On the Other Side of the Bridge (22 page)

“Some companies offer catch-out jobs, and that's one way our clients earn money,” Mr. Marriott said.

“What's a catch-out job?” Lonnie's dad asked.

“Catch-out is a term our clients use. It means day labor.” Mr. Marriott turned to the window, and Lonnie and his dad looked out with him. “Trucks and vans will pull up to that vacant lot across the street. Our clients call it the catch-out gap. The drivers will announce something like, ‘We need ten workers.'”

“What kinds of jobs do they have for them?” Lonnie's dad asked.

“Nothing pleasant, I can assure you. Factory work, construction, roofing, that sort of thing. But these are not forty-hour-a-week jobs, if that's what you're thinking. The reason our clients take them, regardless of what they may be, is because they get paid the same day they work.”

“So if I decide to take one of those catch-out jobs, what do I do with my boy?” Lonnie's dad asked. “I don't want him here by himself.”

“We have the Flournoy Center, which is just down the street. Basically, it's a child care facility where our clients' children can stay when they're not in school, or when they can't be accompanied by a parent. The center has a bus that will take Lonnie to school and pick him up if you can't do it.”

“Looks like you got all your bases covered,” Lonnie's dad said. “Listen, I got our stuff in the trunk of my car. Where do you want me to put it?”

“I'll give you a tour of the place in just a moment,” Mr. Marriott said. “But let me explain to you that the Helping Hand is more than an overnight shelter. We offer a number of services, such as mental health care programs and Alcoholics Anonymous, which I strongly recommend you attend to help you with your drinking problem.”

Lonnie's dad glared at his son. “Who says I have a drinking problem?”

“Do you have a drinking problem, Mr. Rodríguez?”

He shrugged. “I like to drink, sure, same as the next guy, but … look, all we need right now is a place to stay, that's all. I don't wanna go to no programs.”

Mr. Marriott sighed. “Let me show you around then.”

H
E TOOK THEM TO THE CAFETERIA
. It resembled the one at Lonnie's school. Long lines of men, women and a few children snaked along the walls of each side of the room, waiting to be fed.

Mr. Marriott introduced Lonnie's dad to Jerry Parnell, the cafeteria manager. Jerry, as he told them to call him, said that sure, he could always use the extra help.

Afterward, they took the elevator to the third floor, where Mr. Marriott showed them one of the men's dorms. The room had rows of bunk beds, most of them already occupied by grungy, beaten-down men, who sized them up and down as soon as they entered. Next to the dorm was the shower room, a large, open area with multiple showerheads, like the one in Lonnie's school gym. The shower room offered no privacy, and a number of men were bathing in there without any sense of modesty.

Lonnie had long gotten over his shyness of showering in front of the guys at school, but there was no way he was going to bathe in the same room as those men.

They got back in the elevator and rode down to the basement, where Mr. Marriott showed them the laundry room, which was lined with rows of coin-operated washers and dryers. There was a sign-up sheet, so Lonnie wrote down his name to reserve a wash time.

After Mr. Marriott left, Lonnie and his dad took the trash bags out of their car. They carried them up to the third floor and stuffed them inside their assigned locker. Then they made their way to the cafeteria, where beef burritos, pinto beans, salad, sliced peaches and iced tea were being served.

As soon as Lonnie's dad finished eating, he spoke with Jerry Parnell. Lonnie sat, mildly amused, watching his dad do “women's work,” clearing dirty dishes off the tables and carrying them away in gray plastic tubs to the dishwashing area.

While his dad worked, Lonnie decided to get started on their wash. He asked his dad for some money, and then returned to the dorm to get their clothes.

He was gathering their things when a man, stinking of nicotine and body odor, approached him. He had watery, yellow eyes and yellow fingernails.

“What are you doing here by yourself, young man?” the yellow-eyed man asked.

“I'm getting ready to do our laundry,” Lonnie said nervously.

The man picked up one of the bags. “Here, I'll help you.”

“What are you doing with that boy, Wyman?” another man shouted from a few bunks down. “Is he bothering you, son?”

“Mind your own business, Lucas. This young man's with me.” The yellow-eyed man wrapped an arm around Lonnie's shoulders, which made his skin crawl. “You gotta watch out for these guys. Know what I'm saying? But don't you worry. I'll take care of you.”

At that moment, a security guard walked in and saw the man with his arm around Lonnie. “Get away from that boy, Wyman,” he barked.

“I ain't doing nothing. I'm just trying to help him out, that's all.”

“He doesn't need your help,” the guard said. “Now get on over to your bunk before I throw you out of here.”

The yellow-eyed man quietly slinked back to his bed.

“Are you Lonnie?” the guard asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Your father told me to check on you to see if you were okay.”

“I'm all right. I was just getting our dirty clothes together so I could wash them.”

“You really shouldn't be up here without your father,” the guard said. “It isn't safe. I'm not saying that these men are dangerous, but you can't take any chances. Don't talk to anyone here unless your father's with you.” He picked up one of the bags. “I'll help you carry these down.”

He escorted Lonnie to the laundry room, which felt much safer than the dorm. Most of the people in there were women with young children.

While their clothes churned in the washer, Lonnie did his homework on a table. The laundry room was noisy, but he couldn't use that as an excuse not to do his work. He had bombed out most of the semester, and he needed to get back on track. If Mr. Treviño was correct when he said that many people became homeless due to bad decisions they'd made in life, Lonnie thought it was time he started making a lot of good ones.

His dad joined him after a while and helped him fold clothes. They took them back to the dorm room and placed them in their locker. The man with the yellow eyes
stared at them, but Lonnie didn't say anything to his dad about him. Nothing had happened, and hopefully the man would leave him alone.

They spent their first night at the shelter. Lonnie's dad insisted his son take the top bunk because he felt he would be safer there. Lights went out at ten-thirty. There was some chatting and laughing in the darkness. Eventually, the talking faded, replaced by loud snoring.

Lonnie tossed around restlessly in his bunk, unable to sleep. All night, men got up to use the restroom, and he could see their silhouettes moving in the darkness. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn he saw a pair of watery, yellow eyes, glowing in the dark, staring at him.

He missed his mom. He wanted her to appear to him and say, “What are you doing in this awful place,
mijo
? You don't belong here. Come on, let me take you home.”

When he woke up the next morning, he discovered that he had wet the bed. The sheets and his underwear were soaked. He hadn't wet the bed since he was three years old. Feeling humiliated, he climbed off his bunk and woke his dad.

“That's okay, buddy. Don't worry about it. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. We'll just take your sheets to the laundry room, and I'll get you some clean ones. For now, go take a shower.”

The last thing Lonnie wanted to do was to shower with a bunch of old, nasty homeless men, but he didn't have a choice.

“Can you go with me?” he asked sheepishly. “I don't want to be in there alone with all those men.”

“You bet.” His dad had showered the night before, but he stripped off his clothes and joined Lonnie in the shower room. The men laughed and told dirty jokes while they
bathed, and Lonnie found the whole experience degrading.

After a quick rinse, he toweled himself off and got dressed. His dad wadded the sheets and told him he would take care of them later. Then they went downstairs for breakfast.

By six o'clock, people headed out of the shelter, like cattle. Lonnie grabbed a push broom and swept the cafeteria floor.

Mr. Marriott stopped by and looked around. He asked Lonnie's dad how their first night had gone.

“Listen, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but that dorm room ain't no place for a boy Lonnie's age.”

“I agree,” Mr. Marriott replied. “But it's the only way I can keep you together. The other option is to turn him over to CPS.”

“Are you sure there ain't nothing else you can do?” Lonnie's dad asked. “I mean, that room is really scary. Last night, Lonnie …” He leaned into Mr. Marriott and whispered in his ear.

Mr. Marriott looked at Lonnie. “I may have something else. Let's go to my office,” he said, and they followed him down the hallway.

He shut the door, and after they sat down, he said, “I have a family room available, but like I told you yesterday, those rooms are reserved for women with children. I can let you have it for now, but if a mother and child come in, I may have to ask you to give it up.”

“I understand,” Lonnie's dad said.

“However, in return, I want you to do something for me.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want.”

“I'd like you to see one of our psychiatrists for counseling.”

“A psychiatrist?” Lonnie's dad said indignantly. “I don't need no psychiatrist. I ain't crazy.”

“I didn't say you were crazy, Mr. Rodríguez. But the fact is, you've gone through a tremendous amount of stress, with the loss of your wife, your home … and now this. I think it would be beneficial for you to speak to one of our mental health providers. I'd also like for you to enroll in our Alcoholics Anonymous program. If you agree to do these things, then I will put you in one of our private family rooms.”

Lonnie's dad turned away and stared out the window.

“It's up to you, Mr. Rodríguez.”

Grudgingly, he said, “Okay, when can we move into that room?”

“Right now, if you'd like. Let me show you where it is.”

The family room had two double beds, a small closet and a chest of drawers. There was a bathroom with a sink, but no shower. Lonnie would continue to bathe at school. But if they were still at the shelter during the Christmas break, he would wash up, using the sink rather than going to the men's shower room upstairs.

They took their bags of clothing out of the dorm and carried them down to their new room.

Afterward, Lonnie was driven to school. Unless he held a cardboard sign that said HOMELESS, there was no reason for anyone to suspect where he had spent the night.

During lunch, Jo Marie approached his table and asked if she could join him. Before eating, she bowed her
head and prayed. Out of respect, Lonnie bowed his head, too, and waited quietly.

He wanted to converse with her, but he didn't know what to say. What did churchy girls like to talk about? God? Heaven? The Ten Commandments?

“Have you seen any good movies lately?” he asked, then immediately thought how dumb that line was. He thought she was going to say she had seen a Jesus movie or something.

“We saw
Bride of Frankenstein
on TCM Saturday night,” she said.

“Your parents let you watch horror movies?” Lonnie asked, bemused.

“Only the old black and white classics. You know, the ones that starred Boris Karloff, Vincent Price, Lon Chaney … those actors.”

“That's my real name,” Lonnie said.

“What's your real name?”

“Lon Chaney.”

Jo Marie laughed. “Get out! Are you serious?”

“Yeah. My full name's Lon Chaney Rodríguez, but everybody calls me Lonnie.”

“Why did your parents name you Lon Chaney?”

He explained his name's origin. “So, did you like
Bride of Frankenstein
?”

“Yes, but I've seen it before.”

“Have you ever seen
Young Frankenstein
?”

“I don't think so.”

“I've got the DVD at home. Listen, I'll let you borrow it if … Sorry, I forgot. I don't have it anymore. But rent it sometime. It's worth watching. Believe me, once you see it, you'll never be able to watch that scene in
Bride of
Frankenstein
where the monster meets the blind man, in the same way.”

Lonnie didn't remember what else they talked about, but time passed quickly. They didn't share classes, so he wouldn't see her until the following day. Strange, but he looked forward to having lunch with her again.

The first thing Lonnie noticed when he got in the car that afternoon was his dad's short hair and clean-shaven face.

“What do you think, buddy? Is your old man good looking or what?”

“Whoa. Who cut your hair?”

“They got regular barbers that volunteer at the shelter. The counselor I talked with today told me I'd feel better about myself if I got a haircut.” Lonnie's dad studied his reflection in the rear-view mirror. “And you know what? I do feel better. If the barbers are still there when we get back, I'll take you to them 'cause you been wolfing out as bad as me.”

At the shelter, they underwent the same routine as before: waiting in line, going through the metal detector and signing in. From there, Lonnie's dad took him to their new room.

Lonnie was amazed by how quiet it was, compared to the rest of the building. He would be able to do his homework in there without being distracted by all the noise.

His dad opened the closet, and Lonnie saw their shirts and pants hanging on the wooden rod. Their socks, T-shirts and underwear were folded neatly inside the dresser drawers. As long as he stayed away from the third floor, Lonnie believed he could handle living in the shelter until their situation improved.