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Coming Home
It's 6 pm, and I'm just sitting down to breakfast- toast and coffee at Nan's. It's a dive, with stained Formica counters and grimy plastic seats, but the food's cheap, and Nan doesn't judge. Three guys huddle in a corner, and I'm pretty sure one of them's making a buy. I hope it's not a set-up- the last thing I need right now is to miss work because the cops decided that tonight was the night to make a bust.
I glance over at the paper sitting on the counter beside me. It's open to the financial pages. It seemed some rich CEO kicked the bucket- one too many high stress meetings or something like that. Not like I really care, anyways. I don't know why anyone around here would bother with the finance section. It isn't like any of us have extra cash around to invest. Hell, most of the regulars at Nan's barely have a roof over our heads, and those are the lucky ones.
Me? I got a cold water flat a few blocks over. It's a shithole, and the vermin are only outnumbered by the human rats, but it's home. At least, until the developers move in, and I'm out on my ass again.
I look at the clock, and realize I got to get to work. I toss down a couple of bucks for my meal and leave the diner, stepping over a drugged out pile of skin and bones. For the last six months, I've been working as a bouncer at the Safari Club, a sleazy strip joint trying to pass itself off as a gentlemen's club. It's still the best job I've had- but then again, when you've been out on the streets since you were a kid, any job that doesn't involve selling drugs or your own ass is golden.
Maybe, it's some kind of cycle. Maybe it's karma- who knows, I could have been a real bastard in some other life, and now I'm paying for it. Maybe the world just needs losers, so that the winners can appreciate what they've got. So those middle class suburbanites see what they could have been. Or maybe fate just likes having a laugh at the expense of us poorer than poor slobs.
Ah, well, what can you do? Sometimes, it's all you can do just to survive another day. And so I do.
Work's the same as usual until that scumbag Bill shows up. Bill's a pimp. He's also a violent fucker. At least once a week I end up cleaning up one of his girls after he gets pissed off and takes it out on them. I patch them up, and they go running back to him. It kills me a bit every time.
"Hey, Shane!"
I freeze. He's got this croaking voice that's impossible to miss. "What the hell do you want?"
"Oh, nothing much. Janice didn't come back- you haven't seen her, have you?"
"Maybe she smartened up, got the fuck away from you." We both know that's a lie. Janice had been walking the streets for as long as I can remember. She'd been one of Brewer's kids, just like me, but she was one of the ones who couldn't get out. When Brewer was killed, I swore I'd never sell myself for a pimp again, but she just went running to someone else for protection. She said it was because the streets were harsher for girls than boys.
"Well, if you see her, you just tell her to come on home." Bill smirks when he says it. I want to punch him in the face. Finally he leaves, but there's a lump in my throat which just won't go away.
I get home at 7. On my way in the door, I grab my mail. If I don't grab it early, someone else will. There's a couple of bills- including a final notice from the electric company- but what really gets my attention is the letter. It says it's from the firm of Douglas and Barnes, whoever they are. I'm kind of nervous; letters never mean good news, the last time I got an actual letter was when my mom died.
Well, there's not much I can do. I open the envelope, and start to read.
Dear Mr. Allen,
As the executor of the estate of Richard Johnston, it is my duty to inform you that you have been included in his Last Will and Testament-
I'm not sure what to think. I check the address on the envelope again to make sure it's addressed to the right person. Who the hell is this Johnston guy? And why the hell would he leave me anything? There's a date for the reading of the will. October 17th. I count in my head, five days. Five days and I can find out what the hell is going on.
The first thing I noticed when I got up to this place was how fancy it is. I mean, I don't think I've ever been in a room as nice as this in my entire life. There's this big window looking out over the city. I can almost see my apartment from here. The place has a bunch of weird statues and paintings that look like random lines- apparently, they're supposed to be art. I'm not alone here, there's a secretary, an older lady who keeps glaring at everyone else in the room, and a couple of guys in fancy suits. I play with the buttons of my own suit, a cheap, ugly thing I picked up at a second hand store for six bucks. The secretary keeps looking at me like I'm some kind of bug or something. I can't really blame her- I don't look like I belong here. I sure as hell don't feel like I belong here.
A guy in a suit walks out of one of the offices. He looks like he stepped out of the pages of one of them fashion magazines. He smiles at us, showing us his perfectly white, straight teeth.
"Madam, gentlemen, it is time for the reading of the will. If you would follow me?" I stand up and follow him. The lady gives me a dirty look.
We follow the guy into his office, and he waves for us to sit down. He introduces himself as Jonathon Barnes. I think he's doing it mostly for me, because the other guys seem to know him already, and I don't think the lady really cares about anything but getting her money right now.
Mr. Barnes starts going on about money going to this trust or that fund, all sorts of complicated stuff like that, but nothing really interesting. I'm starting to get nervous, I mean, what the hell am I doing here?
"Mr Allen-" I look back at the lawyer, "- Mr. Johnston left this letter to be read at the execution of his will." He takes a deep breath and starts reading.
"Dear Mr. Allen,
"I must offer you an apology. I know that as far as you can recall you have never met me, but I have wronged you.
"In the winter of 1981, I met a woman, Rachel Allen, and subsequently had an extramarital affair with her. A month and a half later, she informed me that she was pregnant. I did not wish to divorce my wife at the time, however I did provide your mother with a small stipend to ensure the quality of your life. 10 years later, I was informed that you were to be placed in a foster home, as your mother was found to be an unsuitable guardian. I would have opened my own home to you, but by that time I was currently going through a messy divorce, and my lawyers advised against it. By the time the divorce was finalized, you had managed to disappear below the radar.
"I am sincerely regretful of my negligence in providing for you.
"Signed, Richard Johnston."
I sit there while the news sinks in. Finally, it hits me- I had a dad! All this time, I had a dad, and a rich one!
"That bastard!"
Mr. Barnes looks shocked, but I don't give a damn.
"Now, Mr. Allen-" He starts talking, but I interrupt him.
"No. No way. He's 'sincerely regretful'? He's sorry?" I'm pacing by now. "I spent four fucking years living on the street and he's sorry?"
"Mr Allen-" The lawyer had turned red by now.
"You got any idea what I had to do to survive out there? Huh? Do you know what happens to 13 year old boys who live on the street?"
I can't breathe. I want to cry and scream and throw things. I think I'm going to puke. I rush out into the waiting room and look at the secretary.
"Bathroom?" She silently points at a small hallway. I push my way into the small room and reach the toilet just in time.
I sit on the floor and stare at the wall for a while. It's a good thing Johnston's already dead, other wise I'd have to strangle him. That asshole left me alone. He left me to live on the streets, easy prey to all sorts of sickos. I managed to survive, even get ahead- I'm one of the lucky ones. Most of them end up like Janice- dead in a dumpster before they're 25.
There's a knock on the door. "Mr. Allen, I know that this has come as a surprise-"
I snort.
"-but we do need you to come back to the room."
"Yeah, just gimme a minute." I croak back. I get up, and walk over to the sink to rinse out my mouth. I look into the mirror. I got tear tracks running down my face. Damn, and I didn't even know I was crying. I wash my face, take a deep breath, and go back to the room.
So, it turns out, not only was this guy loaded, but he also didn't have any other kids, or any real family at all for that matter. The only other person who he cared about was his ex-wife, that lady who kept glaring at me. Apparently, she wanted to have kids, but he didn't want them- that's part of the reason they split up. I guess my being there was like a slap in the face.
It's like out of some kind of fairy tale or something, I mean, I walk in there owning nothing except the clothes on my back, and when I come out, I'm five million bucks richer, and the proud owner of not only a house, but a penthouse apartment in the best part of town. I called the Safari Club from the lobby downstairs to tell them I quit. It feels good.
That good feeling don't last long, though. Two days later, I started drinking. Another week, and the party started. Seems that I have lots of friends now that I've got money. I know they're using me, but I really can't care anymore. The party lasted a month, I think- I don't know, I was too out of it to really care. I shut it down when one of the pimps from my old neighbourhood showed up. I kicked everyone out, and end up having to change the locks. It's kind of funny, six weeks ago my front door didn't even have a lock that worked, and now I've got three of them, not to mention a state-of-the-art security system.
At least the reporters buggered off. They seemed to think I'd be some great human interest story, the ultimate rags-to-riches tale. They kept following me around, trying to get an interview. Finally, I decided to tell them just how I felt about things. None of them have come back since.
I started having nightmares about how it used to be. Some of them were about the home I went to. Some of them were about the streets. I even had a few about my mom. I blame the reporters- they kept asking questions about what my life was like as a kid. They made me remember.
I was ten when Mom got hurt. She went to work, just like she did every other day. I didn't know anything was wrong, until some cop showed up. He looked at me, and I could tell he felt sorry for me- I hate that feeling, when someone pities you- and tells me she's hurt. Some guy had a heart attack and smashed into her. She was alive, but she hit her head pretty hard.
She was in the hospital for two months. When she got out, we had to move. We couldn't afford to pay the rent, since Mom hadn't worked in a month. We moved into some shitty little apartment that had cockroaches and mice, but was cheap. There was a school nearby, too, so I didn't need to take the bus.
The kids at school became my family. When Mom started going funny, they stuck by me. When she had one of her bad turns and spent the day staring at a blank wall and crying, I'd go over to Vince's house, and his mom would feed me. Jack's dad would let me stay on the couch when she got mean.
One day, we got this new teacher, though. I came to school with a black eye, and the next thing I knew, there were all these Child Services people around, asking questions and poking their noses where they didn't belong.
They took me away on my twelfth birthday, can you believe it? Happy fucking birthday to me.
They stuck me in a home with six other kids. The people who took care of us, the Halls, were good people. They had their problems, and they weren't always the nicest people, but they cared about us. They made us feel like someone gave a damn. Most of us weren't used to it- I sure as hell wasn't. But then they split up, and we had to go.
I was sent to the Prentiss', who had five other kids living there. At first, I just thought it was creepy as hell. Everyone avoided Mr. Prentiss. I didn't know why until he cornered me in the bathroom. I still have the scars he gave me- he didn't like it when we fought back. A month after I got there, one of the other guys, Joey, decided we should run away, because there was no way the streets could be any worse than that.
We were wrong.
Oh, God, were we ever wrong.
I've gotten into the habit of coming down into the city, not quite to my old neighbourhood, but close. I'm standing on a bridge right now, looking down at the river. I know that If I went down to the water, I'd see the trash and smell the stink of it, but from up here, it's beautiful. I'm thinking about jumping in. Not seriously, really, just a thought. I wonder what the papers would say. I wonder if anyone would care.
I thought that getting this money was a dream come true. I forgot that dreams could turn into nightmares. People used to avoid me because I was bigger than them, looked meaner than them, and wouldn't take any of their crap- because I made sure I couldn't be a victim. Now, they avoid me because they think I'm some kind of thug, that I'll beat them up and steal their wallet. The only time people talk to me is when they want something. They think that I'm too stupid to know that they're trying to play me, because I don't have a fancy piece of paper saying that I'm educated. Well, fuck them.
I start to walk again, feeling a bit like I'm in one of them soap operas, like my mom used to watch before her accident. I snort at the thought, and stumble. I look down, it looks like I tripped over something- no, someone. A kid looks back up at me. He looks scared.
"S-s-sorry, mister." I wave it off.
"Nah. My fault." I look at him a little closer. He looks like he's twelve, maybe thirteen. He's skinny as hell, and I can see some bruises on his arms, like someone grabbed him and shook him. I know what kind of bruises that leaves- I've had them myself, more than once. He starts to get up, and I reach down to help him. He flinches, like he expects me to whack him or something. He probably does, actually.
"Hey, kid, when was the last time you ate?" Standing, he looks even skinnier. I don't think he'll make it too much longer out here, there's already frost on the ground. I've seen sturdier kids than him freeze to death.
He shrugs, and I can't help it. "Come on, then, I'll buy you a burger." He looks nervous, but the offer of food is too much for him to refuse. I knew it would be. I keep talking.
"You got a name, kid?"
"Yeah, I'm Jesse."
"Nice to meet ya, Jesse. I'm Shane." He looks like he recognizes me, sort of. Probably used a newspaper with my picture in it as a blanket once or twice. Or maybe he just recognizes me as one of his own.
There's a diner nearby that's almost identical to Nan's. It's called Frannie's. I sit there, thinking, while he gulps down his burger and fries. He's been on his own long enough to cover his food defensively, like he expects someone to steal it from him. Looking at him is bringing back memories, things better left dead. Things he's probably been through, or will be through by the time he's done. Maybe he'll be lucky and survive, like I did. Maybe...
Maybe he shouldn't have to settle with just surviving. Maybe he should get a chance to live.
"Hey, kid, you got a place to stay?
"What?" He's confused, now. I don't blame him, I'm a little confused, too.
"It's just that, I know what it's like out there, and I got left a place, and it's got a spare room..." I trail off. I'm not sure what I'm doing. But the kid seems interested. Suspicious, but interested.
"What do ya want?" I knew this question would come up. I would have asked the same thing.
"I want..." What do I want? Company? Someone to talk to? To feel like I'm making a difference? To not feel so damned guilty for having money when he doesn't? "I want to keep you from ending up like most of the people I know, like I coulda been. Help someone who deserves it."
He snorts. I'm not surprised. When you live like he does, you never seem to deserve anything, except maybe the occasional beating or worse.
"Look. If you come and stay for a while, you'll get a roof over your head and regular meals, and I'll get to feel like I'm making a difference to the world, or something. Besides," I look him over, "winter's coming, and I'd feel like shit if you froze when I coulda helped you out."
He thinks it over. "No strings? And I could leave any time?"
I nod.
"Hell, you want to leave, and I'll personally drive you anywhere you want." He's quiet for a moment, but in the end, it's too good to refuse.
We walk over to my car, parked in the same place I always park on these trips. His eyes get wide as he looks at it. I did the same thing when I first saw it- it's an old Corvette, and it's a beauty. I unlock the doors, and he climbs in. I buckle up, start the car, and put it in gear, but don't move. He looks at me, and rolls his eyes when I tell him to put on his seatbelt.
"You know, I never thought I'd be lucky enough to ever see a car like this close up- never mind ride in it."
I chuckle when he says this.
Luck's a strange thing, you know. Sometimes, you're lucky to make it through alive. And then, sometimes, fate really decides to do a turn. Maybe it's all some kind of grand scheme, or maybe it's chance. All I know is, for the first time since I was ten, it feels like I'm going home.
15
