TRUST
Joe Kramer, age 44
Ann Kramer, nee Scott, his wife, age 44
Blake and Sally Kramer, their children, ages 22 and 19.
Joe Kramer let himself into the dark cabin on a Virginia mountain. He went to the fuse box, using a flashlight, and turned on the electricity, then a light. His eyes lit on some family photos hung on a far wall. There were three - two of his children, Blake and Sally. One was of his wife Ann. He took that one down and shoved it under the sink.
Then he stowed some things from his pickup in the place, including some beer in the fridge.
Joe Kramer was a child of the system. The foster system. He was five when his father left him and his mother, never to be seen again by either. He was ten when his alcoholic mother died in her sleep. For some years before that event, Joe had been her main caretaker, before and after school. His mom, Karen Bradford, loved Joe, but loved a drink more. Joe loved her back, but not the alcohol. Karen worked as a cleaner, days when Joe could get her up and about. The money coming in was government welfare, mostly. Evenings, Karen sometimes would have gentlemen callers. She was not bad looking and liked the favors she got from her men. As many times as she promised Joe that she'd stop something - men, drinking, sleeping in - that was equal to the times she failed. Then she died at age thirty-two. Choked. A bad scene for Joe to find. He always thought that he should have checked on her before going out with his buddies.
Karen had a sister, married with four kids. They didn't have room for Joe, nor money to feed him. (But, as Joe knew, they could have been reimbursed for keeping him.)
Into the foster system he went. He spent six years with four families before he simply went out on his own at sixteen. By then, he had finished high school. That was not difficult for him. What was difficult about the system, and the families, was that no matter what was promised to him, in the end, those promises meant nothing. As soon as it wasn't to the advantage of the promiser, the promise was broken. Every time.
So, at sixteen, Joe had massive trust issues. That's what an outside observer would have said. To Joe, he was only living his life. He had found no reason to trust anyone. That was the way life was. He wasn't a fool. He could see that other people lived lives different from his own, relying on the word of others, and the promises of laws and institutions. Deep down, he felt that those people were misguided fools, like jugglers keeping many balls in the air. Sooner or later they all would come down. You always had to do for yourself.
Free at last, Joe hustled a bit, and then got a job as an apprentice plumber. He worked for Billy Brady, a real douchebag. But Joe had no problem with Bill. He was used to people like that.
One day Joe was on his own, fixing a sink in the office of a math professor at City University. The prof's name was Harold Dean, and he was a big shot. That was why he got immediate help from a private plumber, and not a guy from maintenance coming by two days later. While Joe worked, Dean was writing equations on a chalk board. And swearing occasionally.
Joe got the sink done rather quickly and was packing up his tools when Dean said, "Shit!" Joe looked at him.
Dean said, "Sorry. This isn't working."
Joe asked, "What isn't working?"
Dean gestured at the board, which was covered in symbols and numbers.
Joe said, "Well, me....usually when I'm stuck I start over from the git. Maybe if you explain it to me, you'll figure it out. Simple is better."
Dean stared at Joe. He said, "A challenge, is it?"
Joe smiled at him. "Yep. Explain it to a plumber."
Dean started talking. Joe listened, asked a few questions. He had taken math in school. Lots of it. About twenty minutes after the talk started, Joe interrupted, "Wait!"
Dean turned, "What?"
Joe went to the board with a cloth, erased a '2x' and wrote '2y.' He stood back and pointed to a line above. "You said before that this function was like that one. But the x is wrong."
Dean got excited. He went over all that he had on the board, and then sat down. He sighed. Then he turned to Joe and said, "Thanks. But....?"
Joe said, "I took all the math I could get in school."
"What school?"
"Flatburn High."
"That's it? High school?"
"Yeah. So?" Joe was annoyed. After all he had helped this guy.
"Because.....how old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"You look older. You've saved me a lot of headache. And you understood what I was saying, right?"
"Yeah."
"But you want to be a plumber."
"I am one. The guy I work for can't do anything. I do it."
"Explain to me what you thought I was doing here."
Joe explained. (Your writer cannot explain.)