Homeless (10 page)

The first shot hadn't done Lonnie any justice. It went down warm but settled like soda pop. He was happy that the bum offered to go in the store and buy more, even if it was going to cost him more money. The plans of holding onto the fifty spot was completely gone out the window by now. The only thing on Lonnie's mind was liquor.

The same rotation occurred of Lonnie sitting by the door and the bum coming out with their bottles. Separated by at least forty years, the two were bonded together by their desperation for the alcohol. Scurrying like field mice back to the side of the corner store, just like a few minutes ago, they guzzled down the shots and tossed the bottles on the ground.

“Yup, that oughta set me straight to work these hours down,” Lonnie spoke out loud to himself, stretching his arms out and cracking his neck. He could feel the liquor working through his bloodstream.

“All right, young man. I'm a man of my words, and I appreciate the booze. Come on over to my office and let's talk.”

The bum welcomed conversation from any and everybody when he wasn't in a liquor-induced coma. Having two broken-up lawn chairs at the very end of the store, he sat down in one and propped his feet up on a crate, then motioned his hand for Lonnie to sit down as well. Misery loves company. The senior citizen bum wanted some.

“Naw, I'm good, but I appreciate you looking out. I'm actually about to be late for my second day of work over at the shelter.”

“Oh, okay, young fella. Don't let an old man like me stop you from whatcha' gotta do. I'll be around. Don't forget what hookup I've got.” He waved good-bye to Lonnie, hoping to see the young man again. If he didn't or until then, the bum would be watching and plotting on his next minor come up.

Lonnie walked the few blocks it took for him to get to the shelter. He was grateful for the air and exercise to get the liquor settled and pills working and settled. He wasn't trying to get caught drunk while doing community service, or even buzzed. He'd just wanted to calm his nerves from the bullshit that occurred at the bus stop, then go on about his day. Lonnie never wanted any trouble, although it always seemed to find him.

The mixture of the shots, the Motrins, Tylenols, and Snapbacks had Lonnie feeling just right. His mood was mellow, he was focused and alert, and his feelings were somewhat numbed. One of the reasons he liked getting high is because not only did it make him less anxious over his problems, but able to deal with bullshit life threw at him.

He hadn't noticed the woman who'd been flirting with him yesterday lingering around the office again today, his second day at work, because he was trying hard to ignore Brenda's constant but sly staring. A paranoid Lonnie didn't know if she was trying to be frisky or picked up on the fact that he was high. Lonnie's second day of volunteering started off much different than the first. The moment he stepped off the bus and walked through the front door, Brenda was strangely on him. It was as if she'd done a complete 360 in her attitude. Making sure he had everything he needed to complete some of his tasks, along with items he didn't, Lonnie was unmoved by her change in demeanor. Developing a thick skin, he gave everyone, females especially, one chance, and one chance only, to fuck him over. Brenda had her one chance and shot her load; unfortunately, she fell short. Mr. Reynolds walked in right when Lonnie was about to walk out.

“Good morning, Brenda—and Lonnie, let me see you in my office,” Mr. Reynolds spoke and commanded, never breaking his stride. With a cup of coffee in one hand, a bag from McDonald's in the other, he seemed to be in a rush. Lonnie wondered if he was hungry, because he sure as hell was. The bag of food hit Lonnie's stomach, making it even more hollow and hungry for nourishment.

“Good morning, Mr. Reynolds,” Lonnie greeted him back. “Is everything okay?” Always having to deal with unfortunate circumstances, he wouldn't have been surprised if something was wrong. Regardless of him liking it or not, he knew the world was working against him in every way imaginable.

“Oh, yes. Everything is fine. Close the door,” he told Lonnie. With the door closed, Mr. Reynolds slid the food across his desk and in front of a chair. “Have a seat and some breakfast.”

Lonnie wanted to ask the man why he was feeding him, but he didn't. He summed it up to the same reason why the same man just gave him money yesterday. Mr. Reynolds was a stand-up guy. As the hot food made its way into Lonnie's mouth, he felt more than grateful for being at the shelter despite his initial feeling when getting the assignment.

Lonnie scurried to the chair and started tearing into the meal. That was enough of a clue to prove he was bad off in the food department. He didn't care what his behavior displayed.

Mr. Reynolds watched a starving Lonnie stuff the two hash browns and sausage McMuffin patty down his throat, barely chewing the pieces. He knew the vacant feeling within Lonnie's belly was filling up, thankful for the quick less-than-five-buck meal. He remembered back to his homeless days, scouring the street for a few coins to put together for a McDonald's breakfast meal. Frowning at the thought, he smiled at the young man before him, feeling a sense of gratification for helping him.

Lonnie stuffed the last piece of grease-covered hash brown into his mouth, and then licked the crumbs off the wrapper. Eating beans, drinking milk, and having his much-needed beer each day had him forgetful about what semireal food tasted like. He wasn't the least bit embarrassed in front of the shelter worker, knowing Mr. Reynolds has probably seen it all. All types of sins went on behind the closed doors of this shelter, since everyone who desired help was fighting some sort of demon.

“I don't know why you felt the need to bless me, but thank you,” Lonnie finally spoke, consuming his last bite of food. He felt warm and tingly all over and wasn't the least bit caring that he hadn't had a drink to wash any of it down. Mr. Reynolds sat drinking the coffee.

“You're welcome, son,” Mr. Reynolds said and nodded. “And I did it because I wished someone would've noticed I wasn't a tough kid, just one that couldn't catch a break, and helped me out every now and then. It's hard building yourself up when ya ain't got a brick to stand on.”

Lonnie didn't know what to say, having the man be so kind to him. He'd already grown to like Mr. Reynolds because he'd given him the money and the bus passes; but now he felt even more of a connection. He wasn't sitting across from someone who pitied him, someone who wanted him to live in turmoil, or someone who was too caught up in their own life to see that he needed help with his. Lonnie was in the presence of someone who seemed to be genuine about helping.

“You're right, Mr. Reynolds. It has been hard for me to get things right. But I'ma keep trying,” Lonnie partly lied in an effort to make the man more sympathetic to what he was going through. Some days, because his battles always seemed to win when he fought his hardest against them, Lonnie gave up and gave into the pills and liquor he'd grown to love. It wasn't the type of unconditional love one has for their child or partner, but the type of love that only an addicted person knows. Whenever popping a pill, he always hoped it would be strong enough to cure his ailment forever; when, in fact, the potent capsules only made his life much worse.

“Well, if you ever need to talk or some assistance, stop in and let me know. I might not be able to work miracles, but I can help you with a few things here and there.”

Lonnie thought about asking the man for some more money since he'd broken the fifty buying over-the-counter pills and liquor for him and the bum, but opted not to. He knew the man would put two and two together, knowing that per his record, Lonnie was up to what he shouldn't have been indulging in. He chose to simply thank Mr. Reynolds, acknowledge his offer, and let him know that he'd reach out to him if he needed further help. He just wanted to get to know the man a little bit more.

In all the time since his mom died and he's been on the streets, the only person that gave him a shoulder to cry on had been Karisma. He'd been thinking of her often, wondering what her evil stepmother did to her, because he hadn't heard or crossed paths with her since that night she allowed him a place to crash. Not having nobody, it was hard for Lonnie to trust anybody.

Out of the office and starting on his first task, Lonnie was opening up boxes of food a company had donated to the shelter so smaller boxes could be assembled to help more people. He knew the chore would take him a few hours, if not all day, because the company had dropped the donation off in a small U-Haul truck. They'd blessed the shelter with fruit, vegetables, bread, cereal, chicken, canned goods, potatoes, and more. Some of the stuff looked like it was donated to the company and some looked to come straight from grocery stores because of how those boxes were labeled. He wondered if the shelter always got this food, but gave it to the workers and their families. Because he'd never gotten a hot meal in the soup kitchen comparable to the food he was opening today.

Appreciative of the box cutter Mr. Reynolds loaned him, he lined all the boxes up and slit them open one by one. There were about thirty, and he'd burned his nubs trying to peel the tape off the first ten before Mr. Reynolds handed the tool to him from his pocket. He was also happy that Mr. Reynolds told him he could take a box home as well. He wasn't treated this humanely when he was actually seeking shelter at the facility.

“Lonnie, darling, please be a dear and make sure all the boxes get broken down and tossed into the Dumpster after you're all done. I forgot to write that part on the task list,” Brenda said, peeking into the room and interrupting Lonnie's work flow.

Not liking the woman referring to him as “dear” and “darling,” Lonnie took a deep breath before responding. He didn't want to snap on the secretary, but she was treading on thin ice. Already having an underlining dislike for women, the cards of dislike were stacked against her even more. Lonnie answered smartly. “I figured as much. I might be considered a deviant, but my momma taught me some manners before she passed away.”

Not knowing how to respond, and instead of the woman giving Lonnie her condolences and saying ‘sorry for your loss,' Brenda nodded and disappeared out of the doorway just as quickly as she'd peeked in. That made Lonnie resent females even more. To him, they were always quick to run their mouths but not as quick to be supportive. He hoped Brenda would stay clear of his path for the remainder of the day.

Breaking down and repackaging a few more boxes, Lonnie then carried the unsalvageable ones to the trash.

“Oh, shit! Please don't call the cops. I swear I wasn't doing nothing but looking for something to eat.” Standing before Lonnie was a girl around his age, with long locks and a pretty face. Although she had smudge marks of dirt and fresh purple bags underneath her eyes from not sleeping, Lonnie still thought she was attractive. Much easier on the eye than Megan.

“Naw, you good. I ain't nobody to be calling the cops,” Lonnie nonchalantly replied, then tossed the boxes into the trash.

“Good. Well, not good that you ain't nobody but good that you ain't calling the cops. Well, not that I'm agreeing that you're nobody—” the homeless girl was all caught up on her words. “Damn, nothing I say seems to be coming out right.”

Lonnie laughed. Not offended at all, he actually found the girl a little amusing. He hadn't a reason to laugh in a long time. “Again, you're all right. I know what you mean.”

The girl, seeming relieved, took a big bite of the donut she was holding. “Great. I'm starving like a motherfucker, so you've gotta excuse me for not showing any manners.” Chomping down on the donut like a savage, she gobbled the entire tasty snack down within three bites and maybe ten chews. “I would offer you one, but I don't know if you eat from the trash. They were still closed up in the box . . . that's if you're interested.”

Lonnie threw his hands up. “Naw, I'm good; but I ain't judging you tho'. I know how it is to have hunger pains,” he related to her, making her doe eyes soften. “Matter of fact, I'm doing some work at this shelter, and they've got a big donation of food today. I can sneak you a box real quick if you want it,” Lonnie offered. He didn't know why he was being so nice to the girl and willing to risk getting in trouble for sneaking her a box. It might've been because he wished someone would've just given him a hand instead of a cold shoulder when he was on his knuckles.

“Hell yeah, I'll take a box of food. Me and my dad been living off scraps for a little over a month. We've caught a bed at this shelter a few nights, but shit's been rough.”

“I know all about rough. Say no more. I'll be right back,” Lonnie assured her, then disappeared back into the shelter. Barely having help himself, he wanted to help the girl. Grabbing a food box, he made sure the hallway was clear before darting to the back door. He hadn't thought of an excuse to give if Brenda or Mr. Reynolds saw him, so it was a good thing neither of them popped up.

“Wow, I don't know what made you be so nice to me, but I'm glad that you did,” the girl showed her gratitude, then bent down to inspect the box. She was truly appreciative of Lonnie and what he'd done for her. Even though she didn't have a refrigerator to store the items or a stove to cook it on, she planned on feasting on all the perishables as soon as possible and sharing them with her dad. Opening the loaf of bread, she whipped a slice out and stuffed it in her mouth whole. Looking up from her unexpected treasure, she addressed him with a grin. “You don't know how much this means to me. Thanks again.”

“It ain't no thang. If I see you around again and they've got something I can sneak out, I will.”

The girl leaped up. “This box of food don't come with no strings, does it?” Having doubts about taking the sudden token, the homeless girl wasn't trying to be compromised or caught between a rock and a hard place when she and her dad sought shelter here.

“Look, like I told you earlier, I know what it's like to be down on luck. Plus, you're wearing the color pink, and my mom died of cancer. Ain't no strings attached. You can trust that.” Lonnie didn't feel offended. With all the crazies of the night and men looking to prey on women, he understood the look of
should I trust this nigga
written on her face.

She breathed a sigh of relief, then opened up a bit. “Cancer, huh? That's fucked up. I wish they'd come up with a cure, or at least quit playing like the shit ain't scientifically made.” She seemed like she was getting ready to stir up a philosophical rant Lonnie heard many times during his mom's support group sessions. “My bad, I just get emotional over the topic. My aunt died of cancer a few years back, and I guess I'm not over it. So I get it, and I'm very sorry for your loss. You, mom . . . I know that had to be a tough pill to swallow.” Her words didn't seem like pity but empathy. “Sorry, I'm Trina, by the way.” She said a mouthful, and that meant a lot.

Lonnie felt good on the inside. “No apology needed; and thanks for your condolences. You're right about it being a tough pill. I think it's still caught in my throat,” he responded to Trina about how he felt. “Anyhow, nice meeting you, Trina. I'm Lonnie Eugene McKay. See how much you can trust me? I told you my whole government name,” he smiled, to break up the seriousness of their conversation. Lonnie actually liked the girl. Not in a creepy way that meant he'd be stalking her or no shit like that, but her personality and how down-to-earth she seemed to be. A man like him could appreciate her chill temperament.

They stood silent sharing an awkward silence. Trina finally spoke the first word. “I don't want to seem like I'm grabbing the box and running, but I'm dying to get some of this food back to my dad,” she honestly admitted.