Dragonfly by Jax Hill 

Angel had a problem. In addition to her crack problem.

She’d been coming around a lot, sitting for a few hours after Story Hour with Tawny and Marigold. She’d even gotten comfortable around Maggie, and a few times she had looked Torstein in the eye. Once she took some sunflower seeds from him. I think when she was on the street, or in the park, with us, she felt ... better. I know the crack addiction weighed on her all the time. I’m pretty sure even when she wasn’t high, she felt like she wanted to be high. And I know when she wasn’t with us, she was doing what she had to do to get money for crack. And then, of course, after that she was getting high.

It seems like, when she was with us though, she wasn’t a crack whore anymore. She was just Angel, Sully’s mom. And from the few times I saw her laughing with the other ladies, or smiling when she listened to Torstein talking, or holding her son in her lap, I think she liked that. I think she liked being just Angel, just Sully’s mom. And that was her problem. She would have liked to be just Angel, all the time. But the crack thing was too strong. And if she admitted that she wanted to try to beat it — then the fabric of her life would be torn apart. She’d have to leave us, get professional help, find someone to look after Sully or else lose him to Child Protective Services. That was her problem.

When Tawny and Marigold told her about the fishing trip, you could see the longing in Angel’s eyes. It was just a fishing trip on somebody’s old boat where we sailed into a storm that almost capsized us ... but she listened to their description of it with the wonder of a little kid who can’t imagine such an adventure is possible just for the taking. I don’t know where Angel came from or whether she ever had a vacation or even a trip to the ocean in her life ... but at this moment, it looked like she’d never been out of the city and could hardly dare to dream that there was any place out of the city. She wanted it so bad.

Maggie was sitting with me and my brother. She had her cell phone again and was doing some business — not brokering like she used to do; she was trying to buy the condo next door to hers. She flipped the phone shut, got up and walked over to Angel. She said, “Angel, if you ever want to go in rehab, I have a place for Sully with me. He could stay there as long as you needed. And, you know, if you get off the junk, and you need a place to stay, you could stay there for a while too.”

Tawny looked over at Angel, and grabbed her hand and said, “Oh, do it, Angel!”

Marigold clapped her hands like a little kid and said, “You have to, Angel!”

Angel looked down and shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said.

“OK,” Maggie said. “I just wanted you to know, if you ever think you can, that I’ll look after Sully. He’s old enough to start school in a couple weeks, you know, and you’re going to have to make sure he has the things he needs and that he goes to class and all.”

I hadn’t thought about it, but Sully was old enough to go to school now. And it was getting to be time for school to start. But there was no way Angel was going to be able to keep a kid in school. She didn’t keep Sully now; he spent half his time with us. Maggie had somehow put all this together, and she was confronting Angel with it like a pro.

“If you wanted to go into rehab now, we could get Sully moved in with me, and then he would be ready for school. I’d make sure he went, and make sure he studied.”

When Angel wasn’t cracked-out, or before she became a crack addict, I think she had normal intelligence and maybe even some kind of coping skills. But since the drugs had taken over her life, to her, being a mother meant calling the police if Sully didn’t come home in a few day’s time. The idea of being responsible for dressing and supplying him for school and getting him there every day ... clearly she was unprepared for anything like that.

“I can manage,” she said weakly.

“OK, good,” Maggie said. “I just wanted you to know, the offer is there if you need it.”

Maggie came back to Pete and me and sat down, smiling a little.

Torstein was working the crowd. There were several more kids than there had been at the beginning of the summer who came regularly for Story Hour now, plus many more homeless and even a few people who worked downtown but had started taking an afternoon break to come to the park. The story time was over, but they were all still lounging around the park, some of the homeless looking for Ferdy because they knew he was the money man. Torstein was wandering among them, talking and laughing with the children and the adults, sharing his sunflower seeds. His green coat was shimmering in the late summer sunlight, and the way he moved from group to group made him look more than ever like a hovering dragonfly.

When he came back toward us, Angel left the other ladies and went to meet him. They sat down together a little way off, and Torstein reached out to hold Angel’s hand. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, of course, but some time later they got up and came over to Maggie. Angel said:

“I’m going to try rehab. I would really like it if you’d take care of Sully until I get back.”

Ferdy had appeared out of nowhere. He glared at Angel, but she was staring at Maggie, who got up and hugged her. “That’s great, Angel!” she said, and led her away explaining what they would do.

Ferdy said to Torstein, “Who’s going to pay for rehab?! We don’t have that kind of money.”

“There’s a charity one. I met the director one time. I’m sure they’ll take her. It’s just a couple hours away by bus ...” he was watching the two ladies discussing the future, and he said, “When Maggie gets back I’ll borrow her phone and call them.”

Ferdy handed Torstein his phone. “Call now. Make sure it’s completely free.”

Torstein grinned at him. “OK, stingy!” he said. “Can we at least go the bus fare?”

Ferdy didn’t think it was funny. “Maybe,” he said. “Depends how much you give World Wildlife Fund in the meantime.”

That cracked me up. I told Ferdy I’d go the bus fare.

“Thanks,” he said, as if this dough would have been coming out of his own pocket — the only money we had was money people gave us, or money we’d make fishing or doing some other odd job. Ferdy had even done taxes back in the spring and kicked in most of what he made. Now he didn’t want to spring for bus fare.