On the Other Side of the Bridge (23 page)

“I'm gonna have to put in extra time in the cafeteria today, 'cause I ain't gonna work there tomorrow,” his dad said.

“Why not?” Lonnie asked.

“We need money, buddy. So I'm thinking about trying to get one of those catch-out jobs 'cause they pay you the same day you work. But from what I've heard, I gotta get to the catch-out gap early 'cause those jobs go pretty fast. That means I'll have to leave you at the Flournoy Center tomorrow morning.”

Lonnie shrugged. “I don't mind. Mr. Marriott said that somebody at the center can take me to school.”

After dinner, Lonnie's dad stood behind the serving line and plopped scoops of mashed potatoes and green beans onto plastic trays. If Lonnie still had his cell phone, he would have snapped photos of him feeding the homeless. His mother would have gotten a kick looking at them.

The barbers were gone for the day, so Lonnie wasn't able to get a haircut. But his dad said he would check to see when they would be back.

The next morning, they walked to the Flournoy Center, and after registering Lonnie at the front desk, his dad headed to the catch-out gap.

When Lonnie entered the computer area, he received a shock. Bobby Arbuthnot from his school was sitting in there playing video games.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Bobby gawked at him with the same flabbergasted expression. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I didn't know you were homeless,” Lonnie said.

“I didn't know
you
were homeless,” Bobby said.

“Are you staying at the Helping Hand?”

“Nah, we're at the Shepherd's House.”

“How long have you been homeless?”

Bobby sighed. “It's a long story, but it started when our house burned down.”

“I remember when that happened,” Lonnie said.

“Anyway, me and my mom, my dad and my little brother ended up at the Shepherd's House, and we've been there ever since.” He pointed to a group of kids working on puzzles in the next room. “That's my little brother over there.”

“How come you never said anything about being homeless?” Lonnie asked.

“Well, it ain't anything anybody brags about. I mean, I'm not ashamed of it or nothing. That's just life. Besides, I know we're not gonna stay like this forever.”

“That's how I feel, too,” Lonnie said, and he told him about their situation.

He couldn't get over it. Bobby Arbuthnot was homeless. He never would have been able to tell it.

On the way to school, he and Bobby sat together on the Flournoy bus, which looked like any ordinary yellow school bus. It made its first stop at Lamar Elementary, and six kids got off. One little girl looked like she could be a fourth grader, and Lonnie wondered if she was Mr. Treviño's student, Margie.

When they arrived at their school, Lonnie and Bobby got off the bus and made their way to the blacktop like it was nobody's business.

Excitement continued to grow, as teachers and students alike eagerly anticipated the Christmas break. Herman “Slurpee” Gilmore got an early start to his vacation. He was sent home for writing nasty words on a Christmas card and hanging it on a Christmas tree
outside the main office. Students had been placing Christmas cards on the tree for Dr. Lambert and the office staff. When Lonnie heard about it, he chuckled to himself. Some things would never change.

At lunchtime, he looked for Jo Marie. She was sitting with her friend, Patricia.

“Can I join you?” Lonnie asked, and sat down without waiting for an answer.

“Pat, did you know that Lonnie's real name is Lon Chaney?” Jo Marie asked.

“So?”

“Don't you know who Lon Chaney was?”

“No.”

“Come on, Pat. Lon Chaney was that silent film actor that came out in movies like
Phantom of the Opera
and
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
.” Turning to Lonnie, Jo Marie said, “I think you've got the coolest name in the whole school.”

“Really? Thanks. Hey, listen, I think I'm going to be able to make it to the Youth Christmas Party after all.” With everything Lonnie had gone through, he needed to do something different. Regardless of where they would be staying Sunday night, he was sure his dad could take him to church.

“Awesome!” Jo Marie said. “Now I'll have somebody to dance with.”

“Dance? I … I don't know how to dance,” Lonnie sputtered.

“Don't worry about it, Lon Chaney. I'll teach you how.”

After school, as Lonnie was about to climb into the school bus, he spotted his dad parked on the other side of the street.

“See you tomorrow,” he told Bobby. Then he caught up to his dad.

“I thought you were working,” he said when he stepped in the car.

“I got there too late, and all the jobs were gone,” his dad said. “Tomorrow, we'll have to get up extra early, 'cause I need to be at the catch-out gap no later than five-thirty.”

“That's okay,” Lonnie said. “Don't worry about me. I can stay in our room until the sun comes out. Then I'll walk to the center.”

Lonnie volunteered to clean tables in the cafeteria. Since his dad was already working to pay for their stay, he wasn't required to do so, but he felt he owed something to Mr. Marriott for giving them the family room.

The director stopped by, and Lonnie thanked him once again for his generosity.

“I'm glad I had that room available,” Mr. Marriott said. “I'm also glad that your father has begun attending the AA meetings.”

“You know, my church does a lot of things for the poor,” Lonnie said. “Back in July, before school started, they collected shoes to give away to the kids at the Treadwell Orphanage. I was wondering if maybe I should ask our pastor if he wants our church to donate food to the Helping Hand.”

“That's a very noble thought, Lonnie,” Mr. Marriott said. “We receive plenty of donations from the nearby food banks. But there's a bigger problem that we battle with constantly — a shortage of toiletries — soap, shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrushes, things like that. I hit the hotels in the area all the time for donations, but we never seem to have enough. If you really want your church to
help our clients, you might suggest that they put together hygiene kits. All they need to do is get large, plastic baggies and fill them with personal hygiene products. That way, the kits can be handed out individually. Our clients would greatly appreciate them.”

“I'll talk to my pastor about it, sir,” Lonnie said.

Mr. Marriott picked up a wadded napkin from the floor and tossed it in the trash can. “It's funny how the main thing that comes to people's minds when they see the homeless is that they need food,” he said. “But they also need razors and deodorant and soap so they can groom themselves before they go job hunting.”

Thinking about his dad, Lonnie realized how true that was.

“Let's go to my office, and I'll type up a list of items our clients need the most so you can present it to your pastor.”

Lonnie would definitely score big-time points with Jo Marie if he was to start a hygiene kits drive at church. But more important, he would be doing something—maybe not a lot—but something to help lift someone's spirits.

At lunch, he discussed the hygiene kits idea with Jo Marie. She said she would tell her dad about it, but she also suggested that they bring it up to Mrs. Finley. Perhaps they could start it as their Sunday school project.

F
RIDAY WAS THE LAST DAY
before the holiday break. Most of the teachers kept their lessons light and assigned what was essentially “busy work” to ride out the time, with the exception of Mr. Arrington.

He wore a wide brim, cowboy hat, a red-plaid shirt, a brown leather vest, denim jeans, leather chaps and cowboy boots. His name for the day was Sheriff Jim. In an exaggerated Texas drawl, he recounted stories of life on the Chisholm Trail and of the dangers cowboys faced driving cattle.

In the middle of his lesson, a commotion broke out in the hallway. At first Lonnie thought kids were fighting, but then he heard Ms. Coronado, the office manager, shout, “Sir! Sir! You can't go in there without signing in at the office first.”

“I don't care! I gotta see Lonnie right now!”

Dad?

“Whoa, pardners,” Mr. Arrington said. “I'd better see what in tarnation's goin' on out there.”

Lonnie's dad burst into the classroom. With tears in his eyes, he cried, “Lonnie! I got a job!”

“Sir, you're going to have to sign in at the office and then get a name badge, or I'm calling security.”

Ignoring the office manager, Lonnie's dad said, “The Merriday Trucking Company's hiring me back!”

“Sir! You need to leave our campus right now!” Ms. Coronado demanded, pointing to the door.

“Now hol' on just a cotton-pickin' minute,” Mr. Arrington said. “I'm the sheriff in this here town, and I say who stays and who vamooses.”

“Mr. Arrington, please!”

“Mr. Arrington? I'm Sheriff Jim, missy,” he said, showing Ms. Coronado his five-pointed star badge. He turned to Lonnie's dad. “Tell ya what, pardner. Giddy on down to the office with this little lady and give her yer John Henry. Ya don't wanna end up in the hoosegow, do ya? Then I'll let ya visit a spell with yer little buckaroo.”

Lonnie's dad gave him a perplexed look. “I'll be right back,” he told Lonnie.

He returned, wearing a name sticker on his shirt. Out in the hallway, he explained what happened.

“I went on a catch-out job this morning, and guess where they sent me? To the Merriday Trucking Company to wash down their trucks. Can you believe it? Of all places. Anyway, as soon as I get there, some of the guys I used to work with see me, and they come over to say hi. At first, I'm kinda embarrassed, you know? I mean, I used to drive those trucks. Now, I'm hosing them down. Pretty soon, my old boss, Mr. Newton, comes out, and he wants to know what I'm doing there, so I tell him. He asks me to go to the office with him. We talk and I explain everything. I also let him know that I've started going to AA. Then I ask him if there's any chance I can get my job back, and …” His voice cracked. “He says he can't hire me as a trucker. You know, 'cause of my DWI conviction, but that he can put me on the docks, loading and unloading
trucks. 'Course, the job don't pay as good as a trucker's, but it'll still be more than enough money for us to live on.”

“Dad, are you serious?” Lonnie said, hardly believing the news.

“Nah, I'm just kidding. Of course I'm serious!”

“So we're moving out of the shelter?”

“Not just yet. The guy I'm replacing is retiring, but he's gonna work till January fifteenth. Then I can have his job. So we'll have to keep living at the shelter till I start getting a regular paycheck. But after that, I'm gonna find us a real nice apartment near here so you won't have to change schools.”

He took Lonnie in his arms and held him tightly. Lonnie realized it looked uncool to be seen hugging his dad, but he didn't care. The kids could think whatever they wanted. Anyway, classes were still in session, and the hallways were empty.

“I'm gonna take real good care of you from now on, buddy. Don't you worry. I'm gonna make things right for us.”

Lonnie grew teary-eyed. At long last, their own home. Real money coming in. Some stability in their lives. He knew what he wanted to say, but he struggled to get the words out. He couldn't recall ever having uttered them. Finally he looked up and said softly, “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, son,” his dad replied and kissed him on the forehead.

When Lonnie returned to class, Mr. Arrington asked, “Is everything all right?” There was no trace of the Texas drawl in his voice.

“Yes, sir. Everything … everything's going to be fine.”

L
ONNIE INSISTED THAT HIS DAD GO TO CHURCH
with him. “God's blessed you with a job, and you need to thank Him for it,” he said.

“Yeah, but look at what He put me through to get it.”

“Well, you know what they say. God works in mysterious ways.”

“Too mysterious, if you ask me. Yeah, sure. I'll go to church with you.”

They took their time eating breakfast. The Helping Hand allowed its clients to remain in the shelter all day on the weekends if they wished.

“When we were first married, your mom wanted us to go to church,” Lonnie's dad said. “But she was Catholic, and I'd been raised a Baptist. I didn't wanna go to no Catholic church, and she didn't wanna go to a Baptist church, so we wound up not going to church at all.”

“I think now would be a good time to start,” Lonnie said.

His dad showered upstairs, and Lonnie washed up in their bathroom. His dad returned with his hair neatly combed and his face clean shaven. He wore a blue turtle-neck sweater and brown dress slacks.

When they arrived at the church, Brother Pacheco, one of the deacons, greeted them. He tried to steer Lonnie's
dad into a Sunday school classroom, but he declined, saying he would wait for his son in the sanctuary. Getting his dad to church was difficult enough. Lonnie wasn't going to push him do anything else.

Jo Marie had spoken to her dad about the hygiene kits project, and he thought it was an excellent idea. He said he would present it to the congregation during the service. Mrs. Finley was also aware of it, but she let Lonnie make the announcement to the class.

“As everybody knows, Marsville's got a huge homeless problem,” Lonnie told the group.

“I know, man,” Nathan Fambro said. “They're like cockroaches. They're everywhere.”

Lonnie scowled at him. “Don't call them that. They're regular people, just like me and you. Except that they're going through a real hard time. Believe it or not, what happened to them could just as easily happen to any of us. To you, to you, to you,” he said, pointing around the room, “and to me. I know I'm not smart enough to fix the homeless problem. I don't even know if it
can
be fixed. But I know one thing we can do. We can collect toiletries for them.”