Page 61 of The Chameleon

That was at least promising. It was easier to convince someone who had recently begun living on the streets to accept assistance, as opposed to someone who’s had to battle rejection and suspicion over years of neglect.

“Thank you, sir. That was very nice of you,” the young man whispered in broken English. He still refused to look up or meet Matteo’s gaze halfway.

“Is everything okay?” Matteo asked, watching as the boy nodded slowly.

Something didn’t feel right.

Carefully, Matteo reached for the young man’s chin, then tilted it up ever so slightly.

A bruised cheekbone and solid black eye gazed up at him from under the hood.

“What happened to you?” Matteo asked, concerned for the young boy’s safety.

The young man couldn’t have been any older than fifteen or sixteen. What was he doing all alone out on the streets this late at night, and why was he covered in different shades of bruising?

“Umm, nothing.” His voice was barely audible as he lowered his head once again. The boy appeared scared and ashamed.

“I won’t hurt you. I just want to make sure that you are alright.”

The boy shrugged his shoulders. It was clear that he had been beaten and possibly abused by his parents. There was no way Matteo was leaving this young man alone on the streets to fend for himself.

“Do you have a safe place to stay?”

The boy nodded toward a makeshift fort that sat next to him. The structure was held together by two pieces of large cardboard, with a burlap sack thrown across the ground, adding a layer of protection between the boy and the dirt below.

Matteo’s heart broke. He needed to try another approach. He needed to gain this boy’s trust.

“Are you hungry?” Matteo asked. The boy slowly nodded. “How about we go grab you some fresh empanadas and something warm to drink?”

The boy cautiously lifted his head. His soft brown eyes observed Matteo, seeming to assess whether or not he could trust the man offering him food.

“My name is Matteo. What’s yours?”

“Jorge,” the young man replied, loosening his grip around his knees.

“Nice to meet you.” Matteo extended his hand, hoping the boy would welcome his greeting. After a moment’s hesitation, he finally did. “How about we go get some food?”

Seeming a bit more relaxed, the boy nodded slowly, then got up from the safety of the dark corner he was hiding in.

The young man barely reached Matteo’s chest. Scrawny for his age, probably malnutrition. How long had he been living on the streets? The state of his clothing and the appearance of his body did not coincide.

They walked back to the empanada lady and grabbed a few more delicious patties before finding a quiet bench to sit on and eat. Having just finished his own food, Matteo opted to just snack on a mini patty.

“So, where are your parents?” Matteo asked once the boy was mouth-deep into his third empanada.

“Mom’s dead, Dad did this.” He pointed to his face.

Anger boiled at the sight of the bruises covering the boy’s face.

“Are you living on the streets?”

The boy nodded.

Matteo looked around. He couldn’t just leave the kid. The nights were beginning to get cold, and the boy looked like he barely had enough energy to remain standing.

“Look, I know you don’t know me. But I’m here on vacation and staying in a little cabin about fifteen minutes from here. How about you come back to my place? You can get cleaned up and have a safe place to sleep tonight. In the morning, I can make a few calls and see if I can’t get you some help. Perhaps see if there’s a group home or something around here.”

“Umm, it’s alright, sir. I’ll be just fine out here.” The boy looked over his shoulder toward the area where he had built his makeshift shelter.

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