It had felt as if Dominic was at the bottom of a barrel looking up and out at a successful world. Then his father had died, a man dear to him and one of his best friends in this life. Sadly, the thought of ending his own life—how it would be a practical escape—had passed through his mind so often it was now a regular but unwelcome friend.
Dominic sat down on a park bench that looked out toward a small pond. A hundred yards away, young children tossed bits of bread into the pond, and the subsequent duck frenzy brought laughter from them, catching Dominic’s attention. The laughter was coming from two young boys: a smaller boy, perhaps two years of age, and an older boy about six. The toddler and the six-year-old, possibly brothers, were standing under a willow tree whose shade fell over the edge of the pond, darkening the water. The older boy broke off pieces of bread and handed them to the younger one, allowing him to toss it directly into the fury of the ducks. Wild quacking and flapping wings ensued as the animals battled for each little scrap. About ten feet away, a woman was sitting on a blanket watching the boys. The family visual brought a bittersweet smile to his face.
Interrupting Dominic’s reverie, a small girl’s voice came from behind him. “Daddy, watch this duck! Will it bite me?” To his surprise, it sounded like Cassie, his three-year-old daughter. He turned around quickly, but no one was there. “Daddy? Where are you?” he heard from his right. He turned back toward the boys. Was the voice coming from them? No. Neither one was talking, only laughing.
Dominic placed his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. With his face cradled in the darkness of his hands, he could see the sun shining red through his fingers. In his mind, he pleaded in prayer. Why can’t I be the man I want to be—Lord, why am I going through this? What reason could there possibly be?
Silence. His faith in God had always served him well, but in recent months the darkness of doubt had crept in like a creature tightening its tentacled grip on his mind. Doubt, fear and the certain knowledge that his life was plummeting in a spiral had chiseled away at his faith, making him feel as if the here and now were all there was.
Dominic stood up and began his slow walk back to work. The bright sun parted the clouds but did nothing to clear his troubled heart. He walked past an elderly couple enjoying each other’s company and felt anger about the life they had that he would never have—two lives lived out together, possibly with children and grandchildren and a loving home.
Dominic took several quick deep breaths, trying to purge the melancholy. “Daddy? Daddy! I love you!” he heard Cassie yelling from behind him. His heart leaped and he jerked around but, again, there was no one there. What is happening to me? He quickened his pace, trying to shake it off. Must get back to work—get my mind off all this.
Dominic walked into the office and sat down at his desk. On his keyboard there was a Post-it. Dominic, please stop by my office when you get back – Trudy.
Trudy was his boss and the vice president of the company. As he made his way to her office, a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. He rapped lightly on Trudy’s office door.
“Come in, Dominic. Can you close the door, please?”
Not a good sign.
“Hi, Trudy. You wanted to see me?” he said, trying to inject some cheer into his voice but missing the mark.
“Dominic, I’m afraid I have some bad news. I’m so sorry…but I regret to inform you we have to let you go.”
Stunned, Dominic said nothing for a moment. “Let me go—why?”
Trudy’s voice dropped. “I’ve been asked to lay off five people immediately due to overriding budget concerns. Unfortunately, your position is one of the less essential jobs…I’m so sorry.”
Dominic felt a clenching of his stomach. “I see.” He looked down at his hands and then back up at Trudy prior to asking the obvious question. “When?”
“Policy states that when we let employees go, we have to see them out immediately for security reasons. You’ll be paid in full for the entire day…and I’ve talked Jeff into paying you for the remainder of the week, but that’s the best I can do. I’m sorry.”
The voice inside his head screamed at her. You’re not sorry, and you don’t give a damn about me or my well-being! But Dominic restrained himself.
Trudy pressed on and stood up, saying, “I’ll see you to your desk so that you can collect your things, and then I’ll walk you out.”
From administrative assistant for the company’s vice president to being escorted out? And all without any provocation of my own.
Trudy escorted him to his desk, watching him as he collected his meager belongings and loaded them into a cardboard box. They made their way to the elevator and, after riding in silence to the ground floor, walked to the front door of the office building.
Dominic handed her his security key as she wished him well, stating she would be happy to provide a reference if he needed one. He then walked through the revolving glass door, stepped down three steps and sat down on the cement, placing his box beside him.
Susan stood in front of him. Dominic, you’re a loser. You have always been a loser. You just never really knew it until now.
In an attempt to clear this visual, he closed his eyes hard and then reopened them again. Good. She was gone. Afraid he might embarrass himself, Dominic stood up, grabbed his box and walked the three blocks back to his studio apartment.
INSIDE HIS APARTMENT, he stood at the hallway mirror, assessing himself. Dark hair and light brown skin, a characteristic handed down from his Cuban father; pale blue eyes from his mother. Tall, dark and handsome, Susan used to call him. And now what am I?
“What the fuck am I?!” He screamed at the image in front of him and slammed the base of his fists on the mirror, shattering it. Surprised at himself, he looked down at his hands—not even a scratch on them. On the floor at his feet were shards of glass, though most remnants of the mirror remained stuck in the frame, badly cracked. Wonderful. Seven years of bad luck. Let’s hope this year counts as time served.
Depression was swallowing him up. Its tentacles were no longer merely tightening around him but were fully ensnaring his vulnerable flesh like tiger talons, holding him like prey. Dominic sat on a chair next to the shattered mirror, staring at the front door. He saw his girls enter through it; they talked to him, played games in front of him and left. Next, he saw his ex-wife standing before him, telling him how much she loved him but then recanting it. The evening passed as Dominic sat motionless, staring at the door and fighting back the images.
“Dominic? Dominic—are you okay? Can you hear me, buddy?” he heard the voice but didn’t see the person speaking. “Dominic?” He knew that voice…
Dominic’s vision faded in and out. Once his focus was clear, he saw his neighbor Stan standing before him. “Are you okay?” Stan pleaded. “The front door was ajar, so I poked my head in. You were just sitting here, staring.”
Dominic said nothing.
“Dom? Talk to me. You all right?”
Again, Dominic said nothing. Stan grabbed hold of Dominic’s shoulders and shook them gently. “Dominic—are you okay?” Stan was shouting at him now.
Dominic turned his head slowly to focus on Stan. “No. I’m not okay.”
“How long have you been sitting here?” Stan asked, concern rising in his voice.
Dominic took his time answering. “I don’t know. A while…since I got home from work.”
“And what time was that?” Stan asked, worried.
Dominic stared blankly at Stan, finally answering in a flat voice, “Don’t know. Maybe one o’clock?”
“One o’clock? That was six hours ago. What’s wrong, Dominic—tell me what happened?”
“Got laid off again.” Dominic’s voice remained flat, his eyes lacking emotion.
“Oh god, man. Buddy—I’m so sorry.”
Dominic shook his head slowly from side to side. “Don’t care. Need to go for a walk,” he said. Then he stood up and walked out the door, leaving his
friend standing in his apartment.
In the darkness, Dominic wandered down the street to the park and sat on one of the benches overlooking the pond. Hours passed. Finally, emotionally drained and exhausted, he lay down on the bench and fell asleep.
He awoke to the sound of a voice calling out to him in the early morning hours. “Excuse me, sir—got any spare change?” Dominic opened his eyes. There stood a disheveled man looking down at him, a worn and dirty wool blanket wrapped around him.
Dominic laughed sardonically at the man. “Do I look like I have any spare change, you stupid fuck? Can’t you see I’m sleeping on a fuckin’ park bench?”
The stranger winced. “Jeez, man. I was just curious.” Then he spit on the ground next to the park bench and, turning his back to Dominic, grumbled, “Loser.” He wandered off, mumbling to himself as Dominic fell back into a deep sleep.
Hours later, someone nudged him. “Sir? Please sir, wake up.” Dominic was startled awake and looked up into the eyes of a police officer standing over him. The officer shook him by one shoulder gently. “I’m sorry, but you can’t sleep in the park after dark. Do you have a home, sir?”
Dominic looked at the man as if he were speaking a foreign language. This wasn’t making sense. “Cassie? Have you seen my Cassie? Allison? Where are they? Where are my girls?”
“Sir—why don’t you come with me, okay?” The officer had a kind face and was clearly concerned for him. “Do you have any ID on you?”
“What?” Dominic didn’t understand the question. “ID?”
“Yes, an ID. Do you have any identification?”
Dominic was just not getting this. “I don’t know…I don’t understand—what’s this all about?”
The police officer helped Dominic up off the bench and patted him down, finding a wallet in his back left pocket. He pulled the wallet out and looked at his ID. “Dominic Vermúdez? All right if I call you Dominic?” he asked tentatively, a smile crossing his face.
“Fine—yes,” Dominic answered blankly.
“You been drinking, Dominic?” the officer asked.
“No.”
The policeman thought something was a bit off. The business-casual look of this man seemed incongruous with his choice of bed for the night, so the officer continued probing. “Can you tell me why you were sleeping on this bench, Dominic?”
Dominic appeared as if he was struggling to recall the events leading up to this moment. “I don’t know—I really can’t remember.”
Wrapping one arm around Dominic’s shoulders, the officer helped him start walking to the police car. “Come on, Dominic, let’s go. We’ll get you a meal and a place to stay—how’s that sound?”
“Okay,” Dominic answered. He didn’t care one way or the other, allowing the man to take charge and lead the way to his cruiser.
Inside the police car, the officer wanted to know more about Dominic. “It says here on your license that your home is in Winter Park. That right?”
Dominic’s head was clearing up a little. “No. I sold the house. Wife divorced me.”
The officer’s face fell. “Oh. I’m sorry, buddy.”
The two sat in the cruiser, quiet for a moment. Then the policeman spoke up, looking over at Dominic. “I have a friend who runs a shelter over on West Central—The Coalition for the Homeless. I’ll drop you off there, and they can help get you squared away. Do you have any money?”
Dominic honestly couldn’t remember if he had money or not. “No. I don’t think so.” In his mind, his entire life felt like a muddy mess. Compounding this lack of clarity, he continued seeing visions of his girls and wife in his head.
“Okay. Well, it costs a dollar a day there. I’ll give them a few dollars for you.”
“Thank you,” Dominic said, and he was truly grateful for the officer’s kindness in that moment.
Upon arrival at the shelter, the officer talked with Shannon Richter, the center’s director. Ms. Richter walked Dominic to her office, asking him to sit. She then asked him what had happened over the last few hours. As Dominic worked to chain his thoughts together, recent events began to resurface. He told the director about his father dying, about losing his job twice and his wife leaving him.
When Dominic was finished, the director looked over at him in sincere sympathy. “I am so sorry for your losses. Believe it or not, there are a great number of people just like you who fall into similar circumstances.”
Dominic just looked at her. First doubt and then disbelief spread over his face.
Ms. Richter clarified. “Well, not exactly the same. But everyone here has a story, and every story is important. My job here is to help you in any way I can to overcome your current circumstances. Why don’t you spend the night? You must be hungry. Dinner was at seven, but I think we can drum up something for you in the kitchen. In the morning, you can meet with one of our counselors, and we can figure out just how to help you.”
The rest of the night was spent walking around the center, attempting to get a grasp on the last twenty-four hours. By 9:00 p.m., Dominic was lying on a cot next to an elderly man named Fred. Fred had three children and two grandchildren, all living in Chicago. He had lost his home when his social security had been cut off and had no pension to speak of. One thing led to another and Fred had come to Florida in a final attempt to make a life for himself, ending up homeless instead.
DOMINIC WAS AWAKENED at 4:00 a.m. by a baby crying three rows over from his cot. Unable to return to sleep, he lay on the cot, staring up at the white ceiling tiles, ruminating over just how his life had come to this. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this low. While he tried to sort out his thoughts, the rising sun slowly broke through the windows along the eastern wall, illuminating the room and casting light on the reality that lay before him.
At 9:05 that morning he called Susan, asking her permission to store a few boxes at her apartment. She agreed, under the condition that he would have them out within the next six months. “Look, Dom, I just can’t offer you a place to stay. I wouldn’t want to get the girls’ hopes up, and this apartment is so small—it’s crowded here already. But if you want to join us for dinner each night…” She stopped abruptly, unsure she was doing the right thing.
“I appreciate the offer, Susan. Perhaps I could join you for breakfast instead? I could shower in the morning and then walk the girls to school and get on with my job hunt. I wouldn’t leave anything laying around. I promise.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, a dead silence that felt long and uncomfortable. Susan was obviously contemplating the situation. She knew it would be healthy for the girls to see their father and good for Dominic as well, but she just wasn’t sure she could handle it all.
“We’ll discuss your walking the girls to school later…but I swear, Dom, you leave your crap around here and you’re out.”
Dominic breathed a sigh of relief. He knew what a fine line he was walking. “I promise you, Susan. You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Oh, I doubt that. But listen, I don’t want the girls to know the details of your situation, okay? That would be too much for them to take in right now. So if they ask, you’re staying with Aunt Ethel—understood?”
“Understood. Thank you sw—Susan.” He had almost said sweetheart. That would have gone over like a shit balloon. Before he accidentally said something to make her change her mind, Dominic hung up the phone.
At 10:30 that morning, he met with a career counselor who reviewed the specifics of his resume and discussed possible job options available to him. Mrs. Garner—according to the name plate on her desk—had the warmth of a snow pea and was all about the facts.
“Are there any jobs you will not do?” she asked.
The cynic in him answered, “Yes, any that don’t pay.”
Mrs. Garner was not amused. She looked over the top of her half-height spectacles at him, the chain from her glasses hanging around the back of her neck. Dominic had a sudden urge to see just how ti
ghtly that chain could be tightened.
“No. No jobs I won’t do. I’ll take anything.”
“Can you pass a criminal background check?” she asked, doubting an affirmative response.
“Oh…I suppose.”
She was losing patience. “Yes or no? I am not going to stick my nose out for you only to find that you can’t pass a background check.”
This woman was tiresome, and he was too beaten up to continue jerking her around. “Yes. I can pass a background check.”
She looked down at her desk and studied some papers, and then she looked back up at him with critical eyes. “Okay. Says here that your psychological exam determined that you have hallucinations at times?”
“I did—yes. During my breakdown. Dr. Tyler says it was stress-induced psychosis.”
“And when exactly was the last time you experienced hallucinations?”
“Just before I entered the program.”
Mrs. Garner shuffled through some more papers. She was grating on his nerves. Whatever happened to the Paperwork Reduction Act? Good Lord…
“I have an opening for a custodian at Lake Mont Elementary,” she declared curtly. “You might—”
Dominic interrupted her. “Lake Mont? My older daughter is in first grade there, and my three-year-old attends preschool in the annex. That would be wonderful!”
Mrs. Garner continued dryly. “Very well then, I will express your interest. Report to Rebecca Shelton, Principal of Lake Mont, at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. Make sure you are showered and well-groomed. She will hold your interview, and you can fill out the papers for the background check there. You will also be expected to perform a drug test—can you pass a drug test, Mister Vermuez?” she stumbled over his name.
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