On the Other Side of the Bridge (21 page)

“If by some chance you can't come up with the money, do you think we could stay with one of your friends?” Lonnie asked.

“That ain't gonna work, buddy. If we could've stayed with them, I wouldn't have brought you to this flea bag motel. But they got their families. They ain't got no room for us.”

Choosing his words carefully, Lonnie said, “I only have a few days of school left before the semester ends, and it wouldn't be a problem for me to transfer to another school in January.”

His dad sat up. “What are you getting at?”

“Well, at one time you were thinking about us moving to Abilene. We could drive there tomorrow and stay with your parents. I'd miss a few days of school, but we're not doing a whole lot right now, with Friday being the last day before the Christmas break.”

“No! I'm not gonna go back there and grovel at their feet, begging for scraps.”

“Dad, I don't get it. You were thinking about doing that at Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, but you saw how they treated me. I'll always be the
burro
of the family. I don't wanna go back to Abilene till I can show them that I don't need their help.”

There was a knock at the door, followed by a voice that said, “Marsville Police.”

Lonnie's dad invited the two officers in and gave them a detailed account of what happened.

“We heard their names,” Lonnie said, thinking he had an important clue that would help the police catch the robbers. “One guy's name is Carl and the other one's name is Dewayne.”

“Carl Muncie and Dewayne Smalls,” one of officers said, deflating Lonnie's excitement.

“You know who they are?” Lonnie's dad asked.

“Yeah, they're a couple of drifters who've been hitting the area. So far, they haven't hurt anyone. They just take what they want and go. We've been trying to catch them, but they work pretty fast.”

The second officer added, “All we can tell you is that we'll step up patrol here in the east side. Hopefully we can stop them before they decide to do something really stupid.”

After the police left, Lonnie's dad opened the fridge, took out a can of beer and sat in a chair. “First thing tomorrow, I'll get our phones deactivated,” he said. “The only thing is, the phone store's not gonna replace our phones for free, and I ain't got the money to pay for new ones.” He shook his head in disgust. “I ain't got money to pay for nothing.”

“But you're going to sell some of our things tomorrow,” Lonnie said. “We made pretty good money from our yard sale, and our furniture's worth a lot more than the stuff we sold then.”

His dad replied bitterly, “Or maybe I'll just stand on a street corner with a cardboard sign that says HOMELESS. PLEASE HELP. GOD BLESS.”

L
ONNIE TRIED TO REMAIN FOCUSED
on his studies, despite not knowing where he would be spending the night. He bowed his head, while pretending to read a book, and asked God to help his dad raise the money and also to help him find a job.

At one time, he might have confided in Axel about what they were going through, but now they seemed like total strangers.

Yvette asked him how he was doing, and he told her he was doing fine. She said good and walked away. Lonnie knew she was only being polite. She wasn't really interested in him, especially not after he saw her making out with Michael de Luna on the stairwell.

During passing period, Jo Marie reminded Lonnie of the Youth Christmas Party being held at the church Sunday night. A party would certainly be a lot more fun than sitting in their motel room watching TV. He told her he would try to make it.

When his dad picked him up from school, the first thing Lonnie asked was, “Were you able to sell our furniture?”

He drove away, staring straight ahead with both hands on the wheel.

“Were you?”

“Yeah, I sold some of it.”

“And?”

He slapped the steering wheel. “I got eighty-seven bucks! That's it. People treated me like I was some kinda crook trying to sell stolen merchandise.”

Looking at his disheveled appearance, Lonnie could believe it.

“I had to put gas in the car, so there went a good chunk of the money. And then I had to buy a disposable cell phone that I'll have to use till I can afford a better one.”

“Do you have enough money left for us to stay at the motel tonight?” Lonnie asked.

“Yeah, but what are we gonna do tomorrow? And the next day? And the day after that?” he asked, his face haggard with worry. “I got our clothes and things in the trunk. I had to move us out of our room 'cause I couldn't pay for it by noon, and I didn't sell nothing till after one o'clock. I guess I could still go back and check us in again, but that place just ain't safe.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“I don't know. Maybe Gilly will let us sleep in his house on the floor or something.”

Lonnie had an idea, but he couldn't remember the man's name. Mercer? Murphy? He had entered the name and number in his phone, but now it was gone. Marlow? Martin? Marriott. That's it! Marriott, as in the hotel chain.

“Dad, I think I know somebody who can help us.” Lonnie told him about his visit with Mr. Treviño and his
suggestion that they contact Mr. Marriott at the Helping Hand.

“Why are you talking to a teacher about our problems? You ain't got no business spilling family secrets.”

“Dad, we need help.”

“Well, I ain't gonna go to no shelter, I can tell you that right now.”

“So you'd rather sleep on Gilly's cold floor? You told me he doesn't even want us staying with them. Or maybe you think we ought to sleep under the I-27 bridge with Moses.”

His dad didn't answer.

“I really think we should check out the Helping Hand. Mr. Treviño seems to feel that it's an okay place, and I trust him. Please?”

His dad continued to drive in silence. Finally, when he stopped at a light, he asked, “Where is it?”

“Mr. Treviño said it's downtown on Main Street.”

His dad turned the car around and they headed to the shelter.

As soon as he pulled into the parking lot, mobs of homeless men flocked around his car.

“Hey, partner, can you take me to my sister's house?”

“Amigo! Amigo! How about giving me a lift to Michigan Avenue?”

“The bus is running late, and I gotta get to the unemployment office before it closes.”

Lonnie's dad shooed them away, and the men scattered like pigeons, but not before cussing him out for not giving them a ride.

“I don't know about this, buddy,” he said warily, staring at the brown building.

Lonnie wasn't sure if he had made the right decision, either. When Mr. Treviño told him about the Helping Hand, he envisioned a nice, clean place where staff members with cheerful smiles would be ready to welcome them with open arms.

Instead, they saw lots of dirty, smelly, homeless people, mostly men, milling about the front doors of the shelter. Some sat on the railings with their legs dangling. Others walked up and down the steps, waiting for the doors to open. Many of them passed the time by talking to one another, but others stared blankly with glazed eyes.

And there was smoking. Smoking. Smoking. Almost everyone had a cigarette in their hand. As destitute as these people were, they somehow found the means to support their habit.

It frightened Lonnie to be there, but he didn't say anything. He was the one who was insistent on going to the shelter. Even if they found another place to spend the night, they would eventually have to come back here. So he gritted his teeth and kept his head down, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

At four o'clock, the doors opened, and everyone made their way inside.

The first thing Lonnie noticed when he walked in was how clean the shelter was. The floors and walls were spotless and gave off a strong smell of lemon-scented disinfectant. Lonnie and his dad walked through a metal detector. After that, they were told to sign their names in a book sitting on a table.

“Are you first-timers?” the man at the table asked Lonnie's dad.

“Yeah, we're here to see … what's the man's name, buddy?”

“Mr. Marriott.”

“Okay, but since you're first-timers, I need you to go to intake,” the man said.

“What's that?” Lonnie's dad asked.

“That's where they take down your information. It's right over there.”

“Can't we just talk to Mr. Marriott?”

The man snapped his fingers and pointed to the intake center. “Come on, pal. You're holding up the line.”

They walked to the counter where a woman asked if she could help them.

“We're here to see Mr. Marriott,” Lonnie's dad told her.

“Does he know you're coming?” she asked.

“He's expecting us,” Lonnie said.

She picked up the phone receiver and asked Lonnie's dad, “What's your name?”

“Um … can you tell Mr. Marriott that Lonnie Rodríguez and his dad are here?” Lonnie asked. “Tell him I was Mr. Treviño's student.”

The woman punched a button on the cradle and waited. “Mr. Marriott? I've got a boy and a man here who say they've got an appointment to see you.”

“We don't have an appointment,” Lonnie said. “Please tell him that Mr. Treviño sent us here.”

“The boy says that a Mr. Treviño told him to come here. Yes, sir. I'll do it right away.” The woman hung up. “Okay, go down that hallway. It's the last door on the left.”

They started toward Mr. Marriott's office, but he stepped out to greet them. Mr. Marriott was a heavy-set man with thinning white hair and a friendly face.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” he said, “although I wish it was under better circumstances.”

He invited them into his office, and Lonnie and his dad sat in the two chairs facing his desk.

“Adam Treviño speaks very highly of you, Lonnie,” Mr. Marriott said. “He also shared some things about what you've been going through. This is why we have the Helping Hand, to assist people such as yourselves who are struggling.”

“We don't plan to stay here long,” Lonnie's dad told him. “We got robbed of all our money, but I'm gonna get an unemployment check in a couple of weeks. Then I can find us another place.”

“That's exactly the right attitude to have,” Mr. Marriott said. “While we're here to help the indigent and the needy, the Helping Hand isn't meant to be a comfortable place. We provide shelter, but this isn't a flop house.”

Although his face was cheerful, and his voice was calm, Mr. Marriott spoke with authority. He didn't look like a man who could be intimidated easily. Lonnie was sure he could be tough, especially when dealing with some of those scary people he had seen.

“We're not going to try to rush you out of here, Mr. Rodríguez. You decide how long you want to stay, but let me explain our policies.” Mr. Marriott glanced at Lonnie. “We have family rooms for women and their children, but we don't have a children's section per se. Ordinarily we'd call Child Protective Services to put Lonnie in foster care, where he would stay until you can find something more suitable. But your son's at the age where we could go
either way. I'll let him stay with you in the men's dormitory, provided you keep an eye on him at all times.”

“You don't have to worry about that,” Lonnie's dad told him.

“There's also a ten-dollar charge per night,” Mr. Marriott said. “You can pay for your stay, or you can work it off. That's what some of our clients do. Almost every worker here is homeless, from the attendant at the table where you signed in, to the clerk at the intake center. The cooks and the servers in the cafeteria, most of them are homeless, too.”

“I don't mind working,” Lonnie's dad said. “Like I told Lonnie, it ain't that I don't wanna work. I just can't find nobody who'll hire me.”

“Well, if you prefer to work for your stay, we can certainly find something for you to do,” Mr. Marriott said. “As you know, our doors open at four, but everyone is expected to be out of the shelter by six the next morning. We want our clients up no later than five so they can shower, get dressed, eat breakfast and then be on their way.”

“Where do they go once they leave here?” Lonnie's dad asked.

“Again, the Helping Hand is not a flop house,” Mr. Marriott reiterated without answering the question. “We don't want our clients spending all day here, doing nothing. We do make exceptions, though. The sick and the elderly can stay. So can anyone who's attending our in-house drug-treatment programs. But for the most part, we expect our clients to go out and look for jobs.”

Lonnie found out later that most homeless people at the Helping Hand didn't spend the day job-hunting. At six o'clock, they spread over the downtown area to
panhandle. Or they might go down the river bottoms to homeless encampments. Others staked out their spots under bridges or street corners with their cardboard signs.