Phone Booth Kids

Thomas was on his way back from a few drinks a in a local dive. It was his first trip to Bangkok and as of yet he didn’t feel it a place he’d be coming back to soon. Around where he was staying it was all westerners. They drank all night and partied in the streets, buying bootleg clothing and catchy phrased t-shirts. In the mornings they would still be in the cafes, drinking and smoking cigarettes, dragging from the night before. Maybe a few years ago he’d have loved it, but that was then, today it wasn’t for him.
Crossing the street in the rain Thomas landed in a puddle, he shivered a little, looking down at the black water, not wanting to think about the street vendors scrap buckets and plump rats who ran the streets. As he got to the far side of the street he noticed a woman, her back was to him, laying on her side and she was facing a small metal stove, no higher than a foot off the ground. Inside there was a fire burning and lots of orange coals. She seemed to be holding something close to her chest, a baby guessed Thomas. As he passed to the other side of her he looked back. Startled he realized her shirt was up and she was rubbing her breasts, her eyes looked up at him as she kept rubbing. A few rain drops hissed as they hit the top of her iron stove. Obviously she had lost control of her mind.
After passing a few street folks on this darker side of the road Thomas came to a phone booth. Inside were two young kids, sitting on the floor, playing. The older one looked up at Thomas, he winked back and the young Thai gave a smile. A short ways up Thomas stopped, he thought about the kids for a second and about the book he’d just finished Welcome to the Bangkok Slaughterhouse about a priest who had spent the past 30 years working and living with children in Bangkok’s hardest slums ( www.mercycentre.org ) Thomas stood there for a moment and pulled a 20 baht note from his wallet, he folded it up and slid it into the middle of his notebook. He turned around and walked back toward the kids in the phone booth. Getting closer he noticed that the kids were keeping themselves entertained by kicking the door open as foreigners walked past. They caught the father of a French family as Thomas approached. The man didn’t seem too pleased. It made Thomas laugh.
Knocking on the glass of the phone booth Thomas motioned for the kids to come out. Squatting down he showed them his notebook and motioned for them to open it. It took a minute for the kids to realize what he was asking them to do, but finally the older one looking at the younger one lifted the cover. “Just some words,” said their questioning expressions. No, no, keep going Thomas motioned. Quickly they flipped through page by page, stopping to point and giggle at a few of the doodles. Finally they hit the cash. They looked at each other and looked at Thomas. He pushed it across the page towards them and they quickly grabbed it, saying “thank you” as they tucked back into their phone booth play room.
The rain came on a little stronger as Thomas walked back to his room. He wanted to give something to those kids that could help them, he knew the cash was nothing. Their parents would probably take it once they saw the kids with it and at best they might get some sweets out of it. It was putting the money inside the book that he wanted them to catch. Thomas wanted to show those two kids that turning the pages of a book can lead you to good things. That inside the cover of what looks like just some pages you can find secrets, you can find knowledge, power and money. A book can contain another world or the same world through different eyes. Nasir Jones said “Through your existence become wealthy, knowledge is King’ Thomas knew it was a stretch, and that chances were the two kids couldn’t read, but at least he had tried, he hoped those kids could catch the point and find the power of a book one day.
Back in the room, after his shower Thomas told the story to his wife, she was half asleep and said she didn’t think they would get it. She was always to the point in that way.

-stephen faulkner