The Juke (Changes Book 2) Page 11

  “Ew, gross,” she said to her husband, and ticked her head over in Frank’s direction.

  The husband took in Frank, and said, “Just ignore him, Cathy,” as if he wasn’t there. He put his arm on her shoulder, and moved her ahead of him, so he could shield her from Frank.

  He felt that sting deep inside. Ignore me? I didn’t do anything to that rotten kid. “Yeah, ignore me,” he said too loudly.

  Everybody stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

  The family tried to pretend he wasn’t there. They moved through the security line and then out into the park. When it was Frank’s turn, he began to pull items out of his pockets. A large female guard stepped up to him. She wore gloves. He could see the expression of disgust as she ran her hands over his pockets, front and back.

  “Go ahead, sir,” she said, still with a lemon-sour expression

  “Thank you,” he said, again a little too loudly.

  Out into the courtyard, he took in the beauty of the trees around him. There was a line to enter the hall, but he didn’t have a ticket. Instead, he just wanted to appreciate the natural loveliness of the green leaves being moved by the faint breeze.

  At the end of the entry line, he saw the family, and the woman and man were talking with some urgency. They watched him approach, though he tried to steer as far clear of them as possible. His path, though, would bring him close to them. They spoke loud enough for him to hear.

  “Why would they let a disgusting animal like that in here? What about the children…” the woman began. The man answered with resignation, “Just look away from him,” in an assumed long-suffering voice. Each was convinced they were better people than him, angelic in their tolerance of his existence.

  Frank felt fury. Rage boiled inside him. He no longer tried to move slowly and away from them. He faced them and let his bile come forth. He stepped to just a few feet from them and let it out.

  “I’m a human being, just like you!” he shouted, against his better judgment. “How dare you judge me?” The man stepped between Frank and his wife and threw protective arms out, as if Frank was exposing himself to them. He would tell friends that he saved his family from the vicious onslaught of a bedraggled savage. “Do you think you’re better than me? You’re not…”

  He heard the movement. The running boots drew close to him. A rough hand took his arm.

  “Okay, buddy, you need to leave,” the voice commanded.

  “I wasn’t doing anything!” he shouted.

  “Let’s go,” and now the arm was twisting his, and he was moving against his will back to the entryway. He looked over his shoulder and saw the smug satisfaction of the family.

  He was pushed out to the street roughly.

  “Independence Hall? That’s a laugh!” he shouted at the guards, who motioned him to move away with dismissive flicks of their wrists. He had to cross to avoid an oncoming bus. After it passed, he shouted, “So much freedom in this country. I have as much right to be here as anybody else!” When his protests fell on deaf ears, he continued, still backing away. “Yeah! Well…go fuck yourselves then,” he shouted and walked away, back to the green lawn in front of him.

  XIV

  “Okay, folks, now let’s bow our heads and give thanks for this meal.” The pastor waited until all heads were down, though a few continued to spoon in food in this position. “Heavenly Father, we thank you for the opportunity to come serve those in need. We pray that this food will nourish their bodies…”

  Frank stopped listening and sneaked a bite of cornbread. He was hungry, but the cornbread was too dry. He was weather-beaten today. He had panhandled in the bright, windy morning, but then the rain clouds blew in, and he fled to shelter. He had a few dollars in his pocket, though, and now this food would fill and warm him.

  As the pastor droned on, he could feel someone sliding in next to him.

  “…and we ask this in the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ.” Pause. “Ah-men.”

  The bustle began, and people all around him began to push food into their mouths with vigor. Frank loved the food the First Presbyterian Church served on Saturdays, but he loathed the attempts at saving his lost soul. He thought of the line from the old song, “Salvation a la mode, and a cup of tea.” Still, it was a chance to get off the streets, get his belly full, and take a few biscuits to snack on later. He hated being in a church. The sting of abandonment still ached, and he wasn’t getting over it anytime soon. It made him feel phony.

  He felt the person next to him squirming again. On the streets, he had learned to shun eye contact. Avoid looking around. Keep to yourself, eyes down, do your thing. But the figure next to him continued to squirm and twist.

  He looked, and there sat a young boy, mixed race. Curls that were out of control. Dirty clothes and face, dark skin made darker with grime. Plum shirt, grimy jeans. The young boy smiled back at him.

  “Hi, mister. I’m Perry. What’s your name?” The boy’s bright smile forced a smile back at him. The boy didn’t react to his gap-toothed grin.

  He immediately lost the street edginess. “Hi, Perry. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand to shake. “I’m Chris. Chris Jackson.”

  “Perry, leave that man alone and eat,” the slender woman next to him scolded. Her knotted blonde hair ran down her back, covering most of her lavender blouse. She was pretty once, before the streets aged her. She still carried herself like a woman used to too much attention. He wondered if a woman ever lost that, once gained.

  “It’s okay, no worries,” Frank reassured her. He wanted to say more, but didn’t.

  Perry dug into his meal, plastic fork scratching paper plate. Legs kicking randomly. After each bite, he would look up and smile at Frank. Frank watched him out of the corner of his eye. Being near a smiling, active child made him feel good.

  He saw the pastor coming his way. A beefy man with blotched cheeks, he was nonetheless kind to Frank, and that meant a lot to him these days. No judgment, which is more than Frank would have given in his time. Others in the flock, though, annoyed Frank immensely.

  “Hi, Chris,” he said, sticking out his big, sweaty hand.

  Frank took it. “Pastor Gloam. Good to see you again.” They shook hands. The woman watched them both.

  “Hi, I’m Perry,” the little boy called out. Children don’t know they’re not the center of every conversation. The pastor shook his hand also.

  “Well, hi, Perry. Nice to meet you. Is this your first time here?”

  The mother interjected. “We were here before…’bout six months ago.” Her pale cheeks flushed red.

  “Well, you’re welcome every Saturday. We want to share the good news of Jesus, but we’re also happy to help people get a good, hot meal, no matter what you believe.” Frank knew the pastor meant it. “Chris, you weren’t here last Saturday. Was worried. Great to see you today.”

  “Yeah, I actually came, but I got here after you had shut down.”

  “You should have found me. We’d have made sure you got something to eat and some hot coffee.” His East Coast came out, pronouncing it “kaw-fee.” Jabbing consonants and twisting vowels.

  “Nah, didn’t want to be a burden.” If only Pastor Probst cared about me as much as this guy. “Besides, I can usually scrounge something up somewhere.” He didn’t want to hurt the pastor’s feelings by telling him he didn’t eat last Saturday.

  “Well, I’d better get back up front. Nice to see you again, Chris.” Then he turned to the boy. “And it was a pleasure meeting you, young man.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” the boy said with a mouthful of beans.

  The pastor spoke to the mother, half over his shoulder. “I hope you’ll join us often. Your little man is quite a character.” And he was off before she could agree with him.

  “He seems nice,” the woman said in the direction of Frank. He heard just a bit of twang in her voice. Nice sounded like nah-ss. He felt her smiling.

  “Yeah, he’s great. He seems to genuin
ely care about those of us on the streets. I’ve been wrong before, though,” he added. There wasn’t a homeless person who hadn’t felt betrayed by someone in their past, and he saw her nod her head. “Watch out for some of the others in this church, though. They’ll show you Jesus’ love by badgering you incessantly.” He gave a dry chuckle. “But the pastor is a nice man.”

  She turned and faced him. She wet her lips, then said, “How do they feel about us taking some extra food on our way out, Chris?”

  “They usually ask that we wait until three o’clock, just before they shut down. Then we can take whatever isn’t eaten.”

  “What time is it now?”

  Frank turned and faced her. Dark green eyes. “It’s about two-thirty. Won’t be long. Get another hot plate while you can.” She pulled her hair behind her ear and smiled at him.

  “Yeah, okay. Let’s get some more, Perry.” She took him to the serving trays, and they loaded up his plate with more beans and rice and biscuits. They returned to their same seats, but she sat a little closer to him. The boy ate, but she just looked at her plate. She ran her hand through her hair before she spoke again.

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, Chris,” she said, as Frank picked at his undercooked chicken. “You don’t seem like someone from the streets.”

  “How so?” He had been working hard to fit in, and he knew he at least looked the part.

  “Well, your accent isn’t Philly.”

  “Neither is yours.” He sounded a bit defensive, but she didn’t respond to it.

  “And you seem like someone…I don’t know…who’s had some education.”

  “I’ve had a bit of school here and there.”

  “Okay, you don’t have to tell me.” She smiled, but he could see she seemed bothered by it.

  “Well, I’m glad to tell you anything,” he started, “but perhaps we should get to know each other first. I don’t even know your name.”

  “Sorry,” she put her fork down, and stuck out her small hand. “I’m Mariah…Moer.” Her hand was cool, but rough and dry.

  “Hi, Mariah Moer,” and he shook her hand. “And this little man is Perry Moer?”

  “No, I’m Elbert Periwinkle Smith, Junior,” he said with the loud voice of a child. His plate was empty, and he was starting to jerk and twitch again, looking around for something to do.

  “I gave him his father’s name,” she said, almost apologizing.

  “Where are you from, Mariah?”

  “Originally from San Antonio, but I was actually born in Holland. My parents brought me to the States when I was a baby. How about you? Where are you from?”

  “Las Vegas,” he again lied. “Got tired of the heat.”

  “Well, I think about going south every winter, but then these summers are so beautiful, aren’t they?” Her face was in her palm, elbow on the table.

  “Yeah, they truly are,” though he had only seen one. They looked at each other for a bit. “Hey, it’s almost three. Let’s get some takeaway.”

  On the way out, each carrying a plastic bag with biscuits and sweet rolls, Mariah and Frank paused, looking at each other. Frank felt something, but there were rules to follow. Protocols. Asking her where she lived directly might be considered a threat. Homeless rules. They stood in front of each other, eyes moving around, but not meeting the other’s.

  She broke the rules first. “Where are you sleeping? Do you have a good place?”

  “I’m back at the Korean War Memorial. Not bad, but the cops roust us every once in a while.”

  “You don’t like shelters?”

  “Well, I haven’t found a good one here. A few are really bad. I almost got stabbed in Union Center.”

  “Follow us, Chris. There’s a decent one run by the city. Fifth Street Shelter. It’s not bad. Place to get cleaned up. Bed to sleep on.”

  “You don’t mind if I follow you?”

  “No, I don’t mind.” She again smiled as she looked up and met his eyes. It had been a long time since a woman had smiled at him, and he liked how he felt when her smile reached him. A pretty woman can make a man feel better about himself, and he knew he wanted her.

  She pulled her son to her side, the one away from Frank, and they walked. They started in silence. He could feel first the boy, then his mother sneaking peeks at him. Two blocks down, they stopped at the bus station, and she retrieved a large backpack from a locker, and she put their food in it. Frank’s bag was in a bowling alley near the memorial. He knew better than to offer to carry her bag.

  As they walked, Frank wanted to ask her so many things, but didn’t want to make her feel awkward. So they just walked. When she finally spoke, it startled him.

  “Chris, are you hiding out?” Her eyes were forward, non-threatening. “It’s okay. Many of us are. Sorry to ask like that, but you know…”

  He thought about it for a bit. He was sick of subterfuge. All the lies his wife had told him. Tony had told him. He wanted some truth, but doing so also made him vulnerable.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Don’t worry…I won’t say anything. Just wanted to know. I have my son to protect.”

  “I understand. It’s nothing you should worry about.”

  “I sense that. But if shit goes down, don’t involve us, okay?”

  “You have my word.”

  “I believe you, Chris. I feel like you’re not someone who would do that to someone. But on the streets it’s easy to get burned.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  They trudged on, silent the rest of the way. But they were communicating with their proximity. They communicated mutual trust and support. That was a lot for them.

  XV

  “Look, Mom! Look!” Perry jumped off the edge of the pool into the clear water. He made as large a splash as his skinny frame would allow. He popped up, wiping water from his face. “Did you see, Mom? Did you see?” he shouted.

  “Yes, I saw, Perry! Why don’t you try the slide?” Perry immediately trudged through the water toward the steps.

  “Wouldn’t you love to have all that energy?” Frank asked, in parent banter. He and Mariah both sat in the shade, leaned up against the wall of the shower room. All the chairs were taken.

  “Oh my God, yes!” she replied, smiling back at him. He loved the deep green of her eyes in the shade. “I can’t imagine I was ever that energetic.” She saw Perry running to the slide. “Don’t run, Perry!” she called out, but was ignored. He was at the top of the slide and then sent heels-over-head into the pool. He swam to the side and was at the slide again in seconds. “Thanks so much for taking us here, Chris. We don’t get many fun days like these.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I’m just so happy we had a sunny day.” Frank was running his hand over his smooth face. He had shaven for the first time in a year, and the white skin underneath felt soft to his touch.

  “Well, Perry would enjoy this pool even if it was snowing.” She smiled at him. “And thanks for buying him a swimsuit.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Mariah.” He saw Perry disappear under the water again.

  “But I do, Chris. Nobody has been this kind to us since we’ve been on the streets.”

  “Well, you’ve helped me too. The shelter is much better than the park, believe me.”

  “I’m not used to people helping each other. I’m used to people trying to steal our stuff…or worse.”

  “Yeah.” He knew what she meant and imagined it was far worse for a woman with a child than it was for him.

  He looked over to her. As beautiful women do, she turned her head away to let him look. She was wearing shorts and had pulled her shirt into a halter. Her fair skin was already turning pink, even in the shade. He saw her many tattoos. None of them looked professional, except for the one on her belly, in a semi-circle above her navel:

  E. P. S.

  He had marked her.

  The rest of her tattoos looked homemade, or maybe they were prison tats.

  “Any
way, I want you to know it’s greatly appreciated. Since his dad left us, we’ve had it pretty rough.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  She looked at him for a second, gauging his intentions. “Hard to say. He’s a musician…or thinks he is…guitar player. He’s from Philly, which is how we ended up here. He might be around. He moves around a lot.”

  “Ah, guitar player…was he any good?” He really didn’t want to know the answer.

  “Honestly, he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. He was pushing forty, and lived from girlfriend to girlfriend, letting each support him until she got tired and tossed him out. I was young and dumb, and I was pregnant when I finally figured out his real career was mooching off women. He turned me out, so he could stay at home, and he sold me dreams of his music making us wealthy. I was so stupid…”

  “Sorry…that sucks.”

  “Do you know what you call a musician who breaks up with his girlfriend?”

  “Um…no…”

  “Homeless.” She gave him a playful smile. “He spent his days faking injuries to avoid work, writing crappy songs nobody liked, and looking for his next victim. Plus, he was a heavy smoker, and his voice was trashed.” He saw her eyes go distant. She was silent for a moment, and Frank wondered if she was remembering good times or bad. “When I hear his voice in my head now, I realize how dumb I was to think he would ever be a success. I was such an idiot.”

  “Do you ever think about going back to San Antonio?”

  “When it snows I do.”

  “Not otherwise?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “My family never approved of me and his dad, him being black and all. Plus, they figured out he was a junkie, so they knew I’d end up right where I am. If I went back, I’d just validate their thoughts about me. I’d rather rot than let that happen.”