I’m up bright and early the next morning. I grab a quick breakfast and start pounding the pavement again. Knocking on doors, introducing myself, handing out cards. I don’t stop until lunchtime. My phone hasn’t rung yet today, but I figure it will take time to build up a good business. I’m patient.
I keep going all afternoon too. By five o’clock my phone hasn’t rung once. What’s going on? It’s the end of the day and I didn’t get any work. What am I doing wrong?
I need more coverage, I realize.
Then I have another idea: Scooby.
Scooby isn’t hard to find. He haunts the same turf day after day. If he’s not on his regular corner, he’s either at church or at the shelter. I track him down around six o’clock.
“Walter,” says Scooby. “Nice to see you! How’s it going?”
“Listen, Scooby,” I say. “How would you like a job?”
His eyes get wide.
“A job? Seriously?” he says.
I explain what I’m doing. Then I tell him my offer: I’ll pay him twenty bucks to deliver a hundred business cards for me.
Scooby smiles.
“I used to make two hundred grand a year,” he says. “Now twenty bucks sounds like a fortune.”
“Will you do it, Scooby?”
“Of course I will, Walter. It sounds perfect. If a man can’t make a living, he has no pride. I was starting to get pretty depressed. You know what I mean?”
“Do I ever,” I say. “You’re going to need some clean clothes. I brought these for you.” I give him my other pair of jeans and my last clean shirt. “Make sure you look presentable. Wash up and get a shave.”
“No problem.”
I give Walter the business cards. I even pay him in advance. Then we shake hands.
“If this thing takes off like I think it will,” I tell Scooby, “there’s a job in it for you. A real job. It will pay real money too. So don’t let me down, Scoobs.”
“I won’t, Walter,” he says.
I sleep like a baby that night, mostly because I’m so tired.
The next morning, I’m back at it. Knocking on doors, drumming up business. My phone rings at nine thirty. It’s another job. I get two more jobs before lunchtime. I get four more in the afternoon.
At the end of the day, I’ve got one hundred thirty bucks in my pocket. And that’s after I filled my tank with gas.
I go find Scooby again.
“I don’t know what you’re saying to people out there, but it works. You got me a lot of work today,” I tell him.
“It’s easy,” he says. “If I’m talking to a woman, I just tell them you look like Tiger Woods. If it’s a man, I tell them you’re the next Donald Trump. Now everyone wants to meet you.”
“Scooby, you just earned yourself a steak dinner,” I say.
I treat us both at a steak house I know. Last time I was here, it was with my moms. We were celebrating my graduation from community college. I try not to think about that. It makes me too sad. Besides, I have something new to celebrate.
After we’ve eaten, Scooby pats his stomach and gives me a huge smile.
“Thanks, Walter,” says Scooby. “I feel so good, I hate to go back to that shelter.”
“I know what you mean,” I say. “Hopefully you won’t be living there too much longer.”
And I won’t be sleeping in my car much longer either, I think. Scooby and I shake hands.
“You want to work again tomorrow?” I ask him.
“You bet,” he says.
“Great. I’ll meet you at the shelter at eight am.”
“I’ll be there,” Scooby says. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Time is passing quickly now. A whole day will fly by without me even noticing. That’s how busy I am. The phone just doesn’t stop ringing. It turns out a reliable courier was just what this town needed.
Just two weeks have passed since I delivered that first package. In that time, I’ve earned over twelve hundred dollars. I gave Scooby a raise and bought him some new clothes. I bought clothes for myself too. But not a suit. People don’t want a courier who looks slick. They want a guy who looks like he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.
So, I bought myself a uniform at a professional supply store. It’s a dark blue jumpsuit with lots of pockets. I need the pockets because I have to carry a lot of things—a receipt book, an order book, a few pens and my cell phone, to name just a few. I even have a name tag that says WALTER in large red letters. Underneath that, it has the name of my business. People take one look at me and they know I’m serious. And that makes them trust me.
At the end of every day, I meet up with Scooby at a coffee shop. I got him a uniform too. So we sit in our blue jumpsuits and sip coffee. We talk about how things went that day and how we can do better. I’ve got Scooby delivering packages now too. He looks completely different. Even though he’s still sleeping at the shelter, he looks full of pride. He got a haircut and some new glasses. And now that he’s eating regularly, he doesn’t look sick all the time.
I’m still sleeping in my car. But now I’m just doing it to save money. Soon enough, I’ll be able to get my own place again. I can’t wait for that. I’ll be off the street. And I am never, ever going back.
Now it’s Monday, the start of my third week working for myself. I’ve been at it all morning. I’m sitting in my car, having a donut and taking a break. I’m in a part of town I know well. Across the street is the pawnshop where I sold my suit. And in my wallet is the pawn ticket.
I get out of my car and cross the street. In the window there are all kinds of things people have sold—a bowling ball, a computer, a tennis racket, a pair of earrings.
There’s a mannequin too. And on the mannequin is my suit. At his feet is my Underwood briefcase. I never actually carried any papers in that thing. But it felt good to have it at my side. It made me look serious. Almost like a lawyer or something.
I take the pawn ticket out and look at it. Then I look up at the suit again. If I want it back, all I have to do is fork over four hundred bucks. Then it’s mine again.
I think once more about how hard Moms worked to buy these things for me. All she ever wanted was to see me succeed. Part of me wants to buy it back just because it was a present from her.
But what would I do with it? The suit would just hang in my closet. I’d never wear it. The briefcase would just take up space. I don’t need these things anymore. And if I hang on to that four hundred bucks, I’m that much closer to affording my own place again.
I remember what Yolanda said to me once. I told her the world judged a man based on his appearance. She said that what you have inside is more important. I can see more than ever how right she was. I’m wearing clothes I wouldn’t have been caught dead in a month ago. But I feel better than I’ve ever felt before. That feeling is something money can’t buy. It’s called self-respect.
I’ve been trying not to think about Yolanda. Ever since the night I stood her up, I’ve pushed her to the back of my mind. I haven’t even been back to the postal center. It’s just too painful to think of what I gave up.
Sure, we only had one date. I’m not saying I was in love with her. But she is definitely a special person. Someone I really would have liked to get to know. And who knows what might have happened down the road? We had a lot of the same goals. We could have made a good team.
I look at my reflection in the window of the pawnshop. What was I thinking by just not showing up for our date? That was the stupidest thing I could have done. I know I was afraid of losing her by telling her the truth about myself. But I should have tried anyway. There was a chance, no matter how small. She might have understood. But just blowing her off like that guaranteed I would have no chance at all. I acted like a loser.
That’s it. I can’t spend the rest of my life regretting one dumb move. Either I forget about her forever, or I make it right.
And I don’t want to forget about her. Every time
I think of how she looked that night, it’s like a knife in my chest. That beautiful yellow dress, her deep, dark eyes, her gentle smile.
That’s it. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to her house tonight to apologize. Maybe she’ll slam the door on me. Maybe her dad will break my neck. Well, maybe not. He is a minister, after all. But he’s still a father. And fathers are protective of their little girls.
I have a long list of deliveries to make. After that, I’m going straight to her place. This might just be the scariest thing I’ve ever done. But it feels like the right thing too. She deserves an apology. And what happens next will be up to her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
That evening, I pull up in front of Yolanda’s house. I park in the street. I don’t even dare use the driveway. I sit there for a moment and look at the front door. I won’t lie. I’m scared. Okay, not just scared. Terrified. But I know I have to do the right thing here. If nothing else, I need to let Yolanda know that I am sorry. So I get out of the car.
That walk to her front door? Now I know what a condemned man must feel on the way to his execution.
Parnell answers my knock. He stares at me like I’m a Martian.
“Can I help you?” he says finally.
“Hello, Mr. Jefferson,” I say. “Is Yolanda home? There’s something I need to say to her.”
“Huh,” he says. Parnell is holding a newspaper in one hand. As I watch, he rolls it up into a tube and uses it to smack his other hand. I wonder if he’s thinking about hitting me with it. “And what would that be?”
“Ah, well,” I say, “no disrespect intended, but I want to say it to her.”
He looks at me for another few seconds.
Then he nods.
“Okay,” he says. Then he calls over his shoulder. “Baby! Someone here at the door for you.”
“Who is it?” comes Yolanda’s voice.
“You best come see for yourself,” says old Parnell.
After the longest wait of my life, Yolanda comes to the door. She’s only wearing jeans and a sweater, but she’s still the most beautiful woman on the planet. I feel that knife in my chest again. Dang. I really screwed up.
“You gotta be kidding me,” she says. “You?”
“Hello, Yolanda,” I say.
“I’ll be in the living room,” Parnell says. He goes back into the house. But I can still see his shadow on the floor. He’s hiding around the corner. I’m sure he’s going to hear every word of this.
“Who that at the door?” I hear Yolanda’s mom ask.
“It’s that Davis character,” Parnell says.
“Oh,” says Mrs. Jefferson. Then she gets real quiet. Great. So they’re both listening.
“Walter,” Yolanda says, “what happened to you? We had a date. You stood me up.”
“I know. I’m here to apologize,” I say.
“Well, you better be,” Yolanda says, putting one hand on her hip. “First off, I was worried. I thought something happened to you. You just dropped off the face of the earth. You haven’t even been in to check your mail. I thought about calling the police to report you missing!”
“I wasn’t missing,” I say. “Something happened. Something I need to explain.”
“Well, I’m not sure I even want to hear it,” says Yolanda.
“I can’t wait to hear it!” says Parnell from inside the house.
“Shh!” says Mrs. Jefferson.
“Yolanda,” I say, “is there any chance we can talk somewhere a little more private?”
“Uh-uh,” she says. “You got something to say, you say it. Unless you’re ashamed of yourself.”
I take a deep breath.
“Well, I am ashamed of myself,” I say. “I just wanted to let you know something. The reason I didn’t show up that night is because my car got towed.”
“That’s it? That’s your excuse?”
“No,” I say. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Walter, what are you talking about?” says Yolanda.
Here’s the part where I should tell her I’m homeless. But I can’t make myself say it. I’m too ashamed. Or maybe too proud. Whatever. The words just won’t come out of my mouth. So I keep blathering.
“Well, first I lost my car, and then I lost all my money. It was my own fault. I’m not blaming anyone else. I was desperate. I couldn’t even afford to buy you a milkshake. I thought about coming to tell you, but I was afraid of how you might look at me. Kind of like you’re looking at me right now.”
“So you decided you would just leave me waiting rather than be honest?”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I was having a really hard time.
But things are different now. I’ve started my own business. It’s going really well too.”
“Well, I’m very happy for you,” says Yolanda. “Is that it?”
“Yes,” I say. “Wait. I haven’t really apologized yet. I just want to say I know I messed up. So I came here to tell you, from the bottom of my heart. I am really, truly, deeply sorry. You deserve better than that. But I couldn’t go another day without telling you how I feel. I think you’re wonderful, Yolanda, but I understand if you never want to see me again.”
“Are you done now?” she says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m done.”
“Well, you know something, Walter?” says Yolanda. “I do deserve better than that. So goodbye.”
I swallow hard.
“Goodbye,” I say.
She closes the door in my face. I turn around and head back to my car. I keep hoping I’ll hear her door open again. Maybe she’ll call out to me. Tell me she understands. That it’s okay. We can work it out.
But she doesn’t.
I start up my car and drive away. I feel like I just left a piece of myself behind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Another night trying to sleep in the back of my car. Another night of no sleep. All I can think of is the way Yolanda was looking at me. I could see the hurt in her eyes. How could I have screwed up so badly? She was the one thing in my life that was going right, and I had to mess it up. I really must have something wrong with me.
And now she never wants to see me again.
It is a lonely sunrise.
After breakfast, I decide I need to forget about Yolanda. I really have no choice. It’s either that or spend the rest of my life regretting a stupid mistake. You just have to move on sometimes, no matter how lousy it makes you feel.
So it’s time for me to put the next phase of my plan into action.
I drive to the shelter where I’ve stayed many a night. Just walking in the door is depressing. The place reeks like a barn. But I remind myself that I’m not here to stay. I’m here for a higher purpose.
I say hello to the man working the reception desk. Then I go in to the main area, where about twenty people are having breakfast. The food smells and looks terrible. But it’s all some people have to keep from starving to death.
“Hey, everybody,” I say. “Can I have your attention, please?”
Some people ignore me. They think I’m just one more crazy person. Homeless shelters are full of them, after all. But others look at me curiously.
“My name is Walter, and I’d like to offer you some work,” I say. “Would anyone like to earn twenty bucks today?”
Several hands go up right away. Others don’t. You would think that everyone would want to work. But some people are here because they’re mentally ill, or too sick or too old to work. People don’t become homeless by choice. I’ve heard enough stories to know that all it takes is a series of bad breaks. Just like what happened to me. A lot of people have had even worse luck than I have. And imagine being sixty or seventy years old to boot. You can see how life just isn’t fair sometimes.
But there are a number of younger healthy people who just need another chance. And I’m going to give it to them.
“Okay, everyone with their hands up, follow me,” I say.
About ten people get up and follow me. We walk past the guy at the desk, whose jaw is hanging open.
“What’s going on?” he says.
“It’s a brand-new day,” I say. “Opportunity just knocked for these people.”
The guy smiles.
“Amen to that,” he says.
Out on the street, I turn and wait for everyone to catch up. Then we walk in a group to the uniform supply store, just a few blocks away. I’ve already arranged with the owner of this place for a bulk discount. I buy ten T-shirts that say NEV-R-LATE URBAN COURIER. Then I have everyone put them on.
When that’s done, I gather them all on the sidewalk. I hand each person a stack of a hundred business cards. I explain what I want them to do: walk around town and deliver these cards to businesses. Everyone pick a different territory. Be polite. Be respectful. Get in and out, and don’t waste anyone’s time.
“Okay, that’s your job,” I say. “And to show you my heart’s in the right place, I’m going to pay you half in advance. Here’s ten bucks for each of you. Come back when you’re done and I’ll give you another ten.”
I hand them each a ten-dollar bill. From the looks on some of their faces, you would think they just won the lottery. I figure maybe one or two of them will keep the money and throw away the cards. There’s not much I can do about that. But most of them will do what I asked them to do. And they’ll come back for more work again. Those will be my future employees.
“Now,” I say. “Does anyone have any questions?”
“Yes, I have one,” says a voice behind me. “Why did you make my little girl cry?”
For a moment, I don’t even want to turn around. I know that voice. But I do turn. And who is standing there behind me but Parnell Jefferson.
“Mr. Jefferson,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“I decided to follow you last night,” he says. “I know you slept in your car. And I followed you again this morning.”
“You followed me?”
“I needed to know who was coming around my daughter,” he says. “What’s going on with you, Walter?”
That’s it. No more hiding.
The Way It Works Page 4