On the Other Side of the Bridge (25 page)

L
ONNIE DIDN'T KNOW IF HE WOULD EVER FULLY
understand why his mother had to die so young. The Bible tracts Jo Marie gave him didn't provide the answers he was looking for. Maybe there were no answers. Or maybe the answers were so complicated, they went beyond his ability to comprehend. In any case, he had given up trying to figure it out, except to say that it happened, and he had to move on. Otherwise, the not knowing would drive him crazy.

Every day, though, he felt his mother's presence in his life. After they moved into their apartment, and he began arranging the furniture, he kept thinking:
This is where Mom would've put the sofa and the television. This is where she would've sat the china cabinet. This is where she would've hung these pictures
.

Lonnie's dad continued to return to the shelter for his AA meetings. Lonnie would have been okay with it if his dad had an occasional beer, but as far as he could tell, his dad had given up drinking completely.

“I messed things up once, and I ain't planning on doing it again,” he told Lonnie.

His dad showered and shaved every day, even though his job didn't require him to be neatly groomed. He had
also lost a few pounds and looked healthier than he had in years.

There was a rap on Lonnie's bedroom door. “Hey, buddy. You up?”

“Yeah, I'm just about ready.”

“The preacher said he wants us at the church by eight.”

“I know. I'll be out in a minute.”

Lonnie finished making his bed. He picked up his watch, cell phone and wallet from his desk. As he did, he looked down at his book report sitting on top. He had gotten an A on it. The book, a horror story titled
Mrs. Leigon's Grave
, was one of the most enjoyable books he had read in a long time. A few more A's in Progressive Reading and maybe next year, he could be placed in an advance reading class with Axel.

Lonnie decided he would never be great at math or science. But the B's and occasional C's he had been making in those classes weren't too bad, either.

He pulled back his curtain and looked out. Frost had formed outside his window. Thirty-six degrees was predicted to be the high for the day, but he would guess the current temperature was no more than twenty-five. Perfect weather for sleeping in, but he couldn't do that. They had things to do.

The night before, Lonnie and the kids in his Sunday school class had bagged up three hundred fifty-seven hygiene kits. Brother Elrod told them to meet at church the next morning before they headed out to the Helping Hand to distribute them.

“I fixed you some chorizo and egg taquitos,” Lonnie's dad said when Lonnie walked into the kitchen. “It's gonna be a long day, so I want you to eat before we leave.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You might need to heat them up,” he said.

Lonnie bit into one. “They're fine.” He took the orange juice carton from the fridge and poured himself a glass. Then he joined his dad at the table.

“I guess it's gonna feel kinda weird for you to go back to the shelter, huh?” his dad said.

“Yeah, but maybe a lot of the people who were there with us will be gone. What I mean is, hopefully they found jobs and a better place to live.”

“I wish that was true, buddy,” his dad said. “But the fact is, we were lucky, plain and simple. Some of those people who stay there, they've given up. I see them when I go to my meetings. They don't think about things getting better. They're like zombies, going nowhere.”

“I know that giving homeless people a little bag of toiletries isn't a whole lot,” Lonnie said. “But at least we can show them that somebody cares about them.”

“I wish your mom could see you right now,” his dad said. “She'd be so proud of the man you're turning out to be. I know I am.”

“I think she'd be proud of the both of us,” Lonnie said.

After breakfast, they drove to the church. Jo Marie and her parents had already arrived. So had Mr. and Mrs. Finley, Ms. Reese and a number of other kids and their parents. They loaded up the church van with boxes of hygiene kits. Before leaving, Brother Elrod explained the importance of their mission. He said they were going to the shelter to help and not to be critical of the people they saw.

“As it says in Matthew, chapter seven, ‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge
others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

“Amen,” Lonnie's dad said.

From there, they headed to the Helping Hand. Lonnie and his dad rode in the van because they needed to guide Mr. Bullock, the driver, where to park once they arrived.

Some of the kids grew nervous when they saw the large groups of men lounging outside the shelter.

Nathan Fambro turned to Lonnie and said, “Man, this place sucks.”

“I know. Trust me, Nathan, I know. But like Brother Elrod said, we're not here to judge.”

Mr. Marriott met them at the entrance. Lonnie was happy to see that Mr. Treviño and his wife were with him. They all gathered in the cafeteria, where Mr. Marriott went over the procedure for distributing the kits. The boxes were placed on the top of six long tables, and helpers were assigned to each section. Brother Elrod led the group in a prayer, and then the clients were called in.

In assembly-line fashion, Lonnie and the other volunteers handed out the kits. Having spent time at the shelter, Lonnie knew some of the people there could be rough and unruly, but everyone accepted their gift graciously and offered a humble “thank you” and “God bless you.”

Altogether, three hundred, thirty-five bags were given out. Mr. Marriott told the group that he would keep the rest of the kits in his office for clients who might need them later. When they were through, he called everyone together to express his appreciation for their work.

“And I especially want to thank Lonnie Rodríguez for initiating this wonderful project,” he said. “If it wasn't for
him, our clients wouldn't have received this special blessing today.”

Everyone applauded, and Lonnie beamed with pride.

Mrs. Finley, who had been taking pictures, asked him to pose with Mr. Marriott. Lonnie then invited his dad and Mr. Treviño to join them for another photo.

He hoped his mother was looking down at him from heaven. If she was, he would like to believe that she'd be pointing at him and shouting to the angels, “Look everybody! That's my son!”

Also by Ray Villareal

Alamo Wars

Body Slammed!

Don't Call Me Hero

My Father, the Angel of Death

Who's Buried in the Garden?