Werewolves, Witches and the Weird Girl

“Hello? Faith? It’s Mrs. Mahoney from social services; honey you need to open the door.” Teresa Mahoney continued to bang on the front door of 227 11th street in Staten Island. The rundown house stuck out among the pretty painted porches and freshly manicured lawns of the neighboring properties in the tiny trendy suburb, as if time moved forward and left only it behind.

Mrs. Mahoney cautiously stepped back away from the door, avoiding the splintered and loose boards of the rotting wooden porch. She glanced to her left then her right, hoping to catch the attention of a neighbor so she could speak with them about Faith, but oddly, there was not a soul to be seen. The desolate street was all too familiar to Teresa Mahoney; people just wanted to peer out from behind their sheer lace curtains, speculating and judging. No one wanted to step forward and make a difference; no one wanted to get involved beyond spreading neighborhood gossip.

She called out one last time before giving up and returning to her car. “Faith Asher? Hello? Well, ok then, you know I will be back soon. You can’t avoid me forever, dear girl. It’s only a matter of time before you’re locked out of this house for good, you know? Then what choice will you have but to come with me? Who else is going to help you? You need a place to stay and we must get you back in school. Faith? Open the door! Ok, you win. I feel like a fool standing out here talking to myself. Please Faith, call me. I’m leaving my card in the door.”

Mrs. Mahoney was not without sympathy for Faith’s situation. It broke her heart to know such a young girl was all alone, frightened and without the means to care for herself. Mrs. Mahoney worried about Faith’s future. Her school had suspended her for not reporting her living conditions after the passing of her mother nearly four months ago.

They assumed she was being looked after and when they found out otherwise, the board demanded proof of guardianship. What a shame it was too, Mrs. Mahoney thought. Faith was an excellent student and somehow managed to keep her grades up and get to class all on her own. Teresa Mahoney had to admit, Faith Asher was quite an impressive young woman. If only there were better options for her rather than a foster family or group home.

Slowly, she made her way down the steps into the driveway, wishing she could steady herself on the railing, but sadly, it lay three feet to her left in the tall grass. Teresa stopped for a moment to check her reflection in the car window. Her bright orange curls sprung out from her rather large head in every direction. “Oh, my.” she fussed, patting them down with both hands and little success.

Her lipstick matched her curls almost perfectly, smeared over her thin lips and across her teeth. She tried rubbing her forefinger over her front teeth but only managed to smear the waxy lip color even more. “This job is really getting to me.” she told herself as she stuffed her chubby body behind the wheel and headed back to her office to update her meager file on one Miss Faith Asher.

Fifteen-year-old Faith crouched in the hallway holding tight to her dog, Cara, quietly begging her to remain silent. “Good girl.” she whispered while lovingly rubbing her silky ears as the poor pup sat in Faith’s lap, trembling. It wasn’t easy for Cara to deny her instincts to protect Faith. The gray and black merle pit bull wanted nothing more than to slam her paws against the inside of the front door and bark menacingly, scaring Mrs. Mahoney away forever. But Cara loved Faith more than she could ever imagine, and if Faith wanted her to be silent and still, then that is exactly what she would do. “Just another minute.” Faith assured her.

A part of her felt sorry for Mrs. Mahoney; she was just trying to do her job and Faith couldn’t imagine that it was easy. Teresa Mahoney was too nice for this type of work, too attached, too caring. Faith figured someone would have to be insensitive and cold-hearted to haul kids in and place them in foster care with other insensitive and cold-hearted people. Mrs. Mahoney was quite the opposite, taking everything so personally, getting flustered and emotional when she couldn’t complete her mission of getting Faith squared away.

She tried not to think of how much Mrs. Mahoney reminded her of a cartoon character, but if she didn’t say that out loud, she wasn’t really being disrespectful, was she? None of that mattered now, Mahoney would never find her in Manhattan, and eventually give up all together and focus on some other child in need of rescuing. She would become just another statistic on a chart, or in someone’s computer file; orphaned runaway cannot be found.

Faith convinced herself that disappearing was the best decision for everyone involved, even some kid she’d never meet. If Mahoney didn’t have to chase Faith down, she would be free to help someone who wanted to be helped. Maybe, just maybe, there were foster families who were truly kind and loving; and maybe they’d give that kid she never met a second chance at a good and fairly normal life.

Faith wouldn’t have minded a good life, but she knew she’d never have a normal one. She knew what normal was; a loving parent, a safe home, good food, and the opportunity to study in an A-rated public school. Faith knew a foster home, or worse, group home would never measure up, and she was more than willing to take her chances on her own. After all, the suburbs offered few options for a teenager and her dog to live on their own, off the child services radar; eventually she would be forced to surrender if she stayed. The comical image of Mrs. Mahoney riding a broom, and skywriting, “Surrender Faith” across the sky amused her and had her laughing out loud.

Manhattan seemed the obvious choice for a girl and her dog to simply disappear. Faith imagined she would get a job in a quaint little coffee shop serving caramel lattes to rich tourists who tipped well over the suggested fifteen percent. She’d wear thick eyeliner and purple lipstick, maybe throw some green or blue streaks in her hair, so no one would question her age. The plan is to find some awesomely cool waitress or actress looking for a roommate to live with in their upper west side loft apartment.

Her new roommate would love dogs and welcome Cara as well and they’d become best friends. Maybe she and her roommate would share clothes and go to the movies together, or better yet, the theater, or the ballet, or the opera. Living in the city was going to be perfect, Faith was sure of that. The daydreams came easy as she sat in the dark empty hallway of her childhood home, patiently waiting for the coast to be clear. She could only hope the images of her perfect life in the city would find their way into her reality.

Finally, when she was certain Mrs. Mahoney had given up and gone away, she stood and walked into what was once her mother’s bedroom. Everything was gone; the furniture, curtains, bedding, her clothes and the few meager pieces of jewelry her mother had once owned. Faith felt sick just thinking of having to sell everything to a sketchy pawn shop in order to eat and feed Cara. The money didn’t last more than a few weeks and now, thanks to Faith’s guidance counselor at school, Mrs. Mahoney and child services were determined to find her and make decisions about her future, leaving her no choice but to follow the law.

For a moment, she considered the idea but was told Cara would be taken to the animal shelter, and that was not an option. If Faith couldn’t stand the thought of others having control over her life, her future, how could she allow them to do the same with Cara? As long as they had each other, everything would be ok; it had to be.

“We need to get away from here, tonight.” she said, clipping Cara’s tattered leash to her collar. “Manhattan is the perfect place for the two of us to start over and create the life we deserve. Don’t worry, girl, I’ll figure out how to get there. Once we’re safely away from Staten Island, we can breathe easy; no one will come looking for us there.”

Faith reached for her backpack, stuffed with the few articles of clean clothing she owned, a half package of double fudge cookies and three small plastic sandwich bags containing the last of Cara’s kibble. Before heading out the door of her childhood home for the last time, Faith made sure to grab the two things she purposely saved from her mother: a collapsible cane and a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses.

She hated to think of the mysterious illness that took her mother’s eyesight before eventually claiming her life. However, she was grateful to have the glasses and cane for her plan to get to Manhattan to work. “These will come in handy.” she told Cara, who seemingly nodded in agreement. “Now, we just need to get to the ferry before it gets dark.” Faith had only one idea, and it wasn’t a very reliable one. However, it was better than trying to walk the sixteen miles from her house to the port.

Faith sighed deeply as a few tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks. She closed her front door for the last time, patted Cara on her back and headed down the street toward the corner, made a left and walked the six blocks to Paul Garrison’s house. Desperation and determination fueled each step as Faith pushed any shred of embarrassment from her thoughts. Sadly, the strange boy she hadn’t seen or spoken to in years was the closest thing she had to a friend. Paul Garrison was almost three years older than Faith and admittedly not the most upstanding citizen, but he had a car and she needed a ride.

She and Cara made their way up the drive to find Paul tinkering under the hood of his 1970 Dodge Challenger. Classic rock played loudly from a radio stashed somewhere among the clutter in his garage. As Faith approached, she heard Paul humming out of tune to the song playing on his radio. She tried to muffle a giggle, but her amusement had a mind of its own. Still hunched over the engine, Paul turned his head in Faith’s direction. “Weird Girl, what are you laughing at?”

Faith waved her hand awkwardly. She hated being called “weird girl”, but the unflattering nickname was given to her so long ago, she couldn’t remember a time when the kids from school called her by her actual name. Some of the older kids started calling her “Weird Girl” the same year three second graders from their neighborhood went missing, never to be found. Faith was in Kindergarten and Paul in third grade. The principal of their elementary school lectured the entire student population on stranger danger during an assembly which turned into chaos when five-year-old Faith stood and declared, “The wolves will save them!” Everyone laughed, including the principal.

Little Faith tried to explain, tried to get them to listen, but everything she said only made them laugh louder. “No, really, the wolves are the good guys. They don’t eat people or anything; they protect us. I’ve seen them, I know.” However, Faith was sent straight to the guidance office and was told never to tell lies like that again, and the three missing children were never saved, not by the authorities, and certainly not by wolves. Ten years later, she was reminded of her most embarrassing moment as she stood in Paul Garrison’s driveway waiting for the right moment to ask him for a favor.