ass or slobs his knob!”
I say nothing, waiting for Tristan to get it out. He needs to. This is poison to his soul, and even if it’s acid to my emotions... he needs to say it.
“He’s using us to feel good about himself!” Tristan roars. “The same as those selfish government assholes you were talking about.”
“Tristan.”
He stares at me for a second, and realization of what he’s said dawns heavily, but instead of taking it back, he turns and marches angrily back toward the dorms. I sigh, watching him go, wishing I could go after him and help calm him... but that would only make things worse.
“Simon, we’re sorry about Tristan,” Samuel says quietly. “He’s having a hard time.”
