It was a bright September morning. The air was crisp and light, a quiet breeze moved the leaves on the trees that were yellow-red in the Fall. My desk was by the window, and I was able to see how the breeze was playing with the red and yellow leaves outside.

I was sitting in my brand new office in the Social Services clinic, on the East side. I've been on the job for about a month. After my internship I was mostly assigned to do paperwork, but today I was getting my first patient. I felt my stomach muscles tighten up and my palms starting to sweat. This was nerve racking. First impressions are everything, I thought and I was nervous. Sure I'd done this before during my internship, but then I wasn't alone. I was with my mentor.

After high school I went to Oklahoma state university and enrolled in social work program. I remembered many social workers that we had growing up and how much we hated them and they deserved it. I also remembered stories of terrible social workers I heard from Curly and other guys and I thought how much easier it would've been if we had somebody on our side. How desperately people from our neighborhood needed real help. I thought how Dally might not have been so bitter and hopeless if someone had talked to him or gave him some options in life and how Johnny may not be so scared or helpless if someone would just help him without judging. I realized our side of town desperately needed good, caring, understanding social workers and I was hoping to be just that.

In college I met my girlfriend Jenna. She is a journalist. These days we are renting an apartment on the East side. I decided not to move away from my neighborhood that way I would related better to my patients, and they will know that I'm just one of them.

So now I had to face my first patient. I opened his file – Taylor Williams, sixteen arrested for car theft and now on parole, needs to be assigned to community service. It was time. I went into the waiting room, trying to calm my nerves down. "Taylor Williams," I called out, wiping my sweaty palms on my jacket when nobody was looking. Next I saw a young guy get up from the seat. "That's me," he offered lazily, while looking up at me from under his bangs.

"Please follow me," I instructed, trying to sound confident and walking down the hallway. The guy looked tough, no doubt he was a greaser. He had long brown hair heavily greased, he was wearing a white t-shirt a jean jacket and jeans, a pack of cigarettes rolled up his sleeve. He was tall and had broad shoulders. He walked next to me with a swagger in his walk.

We walked into the office and I motioned for him to take a seat. He sat down, arms crossed. "So what do I got to do?" he asked lazily, reclining in the chair before I even had a chance to introduce myself. "I'm Ponyboy Curtis, I'll be your social worker," I introduced myself and held my hand out for him to shake it. He ignored my hand and gave me a stare. I realized this was a reaction to my name. This saying my name for the first time was getting old. "Yes this is my real name," I said smiling, making sure he doesn't realize how much this was bothering me. "My dad must've had a sense of humor." He tried to appear indifferent, but he cracked a small smile.

"So make it short" he said gruffly, running his fingers through his hair, "Tell me what I got to do so I could get out of here." I definitely didn't like his attitude, but I expected it and that's what made me so nervous. People like Taylor hated social workers and they had a good reason for that. It was up to me to prove to Taylor and others that I was different, that I was the real deal.

"So what do I got to do?" Taylor repeated in a bored, but impatient voice.

"You want to tell me a little bit about yourself first?" I looked him right in the eyes.

"Nope," he croaked meeting my gaze and leaning back in his chair and then added "Can I smoke in here?" I hesitated a moment, then thought what a hell. "Go ahead," I said trying to sound friendly. He took the pack out and lit up.

"What's the deal with stealing cars?" I asked carefully, hoping that maybe he'll open up a little now that I let him smoke.

"What's that to you? I was told I got a choice of service." He replied taking a long drag on his cigarette.

Disappointed, I realized I wasn't going to get much out of him. At least not yet so I cut to the chase. "Ok you got two choices: one is a soup kitchen you have a choice to prep or serve the food. The second is to read to the elderly in a nursing home." Taylor wrinkled is nose – "That's it?"

"That's it," I nodded flipping through the pages of his file just to be doing something.

"Ok, I pick the soup kitchen." He said reluctantly, shaking the ashes of his cigarette right on the desk. How obnoxious, I thought. He reminded me so much of some of the kids that I grew up with. Maybe Curly or even Dally – tough kids who had a real issue with authority.

I cleared my throat - "Ok fill out this form and bring it with you," I gave him the form, "You start Monday, the address and the phone number is on the top of the form."

"Ok," Taylor lazily stretched his arm and took the form, "can I go now?" He exhaled annoyed – the smoke filling up the space between us.

"Sure," I said, "but before you do I'd like to let you know that there is a program run by the state, it's a training program for a mechanic job. So instead of stealing cars you could be working on them and making money and you don't have to pay a dime." He looked surprised for a second like he was surprised I was being nice to him, then his expression of disdain was back on his face – "whatever," he said through clenched teeth.

"If you have questions or you need help with anything call me, here's my card." He took the card like he was doing me a favor, then got up and exited the room without saying "good bye" or God forbid a "thank you." I leaned into the chair after he left and tried to relax. That didn't go too well, I thought closing his file. I was disappointed. I needed a cigarette myself.

In a few minutes the phone rang. "Social services, Ponyboy Curtis speaking." There was a brief silence on the other side. I was sure it was a reaction to my name and at that point I hated it. Then "hello?" A weak woman voice said.

"Hello, how can I help you ma'am?" Again silence, then a sob – "it's my niece she wouldn't come out of the closet."

"What?" I asked confused, "where are her parents?" Another sob – "she lives with us, her mother, well my sister, she killed herself and she was a single mother so my niece lives with us now. She's only seven and she's been in the closet the whole day, she wouldn't eat or talk to any of us tell us what's wrong."

"I'll be right there," was all I said and quickly wrote down the address as she told me.

I grabbed the car keys, told the secretary where I was going and left. I felt very nervous. This was serious, this wasn't just a conversation with just another defiant teenager like Taylor. This was someone in real trouble. On my way there I mentally pictured different scenarios of what I may do or say to make the girl get out of the closet. I did smoke a cigarette even though I tried to cut back on those these days.

In about 25 minutes I was at the address the woman had given me. Here we go I braced myself and got out of the car. Hesitantly I walked up the stairs and rang the bell. A woman opened the door. She was middle aged with some graying hair tucked behind her ears. She was short and chubby her blue eyes red from crying. "Hi, I am Ponyboy," I held out my hand.

"I am Patricia, please come in," she offered and then sobbed. "She's in that room," she pointed to the room and sobbed.

"What's the girl's name?" I asked walking towards the room.

"Emily," she replied walking behind me.

I took a few shaky steps inside the room. I had no idea what I was going to say or do. All the scenarios that I was thinking of before while I was in the car seemed so inadequate now. It was dark in the room and the room was pretty small, a large closet in the corner. I heard some movement in the closet. "Hi, Emily are you in there?" I started and thought to myself how pathetic. Of course she's in there, I know she's in there. "Hi Emily," I tried again, "I am Ponyboy, your aunty called me to ask you what's wrong. Said you wouldn't tell her. Will you tell me what's wrong sweetie?" I don't know where the right words came from, but it seemed I was doing ok. There was a rustling sound in the closet. Then a small sound like laughter through crying.

"You have a funny name."

"I know, I am a funny guy too, will ya come out and tell me what's wrong, please?" - dead silence, "please," I repeated walking up closer to the closet. Then the closet door opened a crack and she looked at me, then at her aunt. "Tell her to go away," she whispered to me. "You don't want your aunty here?" I asked surprised, she shook her head and closed the closet door. I looked at Patricia, "fine," she said reluctantly, "I'll leave." and with that she left the room.

"Hey Emily, honey," I said in as soothing voice as I could muster, "your aunty is not here anymore, will you come out?" The closet door opened up a crack again and then Emily stuck her head out. Then she hesitantly got out. She was short and small for her age, with short auburn hair and brown eyes that were red from crying and tears marks were visible on her cheeks.

"What is it honey? Why'd you lock yourself in the closet?" She looked down and said something so quietly I couldn't make out what she was saying.

"What is it I couldn't hear you." She looked up and her eyes once again watered with tears." It's Dennis," she said a little louder this time.

"Who is Dennis can you just tell me that?" I kept the distance between her and me so that she wouldn't get scared.

"It's aunt Patty's boyfriend." She replied in a low voice.

I started to get an idea. "Did Dennis hurt you?" I asked as carefully as I could possibly say it, she looked down and nodded.

"Did he…" I paused unable to say what I needed to say, "Did he touch you or something?" She nodded again, not looking at me and her face turning slightly red. "Oh, honey I'm so sorry, why didn't you tell your aunt?" She was quiet for a moment, then looked up at me and said, "I …I was scared she'd get mad at me."

"So is that why you locked yourself in the closet so he can't get you?" She nodded a tear falling down on her cheek.

"Ok I will make sure nobody hurts you again, ok?" I said quickly, but terrified at the information I just got from the child. "Can you stay here just for a little while so I can talk to your aunty?" She didn't say anything but looked apprehensive. "Don't worry she is not going to get mad at you ok?" She nodded averting her gaze.

I went into the living room where Patricia was sitting on the couch waiting for me.

"So did you find out what's wrong?" She hurried to ask. I nodded standing right across from her and not taking a seat.

"So what is it?" she sounded impatient.

"It's… um," I paused looking for the right words, but there was no nice way of saying this. "She says your boyfriend was touching her inappropriately."

"What?" Patricia exclaimed shocked. "That can't be true, he would never do something like that."

"Are you implying that she's lying?" Silence then in a low voice, "This can't be true, she's making it up. She watches too much TV and she must've gotten it from one of those TV shows. She's just upset that her mother isn't here."

"So you are not prepared to stop seeing your boyfriend?" I asked firmly. More silence.

"Ok, I got the picture. In this case Emily has to go with me."

"You can't just take her," Patricia protested, but it was clear she wouldn't be too upset if I took Emily – one less mouth for her to feed.

"Sure I can," I answered curtly. I was disgusted with the situation. I went back to the other room. Emily was standing quietly in the corner and sobbing.

"C'mon Emily you don't have to stay here, let me take you where nobody will hurt you." I said gently.

"Where's that?"

"It's a home where there are a lot of girls just like you and there are people there who look after them and make sure nobody will hurt them." She nodded and then just started bawling "I want my mommy," she sobbed. I was close to losing it. What do you say to a child in a situation like this? I moved slowly and took her hand. Then I picked her up and whispered, "your mommy can't be here right now, but don't you worry she's looking down on you from up there," I pointed at the sky.

"She is?" Emily sobbed.

"For sure," I said. She smiled a little bit through her tears. I carried her to the car and put her gently in a seat. She sobbed for a little while, but then fell asleep.

When we got to the orphanage she looked scared. She was looking around at all the people in the hallways. I walked with her to the registration office and explained the situation. They asked if I had a social work license and I told them that I did and gave them my license number. There was a ton of paperwork to fill out, and I felt bad for Emily who had to wait while I finished all the paperwork. She was sitting yawning and looking around. Finally I was done, and the guard took us to the room where Emily would be staying. There were two other girls there. They were about Emily's age. "This is Jessica and Marissa," the guard informed us, "you'll be sharing a room."

"You are new?" one of the girls, Jessica said, and Emily quickly looked at me and then nodded. "You are gonna be ok," Jessica smiled.

"Do you want to read a book?" Jessica took a book from the table and opened it. "Ok," Emily nodded. I walked up to her and ruffled her hair. "You are going to be ok, I'll visit you in a few days ok?" She looked me right in the eyes, then nodded – "ok." So I left. I hoped to God that she'd be ok in the orphanage. Maybe later they can find her a nice foster family.

When I got home I was exhausted.

"So how was your day?" Jenna asked setting the plates on the table.

"Not so good," I replied honestly." One guy hates my guts, which I don't blame him for since the only social workers he knows are jerks. And there was a little girl who I had to take to the orphanage because her aunt's boyfriend abuses her."

"He won't hate your guts when he gets to know you," Jenna replied walking up to me from behind, wrapping her hands around my neck and giving me a gentle kiss on the neck.

"I hope so," I sighed.

The phone rang. It was Darry. He was calling to find out how my first day with the patient was. I told him the same thing I told Jenna, and just like her he said it's going to be ok with time.

These days Darry owns a construction company. He was able to save some money once I moved out. Darry's boss retired, and Darry was able to get a loan and together with his savings bought the place out. He is married to a girl named Alison whom he met on one of his jobs. He has a five year old daughter named Ashley. They decided to give her a regular name and not stick with the original names ideas. Darry is crazy about his daughter, and being around her had taught him a thing or two. It taught him that life is not only about hard facts.