Lonnie’s mother used to think so. She would constantly nag her husband because he wouldn’t help clean the house.
“I’m not your slave, Richard. A marriage is a partnership, and you need to do your share of the work around here.”
“I do my share. More than my share. You think trucking’s easy? Try it for a week, and see if you still think I don’t do my share of the work.”
“I’m talking about housework, Richard.”
“That’s your responsibility. I don’t do women’s work.”
The motel didn’t have a lobby, only a small office with an EMPLOYEES ONLY sign on the door. Next to the office door was a counter with a bullet-proof glass window and a small arched opening where transactions were conducted.
Around the corner of the building, a green sign with white lettering was screwed onto the wall, listing the Twin Oaks Motel rules:
NO TRESPASSING
NO LOITERING
NO WEAPONS
NO PROSTITUTION
NO DRUG DEALING
NO PUBLIC ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION
If Cousin Rita was to see the sign, Lonnie could imagine her saying, “Oh, my gatos!”
If his mother knew where they were now living, he could picture her turning to his dad and saying, “My God, Richard. What have you done?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHEN THEY LIVED IN THEIR HOUSE, Lonnie could hole up in his room for hours, doing his homework, watching TV, listening to music or talking on the phone. But in their cramped motel room, where they had been staying for the past two weeks, there was no place he could be alone, except for a tiny bathroom he had to share with his dad.
Concentrating on his studies was almost impossible because his dad had the TV on all the time. He would lie on top of his bed, drinking beer, while Lonnie sat at the table, trying to get his assignments done.
Since they didn’t have a stove or a regular oven, their meals consisted mainly of sandwiches and microwaveable foods. On occasion, Lonnie’s dad would send him to the nearby Taco Bell or McDonald’s to pick up something for them to eat.
At one time, Lonnie couldn’t wait for school to end. As soon as classes let out, he would hurry out of the building and race home. Now, Wyatt Middle School had become his only place of refuge, and he dreaded having to be picked up from there, only to be driven back to the hell-hole known as the Twin Oaks Motel.
Axel told Lonnie he had seen a FOR RENT sign in front of his house and wanted to know why he hadn’t mentioned that they had moved.
“We decided to move, that’s all.”
“Oh, yeah. Lots of sad memories there, right?” Axel said sympathetically.
“I guess you could say that.”
“So where are you living now?”
“It’s kind of far,” Lonnie said. “Listen, I’d rather not talk about it ’cause our place is out of district, and I don’t want the office to find out where we live, or they might make me transfer to another school in the middle of the year.”
“Gotcha, man. I won’t say anything.”
Christmas break was coming up, which worried Lonnie because it meant that he would be spending every minute of each day in the motel room with his dad, like prison inmates, with nothing to do.
Hate is too strong a word for how Lonnie felt toward his dad. He didn’t hate him, but he did hate what he was doing to them with the choices he was making.
A perfect solution dangled within his grasp. His dad could still swallow his pride and admit to his family that they needed help. Then they could move to Abilene and live with his parents in their four-bedroom house. They could each have their own room, and Lonnie could go to school with his cousins, while his dad looked for a job, either in Abilene or in nearby towns, like Eastland or Ranger. But each time Lonnie brought up the idea, his dad shot it down.
With each passing day, Lonnie’s resentment toward him continued to grow. His dad had become a fat, pathetic man, always stinking of beer and body odor. He hadn’t shaved for weeks, and his hair had grown down to his shoulders. No wonder he couldn’t find a job. If Lonnie was the boss of a company, he wouldn’t hire him, either.
He recalled a phone conversation he once heard between his mother and his grandma Salinas in which his mother was complaining about her husband.
“We’re drifting apart, Mami. Richard acts like he’s still in high school, and sometimes I feel as if I’m raising two kids instead of one.”
Lonnie now understood what she had been going through. He used to think his dad was real cool. His dad would say a lot of stupid, silly things that would make Lonnie’s mother groan, but they always cracked Lonnie up. Whenever his dad ran errands, he would invite Lonnie to go with him, and he loved to tag along.
They shared common interests: horror movies, TV shows, comic books and sports. His dad had taught him how to play the guitar, and even though Lonnie wasn’t good at it, his dad made him feel as if he was the best musician in the world.
Looking back, Lonnie realized that the reason his dad had been so much fun to be with was because he had turned over all parental responsibilities to his wife. He had been more interested in being Lonnie’s buddy than a dad. But if God had intended for him to be his buddy, he would have made him his age.
What Lonnie needed was a parent who would look after him, who would make sure he was well-taken care of. Yet somewhere along the way, their roles had been reversed. Lonnie had become the dad, and his dad had become the irresponsible, unmotivated, thirteen-year-old.
They weren’t living; they simply existed. They were like zombies, wandering around aimlessly. Without purpose. Without promise. Without hope.
More than once, Lonnie considered calling his grandparents Rodríguez to make them aware of their situation. Yet, despite their living conditions, he couldn’t betray his dad. He couldn’t go behind his back. His dad had gotten them into this mess, and one way or another, he was going to have to get them out of it.
Hoping to find something that would bring him comfort, Lonnie leafed through a Gideon’s Bible he found in the nightstand drawer in their motel room. He thought about church. As much as he hated going there, he had begun to miss it. It may have been merely his desire to escape from his one-room prison cell, but Lonnie felt an urge to return to Mrs. Finley’s Sunday school class. And after Sunday school, he would sit in the sanctuary during the preaching and not sneak off to Catfish Creek.
Lonnie’s grandparents Salinas called. They invited him to dinner and to view Christmas lights. His dad agreed to let him go, but with one stipulation: “Tell them to pick you up at your school, and then have them drive you to Gilly’s house when you’re done. Tell them that I’ll be there all night, jamming with Los Brujos, and that I’ll take you home.”
He didn’t come right out and tell Lonnie to lie to his grandparents. He didn’t have to. Lonnie knew he had to keep their new living quarters a secret from them. One slip up and they would sic CPS on his dad and try to take custody of Lonnie. But no matter how bad things got, living with his grandparents Salinas was not an option he wanted to consider.
His grandparents treated him to a Mexican restaurant called La Paloma Blanca, a place his grandpa claimed served the best enchiladas in town. He was right about that. Or maybe it was that Lonnie hadn’t had a decent meal since Thanksgiving, because he practically licked his plate clean.
He noticed that some of the busboys who worked at the restaurant didn’t appear to be any older than he was. Perhaps he could get a job doing something like that. La Paloma Blanca was too far from the Twin Oaks Motel, but there were other restaurants much closer. Maybe he could find work in one of the nearby fast-food joints. His dad had complained that those places were only interested in hiring kids. Lonnie thought he stood a better chance of finding a job than his dad did. Not only would he be earning money, he would also have something to do during the Christmas break.
After dinner, his grandpa drove them through the R Streets, one of the most affluent neighborhoods in
Marsville. Lonnie’s dad insisted that the R stood for “rich,” but the neighborhood was known as the R Streets because many of the streets began with the letter R: Ramsey Street, Rutger Street, Ravinia Drive, Renaud Circle, Rosen Avenue.
The houses and trees were decorated with bright, colorful lights. All sorts of Santa Clauses were displayed, some standing and waving, others sitting on sleighs being pulled by reindeer. There were lighted candy canes, Christmas trees and holly wreaths. One house had a large sign that said WELCOME TO THE NORTH POLE. Below it, a team of mechanical elves built toys in Santa’s workshop. On other lawns, choirs of angels and nativity scenes were set up.
Looking at Christmas lights saddened Lonnie because it reminded him that they no longer had a house to decorate. Each year, he and his parents would trim the outside of their house with lights. They would also buy the fattest Christmas tree they could find and stand it up in front of their bay window. As Christmas Day neared, the bottom of the tree would begin to fill with presents, and Lonnie could hardly wait to see what he was going to get.
This year, they wouldn’t hang any Christmas lights. They wouldn’t buy a Christmas tree. And for the first time, Lonnie didn’t expect to receive any Christmas presents.
After his grandpa dropped him off at Gilly’s, Lonnie shared his idea of looking for a job with his dad.
“It won’t hurt to try,” he said half-heartedly, thinking that his son wouldn’t have a better chance of finding a job than he did.
The following afternoon, Lonnie’s dad picked him up from school and drove him to the motel, but he didn’t go inside.
“I’m gonna go out for a while,” he said. “Here’s ten bucks. When you get hungry, get yourself something to eat.”
“Where are you going?” Lonnie asked.
“If you need anything, call me,” he said, ignoring Lonnie’s question. “Good luck with your job hunting.”
Lonnie’s only homework assignment was to write an essay titled “How Do You Plan to Spend the Winter Holidays?” He had no idea what he and his dad would be doing during the break, or even where they would be living. So he made up a story about how they were going to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s Day with his cousins in Abilene. For him, that would be the perfect way to spend the holidays.
As soon as Lonnie finished his homework, he headed down the street to Brownie’s Coffee Shop, hoping they might be able to use a busboy or a dishwasher. He had never applied for a job, so he wasn’t sure what to expect.
The cashier greeted him with a pleasant smile and invited him to sit wherever he wanted. When Lonnie told her he was looking for a job, her smile disappeared and she told him to sit on a bench by the entrance.
Lonnie waited. And waited. And waited. Customers came in and out, and the cashier flashed them that same phony smile she had given him.
Forty minutes later, a man in a suit entered the coffee shop. He went around the counter and spoke briefly with the cashier, who after a couple of minutes, pointed to Lonnie.
The man came over. “How old are you, son?”
“Thirteen.”
The man shook his head. “Sorry, too young. Can’t hire you.”
“But I really need a job,” Lonnie said.
“When do you turn fourteen?”
“Not until August.”
“Come back and see me then,” the man said. “The youngest the state will allow me to hire anyone is fourteen.”
“Okay, thanks,” Lonnie said, dejected.
As he started out the door, the man told him, “You might try getting a paper route. That’s how I earned my money when I was your age.”
A paper route might be something to consider. In the meantime, Lonnie crossed the street and walked to the Taco Bell, thinking he might have better luck at a fast-food place, but he got the same response. The manager said he would have to be fourteen before she could consider hiring him.
As long as he was there, he ordered four crispy tacos and a small Coke to go.
When he arrived at the Twin Oaks, he saw a man and a woman arguing in the parking lot, yelling and cussing at each other. Not wanting any part of it, Lonnie hurried inside his room and shut the door.
He sat his food on the table and was about to turn on the TV, when he heard the woman shriek, “Aaaah! Somebody help me!”
Lonnie opened the door and looked out. The man was dragging the woman by her hair across the parking lot. Her blouse was ripped open, and she was bleeding from her nose and mouth.
“Stop him! He’s gonna kill me!” the woman screamed.
The man stared piercingly at Lonnie. “Go back inside, kid. You didn’t see nothing, you understand?”
Lonnie’s heart pounded madly and his breathing quickened. He slammed the door shut and turned off all the lights, hoping the man hadn’t gotten a good look at him. He cracked open the curtain and saw the man throw the woman in the passenger side of a red Ford Mustang. Then he slid in the front seat and peeled out of the parking lot.
Lonnie started to call 911, but as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, he thought: What if the man finds out I was the one who called the police? The man knew where Lonnie was staying, the third room from the right. Lonnie had learned, from his mother’s death, that witnesses could be permanently silenced.
He called his dad, but got no answer. He tried several more times. Nothing. Terrified, he curled up in his bed in a fetal position and lay there without eating his food.
Lonnie never reported what he saw that night to the police. Nor did he tell his dad. What could his dad have done about it? Call the cops? Lonnie had already nixed that idea.
And he never again saw the man, the woman or the red Ford Mustang.
What occurred outside his room that night remained Lonnie’s secret—a dark and terrible secret that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
CHAPTER TWENTY
LONNIE DECIDED TO SKIP MATH TUTORING. As soon as the final bell rang, he flew out the doors without letting Mrs. Ridley know not to expect him. Hoping he wasn’t too late, he ran down the sidewalk as fast as he could.
A few students were hanging around the front of Lamar Elementary School, waiting to be picked up. A teacher assistant, who was supervising them, eyed Lonnie briefly. She didn’t appear to recognize him, which was understandable. She hadn’t seen him in two years, and even then, she didn’t know him well. Lonnie couldn’t think of her name, but he remembered that she used to monitor the cafeteria during his lunch period.
Lamar seemed tiny now. The hallways felt narrower, and the ceiling appeared lower than the last time Lonnie was there. A Christmas tree, surrounded by gift-wrapped boxes, stood near the main office. Green and red paper chains were strung across the hallway. Pictures of Santa Claus, the art work of the first graders, were stapled to the walls.
Ms. Perlman, the office manager, was sitting on a bench outside the office talking with a parent. Before she had a chance to question Lonnie’s reason for being there, he said, “I came to see Mr. Treviño.”
She nodded an approval, and he went upstairs.
The door was open, but out of courtesy, Lonnie knocked before entering. To his disappointment, Mr. Treviño wasn’t in his room. His blazer was draped behind his chair, which gave Lonnie hope that he hadn’t left yet. Perhaps he was in a meeting or visiting with other teachers.
Stapled to the back wall of the room was a cardboard fireplace with Santa Claus’ legs dangling from inside it. A caption above read: GUESS WHO’S COMING TO TOWN? Around the fireplace hung letters to Santa that the students had written.
Lonnie had done a similar activity when he was in Mr. Treviño’s class, except that instead of a fireplace, his teacher had covered the wall with butcher paper and had painted a full-sized Santa Claus on it, holding a long list. Above the painting, the caption read: HE’S MAKING A LIST AND CHECKING IT TWICE. By fourth grade, no one in Lonnie’s class believed in Santa Claus. Mr. Treviño had assigned them to write letters to Santa as a fun activity.
&
nbsp; On a table by the window sat candy houses the students had made, using milk cartons as a base. Lonnie had done the same art project when they read Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and he assumed Mr. Treviño’s students were reading the book.
Lonnie’s heart ached with nostalgia, thinking about how different his life had been three years earlier. He was making good grades, his mom was alive, his dad was working and they lived in a nice home. Never in a million years could he have imagined that he would be in the situation he was in now. He walked over to his old desk, the second one in the third row, and sat in it, wishing he could somehow turn back time, wishing he was still a fourth grader with no worries.
“Lonnie?”
He jumped, and a small gasp slipped out of his throat.
“What brings you here?” Mr. Treviño asked.
Lonnie quickly stood up. “Hi, sir. I just wanted to come by to say hello.”
“Hello,” Mr. Treviño said in a lively voice. Then his face turned grim. “I am deeply sorry about what happened to your mom. I first heard about it on the radio while I was driving to work, but I didn’t make the connection until I saw her picture on the news. How are you and your dad doing?”
Lonnie’s eyes watered up, and his lower lip began to quiver. “I … I think we’re homeless.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WITHOUT INTERRUPTING, Mr. Treviño sat on top of a student desk and listened patiently, while Lonnie shared everything that had happened. Finally Mr. Treviño asked, “Have you spoken to one of the counselors at your school about this?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Just because,” Lonnie said with a shrug. He liked Ms. Hoffman, but he didn’t think she could do anything for him.
And Mr. Bigelow creeped him out. Once in a while, Lonnie would run into him in the hallways, and Mr. Bigelow would greet him with an overly cheerful clown smile and a pat on the back. “How’s it going, Lon? Howth it going, Lon?”
On the Other Side of the Bridge Page 13