School was out for the summer, the kids had lots of time.
And no parents.
That's how they had ended up living in a Home. If you see Home capitalized, it's either on a Walmart door mat or some hideous cliche wall decoration - also from Walmart - or it is a place without parents.
A substitute parent was the best society had for them, but the teen considered herself lucky because their house mother was good to them. Many of the children were orphans, others were the human equivalent to puppies dumped by the roadside by disappointed or overwhelmed humans.
The teenage girls had the afternoon off, and she had decided to head to Venice Beach. The Venice Beach Boardwalk was a fun place to hang out in the summer. She loved the skateboarders, buskers, t-shirt and jewelry vendors and lots of normal people enjoying themselves. The noise, the smells, and the people of the Boardwalk were a sort of anchor for her for a couple of years before she would turn eighteen. On her eighteenth birthday, she would have to pack her bag and leave the Home.
But she would make as much of the two summers left before being on her own again.
She had been waiting for no more than ten minutes with her thumb out to signal she was hitchhiking when a sports car stopped. The driver leaned over and opened the passenger door. Before she got in, she glanced into the back seat area to check how messy the car was. Too messy was not a good sign. Then she bent down a little, she was tall for her age, to give the driver a once over. He seemed to be in his thirties, had a big, friendly smile: Hey, where you headed?
Venice Beach.
I'm going to Santa Monica, I can drop you off on Lincoln Boulevard, if that's okay. I'll take the freeway from here.
Sure, she said and got in.
She settled in, and they chatted as he got onto the westbound freeway after a few minutes. He got into the fast lane and said: I want you to suck my dick. She had been looking forward and turned as he said that. He was steering with his left and held a hunting knife in his right.
I want you to suck my dick, he repeated. She was silent, her eyes wide from stress. She turned slowly toward him, putting her left arm on top of the seat for easier movement. An instant later, her right leg was up over the low center console, and her foot hit his foot on the gas pedal. The car lurched forward as she pressed down on his foot as hard as she possibly could. He dropped the knife, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands: You goddam crazy bitch, what the fuck are you doing, let go, you'll kill us both.
That's exactly the point, she replied.
She gotten as far up and out of her seat as she could, maintaining an unyielding hold on his foot and the pedal.
Fucking crazy bitch, look, let go, I'll drop you off right here, I don't want to fucking die just because you don't want to blow me.
Okay, I'll let go a bit. If you try something, I'll hit it again and run us into the center divider.
Okay, okay, go easy, I'll let you out.
She released enough pressure for the car to slow down to the speed limit, and he complied, moving over into the right lane, putting on the blinker and stepping on the brake. After what seemed like an eternity, the car came to a complete stop on the dry dirt strip by the side of the freeway. Without a word, she grabbed her small purse and bolted. She slammed the car door, and he started to roll immediately.
As she stood there in the hot early afternoon sun, she felt cold, and began to cry and to shiver uncontrollably.
This was the first time she found herself at the point of a knife. She didn't know it would not be the last.
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