Homeless (6 page)

Thank God Lonnie made it. Checking the time every few seconds, he panted out of breath. He was minutes from being turned away for the night. However, as luck would have it, the director of the homeless shelter had forgotten some cases of can goods in his trunk and enlisted the youth, a sometimes regular visitor, to assist him. Since getting evicted from the apartment he'd called home, Lonnie slept where he could, when he could. Initially, in Karisma's basement; sometimes, in abandoned houses; and sometimes, here, when he was fortunate enough to meet the deadline.

In between working a part-time gig at McDonald's for a month and monkey hustling, he'd made enough money begging at gas stations, throwing handbills, and cutting grass to finally lay his poor mother to rest. However, that meant neglecting the other necessities he required. Fighting to stay in school and graduate on time, the library was where Lonnie spent most his free time studying when he wasn't performing petty hustles for small amounts of cash. Sometimes he'd post up in the broom closet and focus on his books.

After eating two stale ham and cheese sandwiches, an apple, and drinking a small carton of milk that was provided from the nonprofit facility, Lonnie's stomach was happy off scraps. Worn out, he'd just settled into the small foldaway cot when the unspeakable, but sadly common, occurrence jumped off. “Hey, get your damn hands off me, fool! I'm not down with all that funny shit you and the rest of these busters around here be on. I'm a man! A
real
man! So raise the hell up before it be a true misunderstanding before daybreak.” The echo of certain resentment bounced off the paint-chipped walls and filled the ears of everyone around.

“Okay, chill out, young blood. It's all good my way. Don't be all up in your feelings. I was just trying to make sure you was warm; see if you needed a little company or something like that!”

“Warm? Company?” Lonnie's voice grew louder, drawing more attention to the dark area of the huge room they were in. Fist balled, he leaped to his feet. His inner rage could be felt as the tension grew. With his worn-out blue jeans slightly sagging and once winter-white T-shirt torn on the sleeve, it was evident the young annoyed warrior was ready to put in work if need be. “Dawg, I'm warning you. You better get the fuck on with all that dumb shit. Ain't nothing soft or sweet this way.”

“Oh, yeah, is that right?” The man placed his hand on his chest and smirked. Defiantly winking at his intended victim only seemed to make matters worse.

“Okay, old nigga, I swear to God you don't want them type of problems with me. I might be a little messed up right now, guy, but I ain't that damn desperate to be dealing with you or yours!”

“Look around you, boy. You in the same place we in, so stop tripping. It ain't no big thang,” the elder of the two put both hands in the air, letting the teenager know he didn't want any problems.

“Well, make sure it ain't! For real, for real; you and the rest of these bums got me messed up. I don't wanna catch a case tonight, but I will. Whatever ill intentions you got in mind, you better reconsider that bullshit!” Lonnie had blood in his weary eyes. He was beyond fed up. This couldn't be life. Not the one he'd dreamed of since he was a kid. The barely seventeen-year-old had been through enough chaos over the past few months to fill three lifetimes. Now, here he was, forced to sleep on a thin, filthy mattress. One that smelled of garbage and musk, being sexual harassed by a man twice his age and size. Clear out of any options on where he could rest his head at for the night, Lonnie was at the last place he ever wanted to end up at: Emergency Relief Services, also known as the men's homeless shelter.

“Like I said,” the man, although scared of getting socked in the mouth, continued to speak out of turn. “It ain't no big thang with me, young blood. But never say what you won't do out here in these coldhearted Detroit streets. When you homeless, trust me, life gets real!”

Refusing to give the troublemaker any more energy, the youth bit his tongue. Ensuring the medium-size duffle bag containing all he owned in the world was within arm's reach, he felt somewhat reassured. Not wanting to get kicked out of the strict policy-run facility into the elements of night, he fought to calm his nerves. Like a hawk focused on his prey, Lonnie watched the toothless creep roam over toward the far side of the building in hopes of pushing up on someone else. Letting the man's corrupt words of wisdom fester inside his already-tormented mind, the miserable teen tried to block them out.

Lonnie Eugene McKay was ready to collapse. Exhausted physically as well as mentally, the man-child wanted nothing more than to forget what the seasoned shelter predator had said and go to sleep. However, deep down inside, he knew the asshole was right.
When you homeless, life gets real.
Unfortunately, Lonnie, totally alone in the world thanks to his mother's death and no assistance from his father, was tragically learning that lesson firsthand. He had become one of Detroit's faceless throwaway residents, and his crazy life was as real as shit gets. As Lonnie drifted off to sleep, he started to have the same reoccurring dream; that his beloved mother was still very much alive. Tossing and turning, some of his restless nights were just as long as his tedious days.

“Yes, Mister Lonnie Eugene McKay, will you please stand?” The judge held a huge stack of papers tightly with one hand and a ballpoint pen with the other. As she waited, the other occupants in the crowded courtroom grew eerily quiet. Receiving no immediate answer, she once again asked the seemingly preoccupied defendant to show some respect and stand. “Hello, Mister McKay. Excuse this court for trying to conduct its business, but can you follow proper procedure and rise for the reading of the verdict?”

Staring off into space, Lonnie had to be physically shaken by his lawyer to come out of the trance he was obviously in. Snapped back into reality, the arrested criminal was seconds away from hearing the outcome of his life from twelve of his peers charged with determining his future. Trying not to be defiant, he stopped reminiscing about his past and did as he was asked. Seeing that the defendant had obliged, the judge proceeded to read from one of the many documents she had in her hand.

“All right, Mister McKay. Back in March of this year, you were arrested after a series of investigations by not only the city of Detroit police detectives, but state and federal officials as well. Those allegations were, and still stand, as five counts of first-degree murder. Those five criminal counts were unaugmented and unchallenged, thus, being consolidated into one trial.” The judge never wavered from her even-toned voice as she spoke directly to the defendant labeled an utter menace in the media. Despite the annoying glare of one of the court TV small-size cameras recording live, she remained cool as a cucumber.

“When you were originally apprehended and arrested, you were read your rights. Upon your arraignment, your attorney advised this court, without objection from you, that it was your desire to enter a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity. That plea was accepted by this court pending medical examinations. Those examinations took place, and after consideration of the results, your original plea was thus rejected as you were deemed competent to stand trial. Within your rights, you asked for a jury trial, and it was so ordered. You were advised by your counsel as well as this court that each one of the five felony murder charges you are facing are punishable by life imprisonment with no possibility of parole if found guilty. If convicted today, you will immediately be returned to the county jail where you have been held at for the duration of these legal proceedings, and then remanded to the State of Michigan Correctional Department and be under their jurisdiction throughout the extent of your sentence. Are those facts clear to you, Mister McKay?”

Once again, getting no type of response from the dangerous offender awaiting his fate, she posed the question to him in another manner. “Mister Lonnie Eugene McKay, have you heard what was just stated to you? Are you comprehending what this court is relaying to you, or are you deliberately choosing to be defiant? Be advised, either way, these proceedings will continue in a timely fashion. I hope you understand that much to be true.”

As the occupants of the courtroom and all of the televised viewing audience waited for the would-be serial killer to blink, cough, sneeze, smile, or at best, slightly nod his head to acknowledge the judge, he did none. In the midst of what Lonnie felt was the mumblings of yet another “callous bitch with a slit attempting to fuck him over,” he zoned back out of his current reality thinking about the unconventional life he'd been forced to live.

* * *

Sadly it had been the roughest year of his young life. Struggling to keep food in his stomach, wash the clothes he copped from the donated box, and just simply stay alive was more than a notion in the city of Detroit. Times were hard in the Motor City, but the people living in it were even harder. The mental abuse Lonnie withstood was more than any man, woman, or child should have to face—alone or otherwise—but somehow, he managed. Not only had he been mocked, teased, dogged, and slandered at school, Lonnie was ignored, slighted, and made to feel second best at most of the shelters he'd slept at.

Yet now, he felt the tide was about to turn. Things were looking up. He finally could see the sun rising from the darkness. There would be no more of some of the gatekeepers at the various facilities making the rules up as they go along. No more would Lonnie have to wake up early in the morning to ensure eating a free breakfast or rushing to make it back before curfew. The woman living in the shelter across the road wouldn't be able to stand in front of the building and tease him about being less than a man because he was in the same predicament as they were. Much like all the other women he'd been unfortunate enough to come in contact with since his mother's death, they were evil, spiteful, out for self bitches as well. The fact they, like him, didn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out made no difference. However, there was about to be a serious changing of the guard. The tide was about to turn. The silver lining everyone spoke about was finally coming into view. Lonnie had beaten all the terrible odds stacked against him. The still grief-stricken teen was a wonderful miracle in progress. He was finally graduating from high school. Homeless, parentless, and penniless . . . He'd made it.

* * *

Not attending the prom or participating in any of the other senior activities, the long-suffering teenager could care less. The only thing the social recluse young man focused on was getting that diploma and starting the next phase of his life. If he could excel in the scholarship-sponsored advanced computer design program, Lonnie was guaranteed paid housing and a small cash stipend once a month. That would be all the youth from the wrong side of the tracks needed to be on his way to some sort of normalcy.

Settling in to his very own tiny studio apartment, Lonnie was relieved. Nestled in the middle of the university's diverse student population, he felt like a fish out of water, but strangely linked to his neighbors. This was the first place Lonnie could actually call or even consider home since his mother's death. Still carrying around the same duffle bag full of his meager possessions, he felt secure in finally unpacking them. Blessed with a full-size bed, a desk, and a small-size couch from the scholarship board, Lonnie took the time to thank God for keeping him safe and sound throughout his time lost out in the streets. No matter how much mayhem and chaos he went through, the now-eighteen-year-old young man knew it could've been way over a hundred times worse.

Sitting down on the arm of the couch, the poor but content teen removed a new benefit card issued from the Department of Social Services out of a manila-colored envelope. Dialing the telephone number located on the rear of the card, the near destitute Lonnie smiled upon hearing it had not only close to $400 in food stamps loaded, but $100 in cash as well. That, along with the school program's initial payout of $356, Lonnie felt as if he'd hit the lottery. Knowing he'd have to continue to study hard and hit the books if he wanted his blessings to stay flowing, he started to plan out the next year of his life, week by week. By evening's end, he'd walked to the closest grocery market and the Dollar Store to get provisions for the days to follow. Elated at how far he'd come on his own, Lonnie walked over to the window and gazed up at the many bright shining stars. With great hope for his future, he tightly closed his eyes, praying for his mother to give him strength.

* * *

The nightmares the teen had went on almost nightly. His mind was unsettled, and he was starting to have severe headaches that wouldn't go away. Consuming every brand of aspirin on the market, nothing seemed to help. Still tormented by his mother's death, Lonnie was content being off on his own. He missed her more than anyone could ever know and was having a hard time adjusting to her not being around. Feeling like he'd been basically shitted on by everyone that'd come into his life since that day she left the earth, especially females, he trusted himself and only himself. When he was in class and it came time to form study groups, Lonnie tried his best to complete most projects on his own in order not to form any sort of relationships. He needed to be alone to concentrate and not be distracted by others' seemingly wonderful lives. When doing something as simple as getting his mail out of the box, the youthful teen that should be out having a good time was doing the opposite, avoiding all contact with his peers. The carefree college experience didn't apply to him. Even though he was starting to be rumored as being weird, strange, and standoffish, Lonnie was still invited to party after party. Although he declined, the offers still came in.

“Hey, guy, you live in apartment 7C, don't you?”

Lonnie had just stepped on the elevator. With his book bag tossed over his shoulder and a tuna fish sandwich from Subway in one hand, he pushed his floor number. Assuming the white guy couldn't be asking him, he ignored the question. After the dude repeated himself, Lonnie realized he was indeed speaking to him. “Yeah, I do. Who's asking?”

“Whoa, man, slow down. I don't want any trouble.” He immediately sensed his standoffish neighbor was becoming defensive. “I live down the hall from you in seven-H; the unit on the corner by the stairs.”

Lonnie thought he'd seen the guy and some of his friends come and go at different times, but wasn't sure. Not wanting to be any ruder than he'd already been, he eased up on attitude. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, guy. I ain't mean to come off so rough. It's just the neighborhood and—”

The white man smiled, understanding exactly where Lonnie was coming from. “Come on now,” he teased while holding onto a six-pack of beer. “Try being half as white as I am in this neighborhood, and then talk shit!”

They both shared a brief laugh as the elevator doors opened on their floor. Lonnie was content on being on his way to study and eat his sandwich. However, the guy who had introduced himself as Kevin when they passed the third floor wasn't quite done.

“All right, then. Stay up,” Lonnie tried to brush him off.

Trying his best to be as cool as he automatically assumed Lonnie was, Kevin closed his fist to give his black neighbor a pound. “Hey, just FYI, we're having a little get-together later this evening.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lonnie was disinterested but felt he had to at least act like he was halfway paying attention.

“Yeah, dawg. Nothing special, just some of the homies getting together to throw back a few and watch the game. You know, smoke a little weed; a few pills or whatnot. Maybe get a few bitches drunk and high and mess around.”

Lonnie couldn't believe the nerve of this fool. He was really talking about smoking trees, running hoes, and taking pills to him, not knowing if he was the police.
Damn, white motherfuckers these days don't give a shit no more; they reckless as hell.
“Trees, females, and pills, huh?”

Kevin was proud of what illegal activities his night was going to hold and continued to boast. “Yeah, buddy. You know how it is. We been hitting the books all week for finals and need a little something to take the edge off.”

“Yeah, finals is a motherfucker,” Lonnie acknowledged gripping up on his book bag. “I got two more this week my damn self.”

Kevin nodded in total agreement. “Well, I see this you,” he motioned toward Lonnie's apartment with a huge letter C on it. “So I'll let you get to your food and them books. But if you feel like taking a break, my friend, you know where to find us. And in the meantime, here, take this to get you started.” Kevin reached down, grabbing Lonnie a beer out his pack and laughed, turning beet red. “Remember, weed, pills, beer, and hoes! It's the all-American dream; well, the white dream anyways!”

* * *

The evening seemed to drag on. And the night was doubly worse than that. It was like the more Lonnie tried to concentrate on his studies, the more commotion he heard in the hallway of people coming and going down the way. He could easily tell they were some of Kevin's friends by the way they came passing his door sober, then would leave an hour or so later fighting to stand up and talking loud cash shit all the way to the elevator. Part of him wanted to try to stop being so antisocial and go check Kevin out; at least for another cold beer or two since his was warm. While the other part of him knew trying to link up with some wild-style white boys that liked to get high was nothing but trouble waiting to jump off.

Searching through the Pandora app on his cell, Lonnie tried to focus on some music and get back to the books. With the tunes on random play, he was suddenly frozen. Feeling a chill come over him and a harsh dryness in his mouth, the teen closed his eyes. Allowing the sounds of one of Al Green's songs take over his soul, Lonnie was lost thinking about his deceased mother. This was one of her favorite songs in the world; or so she used to claim. His first thought was to turn it off, but his inner self kept saying no. Lonnie was no dummy. He knew himself better than anyone else in the world. The still very much grief-stricken youth knew if he kept listening to old Al, he was subject to get caught up in his emotions. And as if on cue, a few seconds later, Lonnie was close to tears taking a trip back down memory lane.

Taking both index fingers, he started to slowly rub them on his temples in a circular motion. Quickly realizing he couldn't stop the onset of a rapidly approaching headache, Lonnie snatched the half-drunken warm bottle of beer off his desk. Jumping to his feet, he ran to get a few extra-strength aspirins to help him chill out and relax. Twisting the cap off, he shook three or four pills out and washed them down with the remaining beer.
I gotta stop tripping like this. I got to! I swear I got to!
Lonnie, like a fool, kept turning the volume up on his cell as loud as it could possibly go. And Pandora, being Pandora, played several more songs that equally reminded him of the woman who gave birth to him and loved him until the day she died. He felt like he was going stir-crazy. Lonnie kept hearing the voices of the women he felt had mistreated him or done him wrong over the previous year. He couldn't seem to drown them out. Finally, he not only turned the volume of the music down, but shut his cell all the way off.

Feeling out of control, Lonnie finally broke his self-imposed code of not generating any bonds, friendships, or relationships with any of the party animals at his school. He wanted to do as he'd been doing all semester; keep his head in the books and his mind focused on something other than the streets. He'd sworn off any bullshit, including partying and ratchet-ass females that he knew ultimately meant him no good. Yet, here he was walking down the hallway of his building heading toward Kevin's. He had to get out of his dreary existence apartment. Less than three yards before he reached his destination, as fate would have it, the intoxicated off of God-knows-what Kevin opened his apartment door to let someone out.

“Heyyyyyyyy,” Kevin slurred, bringing his hand down on Lonnie's shoulder as a female staggered away looking zoned and stoned out of her mind. “My brother, you made it! Come on in; we just getting started on round three, or is it round four? Whatever it is—come on in!”

Not muttering a single word, Lonnie eagerly stepped through the threshold of Kevin's domain and into a dark world he knew nothing about—but would one day regret.