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In the back room of a tiny, cluttered apartment, a room so small that it might have been a closet or nursery, grainy lines criss-crossed the screen of an old, foot-wide black and white TV. Despite the quality, the hero and his best friend were unmistakable as they ran through the forest, fox and bear, being chased by the angry Sheriff of Nottingham. The boy on the floor in front of it clapped, an overly large grin on his impish face, pouring all the energy he could into keeping his attention on the antics of the frolicking animals.
Mrs. Peterson across the hall had given him the VHS, she’d recorded it herself, and it was the balm that soothed over the shouts and slaps and the crashing of furniture and people from the other parts of the house. Sometimes the fighting would expand to include his little sanctuary, and he’d end up curled in the corner, hiding and hoping that he could be as invisible as Robin Hood was, up in the trees, poised, with his bow-string taut, and his arrow pointed at the enemies below.
The alley was growing dark as the boy skittered down the fire escape, blood clotted below his nose and a hand-print across his cheek. He didn’t see the taller man-child standing at the corner as he ran around it, not until he’d plowed into him. He was dressed nicely, staring at the military recruitment center across the road with a look of indecision, until the creature of tears and sniffles, clutching a bow made from twine and a cracked branch, knocked him from his revery.
“Hey! Watch it... what... what /happened/ to you?” he asked, holding the boy by his shoulders.
“Nothin’. I’m okay. Just... just... running away from home to join Robin Hood’s men. You know?”
The older boy’s heart broke a little. The kid couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and the idea that someone so small had already gone through as much trouble in his life as he clearly had, compared to the kindness of his own home, sent something fiercely protective into bloom inside him. There were faded bruises on the small, chubby arms, and he thought he could see scars on him as well. The handprint was too big to be another kid’s.
“Yeah, I know them. I bet I know where you can find them, too.”
“Really?” The boy’s eyes opened wide as he rubbed a tear-stained sleeve over his face.
Nodding, he turned the kid around. “Yeah, I’m just going to talk to them about joining up, myself. I bet they could find a really nice place for you until you’re old enough to join their ranks.”
He led the boy across to the recruitment center, and an Army officer took the boy aside as he explained what had happened and that he was there to enlist. The man behind the desk, his Marine’s uniform crisp, promised to make sure the kid was taken care of, and that they’d call CPS to look into it while he filled out his paperwork. When he was done, he knelt down by the now-cleaned-up boy.
“I’m going to go now, but they’ll take good care of you, alright? Someday maybe we’ll meet up again, when we’re both working for Robin Hood.”
The boy nodded, mostly fascinated by the plastic canteen he’d been given to play with, and Phil walked home, the date to return for his physical written on the paper in his hand.