Work Text:
I didn’t even know why I got up and went to work. I wanted to go to law school and become a federal police detective. The job at the Public Defense was a temporary thing to get out of my parents' house and pay for a university, but reality hit hard, money didn’t pay all bills, I wasn’t going to borrow from anyone and no bank freed me funding to study. And when I realized it, six years had passed like a blink of an eye in that public office. The work was monotonous, my service colleagues were stingy and lazy, and I could feel almost no motivation to stay in that government agency.
Well, maybe there was one. A person who motivated me. In the beginning, when that man took up the position of the social worker, I was even irritated by his stupid look, as if life was wonderful if we worked hard for it as if public employees of a municipal office were to make a difference in the life of someone. Bruno was his name. In an optimistic, half-paternal way, he soon became friends with everyone - and my friend, too. I feel kind of dependent on the affection that Bruno distributes, and I think I miss him when he's not in the office. I must be a little needy. I think.
It was my job to file things. I received boxes, organized boxes, labeled boxes, and stacked boxes. Receiving folders, scanning documents, filing files, categorizing folders, arranging a box, and putting everything inside. At lunch, I liked to drink black coffee and read some process that caught my eye. The office was deploying new software to advertise old processes, and I was involved in the project.
I think it's become a kind of hobby to be reading processes and inquiries from decades ago. I like mystery books and suspense movies, and I enjoyed looking through pages of protocols for attendance, investigation, reporting, and even judgments, real cases that entertain me as if it were literature. I was not saving anyone's life in that monotone routine. I was standing in time, and I appreciated the old cases because, perhaps, I felt as old and useless as those moth-filled files in the stacked boxes.
Bruno found my hobby of reading old inquiries a funny thing. I must have been acting like a pathetic old man, stuck in the body of a young guy in his twenties. Lately, he's had less time to talk to me about lunch cases, it seems he's had a lot of work with minor offenders in town. We had two other social workers in our department, but they were two old bastards who left poor Bruno overworked, claiming the time they already had a public service. I don’t know why I wanted to get involved in it, but one day I went to his desk and said something silly.
"The new software is almost fully adapted. With the end of the project, I'm free for other services. I want to know if you want my help with your cases."
At the same time, I regretted what I said. Bruno smiled, that man looked like a child on Christmas morning. Of course, he wanted help, no one in that damn office helped him. I should have stayed in my own business. Me and my big mouth.
"That's very kind, Leone. I have a very complicated case. Can you come with me to the city this afternoon?"
This was a middle-class neighborhood, as far as I could tell. The house Bruno and I stopped in looked good, a nice parked car, and a lush garden. I wondered what social assistance might want there. Adoption? It did not make sense. Bruno was an expert on teenage offenders. After much insistence on the bell, a beautiful woman answered the door.
"Listen, I already subscribe to the newspaper... Oh, it's you."
Bruno didn't seem disturbed by the woman's expression of displeasure. I had an immediate dislike of the person, and stood a little behind the social worker, watching the well-kept grounds of the estate.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Giovanna. I’m here again, because your son, Giorno Giovanna, seventeen, didn’t show to classes at the Pio XII Public School three days in a row, according to the information bulletin of the institution. As neither you nor Mr. Giovanna has informed the school of any justification for the prolonged absence of the minor, the State is exercising its duty of protection to the civilian incapacitated and guaranteeing the permanence in school to the minor of school age, so we are making a new visit."
The woman heard everything with a sleepy face. Or hangover.
"Look, Giorno looks great, okay, he's just got a cold."
"If this is the case, you have already been informed by the school that you must justify the absence of your child in case of illness. And take him to the doctor. As your child is recidivist in these cases of unwarranted unfrequency, I have here the official expedition for an interview with the teen. So, excuse me..." as Bruno simply walked through the door and the woman, stupefied, left following the brunette, I decided to enter the house too. I didn't know that was how things worked in social work, or maybe that was Bruno's way of working. Either way, I loved it.
"I don't care about this piece of paper, I'm a citizen and this is my house!..." Mrs. Giovanna kept complaining at Bruno's ear as he looked through the hall of the house in search of someone else, the boy, probably.
"Mrs. Giovanna, where is your son?" Bruno looked so serious at the woman that I felt a shiver run down my spine. I don't know if it was fear. The woman looked away. "Mrs. Giovanna, where is your son Giorno Giovanna?" Bruno took a step closer to Giovanna, and she retreated at the same pace. "Mrs. Giovanna, answer my question. Where is your son?"
"Oh, I don't know! Pleased? This kid just pisses me off... He was cheeky with my husband and went out with his poor friend from home on Monday and didn't show up anymore. He didn't even call me. I don't deserve such a brat for a son..."
"Finally something we agreed. Leone, please look for the contact of the Pio XII Public School" Bruno said to me, and I saw the fury contained in the blue eyes of the social worker. As I checked the files on Giovanna's case, Bruno still spoke almost menacingly to the disgusted woman. "Mrs. Giovanna, I have no words for you... I know... I feel that something very wrong happens here. I'll find out and I'll get Giorno off of you."
"Oh? So, take the kid to the reform school. This boy has no hope for a fix. He was born with a defect..."
Bruno gave a small sarcastic laugh. "He's not going to the reformatory at all, Mrs. Giovanna. And don't celebrate the idea of 'getting rid of it', because if I confirm my suspicions, you and Mr. Giovanna will, at least, respond to criminal proceedings." I had a chance to peek on the sheets of paper to see Bruno lower his voice and look deep into the woman's eyes. "And if I push myself for a little bit, you're going to have a lot more than a fine to deal with."
Maybe, just maybe, I fell in love at that moment. Or, at least, I finally realized it.
The Pio XII Public School was a common college in which children and adolescents of all levels of education do study, from Kindergarten to High School. The school was old and was in downtown, welcoming students from different parts of the city. The deputy principal, a man taller than me, too muscular to be a teacher – and very dark eyes too – who received us in his room, seemed to know Bruno by the way he treated him.
"The school feels partially responsible for the situation. The truth is that we have failed several times to arrange a meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Giovanna in recent months. Giorno is a good kid, his last two-month grades have shown a satisfactory average and most teachers have no complaints about him. However, the infrequency affects the pedagogical work, the teaching staff realized that Giorno hadn't made many friends since he moved here and..." the man was very serious and neutral all the time, but the moment of hesitation was accompanied by an almost murderous look. What a strange teacher. Despite this, I found him a good person. "...The Physical Education teacher commented that Giorno doesn't show himself to his classes when he's in school, and when he's confronted to wear the Physical Education uniform and participate in the activities, he acts aggressive and shows signs of panic."
As Bruno asked me, I was writing down everything the deputy principal said. I had never dealt with troubled teens, didn't understand child psychology and had zero experience with social work in practice, but even for me, it was evident that the kid Giovanna was suffering neglect and, perhaps, domestic abuse. Bruno asked politely to talk to the Physical Education teacher. Shortly after, a man with a friendly look and red hair came into the room, greeting us, introducing himself as teacher Formaggio.
"It's not as if the kid caused me problems", the teacher commented with an air of sincere concern. "Unfortunately, I have seen children reacting similarly throughout my career. The fear of touch, the dread of wearing shorts... And on Monday, at break time, he wasn't writing in his notebook the lessons missed by the absences of the other week. His colleague was writing for him. Giovanna's shoulder seemed very strange to me. Please, Mr. Social Worker... Help this boy."
"Mrs. Giovanna commented that when Giorno left home last Monday he was accompanied by a friend" Bruno finally spoke. "Do you know of any friends that Giorno has at school? Or close colleagues? Mr. Nero? Mr. Formaggio?"
"Giovanna usually walks around with Fugo from his classroom. This kid is another who skip my class a lot, and I always find him in the library! And... Mista, from the Mechanics professional course", Formaggio concluded.
"Now that you mention it, Formaggio, Mista had missing classes too", the deputy principal said thoughtfully. I got up from the chair, sort of intuitively determined to look for the Mechanics course boy, and Bruno acted similarly. "I can give you Mista address if you deliver the official expedition, Mr. Buccellati."
To say that it was a humble neighborhood was to be kind. There was no doubt that we were driving into the slum, houses in very bad conditions and lack of basic sanitation. I didn't feel like being there. This thought made me feel disgusted with myself, for my prejudice for a needy region. Of course, no one likes a slum - the people who live in one must also not enjoy living in precarious conditions and without the basics of human decency, but it was the lack of alternatives to survive that resulted in that. It's very easy to blame the very people for the misery they resist.
We parked on top of a hill, the street was neither paved. The address sent us to the front of a brick building with three floors and several doors that should be a simple type of apartment complex. Bruno went back to look for the paper with the address of Guido Mista's apartment, but a strange intuition made me move straight to the far left door on the third floor - the only one with live flowers on the little window sill. I do not know why, but I was sure the boy Giovanna was there. Bruno just followed me, confused. My guess was right.
"Good afternoon, Social Assistance!" And Bruno didn't need to hit more than twice for a thin black-haired boy to open the door a little, his wide eyes peering through the crack.
"Good morning, boy. We're from Social Assistance and we're looking for a young man named Guido Mista. Does he live here?" And the boy closed the door tightly. Bruno and I looked at each other as we heard the kid screaming inside the house, 'hide Mista, the police arrived', and Bruno laughed softly. How could this man like this job so much? I huffed, annoyed, and walked down the hall to the window in the apartment. I noticed that there grew the same little roses that adorned the beautiful garden of the Giovanna estate.
"Oh!" The low but frightened voice caught my attention. At a glance, I saw a pair of wide-eyed blue irises between the curtains of the window, which soon hid between the lowered blackouts.
"Bruno, I think your problematic boy is hiding here", I said to the social worker. Bruno nodded and politely knocked on the door again.
"We aren't the police, we won't arrest anyone. We're from Social Assistance and we just want to ask you a few questions, see if you're okay. It's our job to find out why you're not at school, please, open the door."
After some murmurs of some voices from inside the apartment, the same boy quietly opened the door, this time totally, and we entered the small apartment. The place was simple but honest and organized, with just a few dirty mugs over the sink in the small kitchen. I didn't want to be looking inside the place, but I didn't know exactly what to do in there. The lanky boy sat on a single sofa in the living room, curled up with a blanket and a bowl of cereal with milk. The television was on. The boy only pointed to one of the two internal doors of the apartment with his chin and said: "Mista is there, in his bedroom, on the right door."
In the bedroom, on a double bed, was a grinning young man with a cap on his head and shorts, several bruises on his exposed body and bandages on his left arm. Beside the bed, in a wooden chair in the corner, a blue-eyed blond boy, totally shrunken and downcast. This should be the kid Giovanna, so the whole injured boy should be Mista.
"Are you going to arrest Guido?", was all Giovanna said, after several minutes in silence, his voice was trembling. This time I was driving, letting Bruno do his social work in peace. In the backseat were the three children - the blonde was Giorno Giovanna, the brunette was Narancia Ghirga and the whole wounded was Guido Mista. Narancia was Mista's cousin, but it could all be a lie. In the end, it was the job of locating a troublesome kid, but Bruno ended up carrying three in the car.
"I already said we will not arrest you. I'm not going to lie, I intend to bring the police against your parents, but other than that, I want to take your friend Guido to a health post so he can receive proper care. And then, you three must give testimony, because if I understood what Narancia said, we have a case of attempted murder, and that's out of my league" Bruno had his face turned completely to the boys. I was still digesting the whole situation.
"Excuse me, Mr. Social Worker, but it wasn't quite like that, no... Giorno's stepfather is just an asshole. He was so stoned he couldn't even get a right shot on me", and Mista began to laugh, and the laughter caused pain in his body. "I was only afraid that he would try to hit a shot on Giorno later, so I brought him to my house. I didn't kidnap anyone, no. We're partners and we take care of ourselves."
"I think we had to teach that bastard, Giovanna, a lesson" Narancia spoke up and kicked my driver's seat twice, and I had to hold on to not scream with the kid. I even agreed with the boy's proposal.
"Please, don't..." Giorno said, rather quietly. He cleared his throat and resumed his speech, speaking more clearly. "I don't want unnecessary problems with my mother. I'm waiting to turn eighteen to leave home. Please do not intrude into my business." What an arrogant brat! Bruno working hard to help this cheeky brat, and that's how he responds! Well, you see the dung family you have. Ah, what am I thinking... The boy is suffering. I don't fit this job.
"Giorno we have a lot to talk about, but not here in the car. Please, I assure you that I deal with situations like yours every day and I am convinced that my work is essential for your well-being and security" Bruno answered, sincerely, and turned himself back to forward.
"You do not understand-"
"GioGio", Mista's voice intervened, "I think we can trust this hearty guy. I smell he's fine people. And I also don't think we can continue with this mess anymore. Listen to him."
"When will I be released?" It was almost late in the day, and I was back to my boxes, tagging, and stacking. Giorno stayed with me, seemed genuinely interested in my task. What a strange boy. I had left Mista at the health clinic, Bruno had talked to Giorno in particular, I had accompanied Narancia and Giorno in the testimonies at the Police Station for Child and Adolescent Protection and at that moment Bruno was with a homicide investigator in the infirmary where Mista was treating the wounds.
"If you're bored, get a snack on the machine, or... Don't you have games on your phone?” Why did Bruno leave me as a nanny to this blonde head?
"I don't have a phone", I think I frowned unintentionally because the brat shrugged and explained "My stepfather took it from me a week ago as punishment", and I thought the boy seemed to be telling the truth. Weird thing, this brat seems so trustful to me.
"He must be punishing you for your daft face", I blurted out. Giorno didn't look offended or hurt. He gave a mocking smile, which irritated me even more. I mean, it looked like a mocking smile, but it could just be a forced smile too. Sometimes I smile like this when I'm not comfortable.
"My stepfather thinks I'm covering up my mother in a possible extramarital affair. I don't doubt she has one, but I have no idea with whom. So he took my cell phone."
"This is sick and nonsense. Does he hurt your mother?"
"No, he just cursed at her when he's drunk or drugged. She is the one who beats him sometimes", the kid was talking without emotion, looking more intently at my file boxes than at the suburban family tragic story that he lived. "He just really hates me. I think he's very angry with my mother and doesn't know how to deal with it, so he yells to me."
"Hmn" was all I answered. I'm not good at working with troubled teens. I was a troublesome teenager myself and I don't think I've solved my problems yet. Nor do I have experiences of overcoming to ensure that everything will work out. I haven't been calling my parents for months.
"You don't seem disinterested in my case, but you don't feel sorry for me either. I think that's fine", and Giorno smiled, the first time I'd ever seen a normal smile on that child's face. "You like a mystery. Have you ever thought about being a detective?" A very, very strange kid.
"Let's play a game. I say something that I think is true about you and if I'm correct, you tell me something you think about me. If that's correct, I'll buy you a snack, you fine?" The boy nodded. "So, your stepfather is an unhappy drugged homophobe who beats you regularly", and I was pleased to see his neutral, mocking expression on Giorno faded to a wide-eyed one. Did he think that walking down his long sleeves and wide pants in the infernal heat of plain summer weren't going to point the obvious? He was always supporting his forearm. The shoulder should be displaced.
"How do you know..." and I jabbed at the absurd long sleeves. I was an employee at the Public Defender's office and I wasn't long-sleeved... "Not that. I mean... How do you know... That my stepfather thinks that I..." Ah. Ah, understood. It's no longer easy to deal with the discovery of one's romantic interests in adolescence, worse when your family beats you for it.
"Doesn't Mr. Mista even know that he's your boyfriend?" I shot the question. The boy's cheeks were lightly rosy - what a sweetheart. Now? Please.
He looked away and spoke to the wall where I was piling boxes. "According to your rules, it's my turn to tell you what I think of you, isn't it?" What a smart and cheeky brat. Giorno irritates me, but for some reason, I feel certain... Identification with him. Like a familiar feeling. Very strange. I shrugged my shoulders. "You're in love with Mr. Buccellati from Social Assistance, and it looks like your desk mates already know that", and the boy smirked. I'm going to kill this kid.
"Do you want a cake or a cheesecake?"
"Oh, Leone, I'm very pleased to finally have convinced our boss to start a pilot internship program for the minors in recovery. And I think you'll love the surprise this afternoon!" Bruno was always a delight to my eyes. When I realized, I already had asked for an official transfer to the Juvenile Offenders department and had helped the young social worker in several cases over the last months, and at some point, we were having lunch together every day – and having dinner as well. I didn't know what we were apart from friends and coworkers – I was not yet ready to ask.
My question was another. "I like surprises, but not in my life. What are you up to now, Bruno?" but Bruno just blinked, smiling. This man. This man turned my life upside down. I feel like a teenager in love, with stupid dreams of home, dog, kids... Okay, Leone, back to Earth.
"We already have a new trainee in the renewal program. He volunteered promptly and said in the interview that he preferred to work with you, here in the general protocol dept. Actually..." Bruno checked a message on his cell phone "...He's here!" I sighed. I should know. That kid.
I looked out the window of the cafeteria we were in. It was raining faintly outside, and a pair of black umbrellas stood on the sidewalk, close to the windowpane. I immediately recognized the lush blond braid over a purple coat and blue eyes, and wow, they were other eyes. The same eyes that I see in myself every morning, in the mirror. Eyes of happiness and... Passion? Twined in Giorno's arm, a boy in a red cap and navy blue coat. It looks like Mista is aware of being a boyfriend now.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Buccellati, Mr. Abbacchio. Thank you for the opportunity to work with you. I hope to help many people at risk and learn from you how to be a competent professional." I introduced a small work table to Giorno, next to mine, and let the boy organize himself with the computer. I needed an intern, I guess. The strange thing was that my pot with violets, for days without watering, suddenly seemed so alive... I can't help but think that it is a side effect of Giorno's presence. Very, very strange.
[LA FINE]