“I happen to like how God made me. I am not in need of your brand of help,” he said and then, apparently prone to theatrics, grabbed my face and caught me in a brief but satisfying kiss. Trying not to laugh at the outraged looks the men were giving us, I grabbed Mike’s hand and tugged him toward the door.
“You will go to hell for your Godless ways!” the man in the middle yelled, red-faced, as we reached the door.
“Then I’ll meet you there, you sanctimonious prick,” Mike said loudly as we walked out.
We didn’t talk on the way back to the house. Mike drove through a fast-food place, and we picked up a couple of burgers I knew I’d be too queasy to eat. When we got up to the common room, Mike checked the Internet and found a customer-service number for the food service company. Without even hesitating, he dialed the number.
“Hello, this is John out at the Sunshine Center in La Mesa? Yeah, I need to talk to our regular delivery driver,” Mike lied in a voice that was a bit more nasal than his normal voice. His body was tense, but I just sat quietly and waited. The anticipation made my stomach ache.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. Everything was fine with the delivery. In fact, I wanted to thank him for going the extra mile for us. Is he there?” Mike was improvising, and I hoped the guy wasn’t still out on a delivery and that he might be able to tell us where to find Jamie.
“Great, sure, I’ll wait,” Mike said, and his posture relaxed. He held a hand over the phone and told me the guy had just come in from a delivery and someone was going to get him. We waited for nearly ten minutes, and I started to wonder if maybe they’d called the Sunshine Center to check out our call. After a few minutes, Mike put his hand on my knee to stop it from bouncing.
“It’s okay,” he mouthed and reached up to tousle my hair with his free hand. I smiled and leaned back into the couch, trying to relax. We were the only ones in the common room. Most of the guys were either working or getting ready to go out. They always seemed to be busy doing something.
“Yes, I’m still here,” Mike said, sitting up straighter. “Thanks.” Another pause, and then the driver must have been on the other line. “Hi, my name is Mike, and I was wondering if you could help me. Please, just hear me out. You gave a guy a ride from the Sunshine Center a couple of weeks ago. He’s my brother, Jamie. I’m trying to find out if he’s okay. Please, I need to know he’s okay. Where did you drop him off?”
I waited, holding my breath, my fingers clutching the edge of the couch cushion.
“Yes, I know where that is. Did he say where he planned to go from there? I understand. Thank you so much,” Mike said and snapped his phone shut. Turning to me, he said, “The guy left him over by the baseball stadium when he made a delivery to the docks, but he doesn’t know where he went after that.” Jumping off the couch, I headed for the door.
“Hey, that’s a lot of ground to cover, and it’s going to be dark soon,” he told me, and I paused. “You need to get a plan together. Start with a list of the shelters in that area. There are a lot of homeless in San Diego; I doubt anyone is going to notice one teenage guy. Do you have a picture of him?”
“Yeah, I have one,” I told him. I knew he was right. I was being emotional, and I needed a plan, but it was the first real lead I’d gotten on Jamie since I’d arrived. It infuriated me that we were in the same city and I had no idea where he could be.
“Great, go scan it and make a few copies. You don’t want to lose your original. Then do an Internet search for homeless and GLBT shelters in San Diego and make a list. I’ve got to go back to work tomorrow, but you can get over to the stadium on the bus.” Mike stood up and stretched, his shirt lifting over a chiseled stomach dusted in fine, light-brown hair. I looked away quickly.
“Well, I think I’m going to leave you to it and go upstairs to jack off. Being around your hot little ass all day has made me pretty horny,” he said casually, and I blushed scarlet. Tripping over my own feet on the way to the computer, I avoided looking at him as he chuckled. “Damn, you’re cute when you’re flustered. Sure you don’t want to come upstairs with me?” Mike had been flirting with me since I’d moved in. I had thought after I told him about Jamie earlier that day, he would stop.
“I… uhm… no, I should really…. I need to do these searches and… and stuff,” I stammered, feeling stupid that I didn’t know how to banter. He’d been so nice, helping me look for Jamie. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by telling him I wasn’t interested, but the only person I wanted to mess around with was Jamie. He laughed and went upstairs as I started working on the computer.
Six
“HOW’D things go?” Mike asked as I handed him the MP3 player when he got in from work. I was standing in the kitchen putting together a sandwich from the deli meat I’d picked up earlier in the day. Since I couldn’t find a job, I needed to make the money I had last as long as I could. I’d done the math earlier in the day, and between rent, food, laundry, and bus fare, it wouldn’t be very long.
“Apparently the college students have descended on this area like locusts. I didn’t find anything,” I told him, grabbing one of the sodas I’d put in the refrigerator earlier, intending to go upstairs and sulk. Mike took the plate I had just balanced dangerously on top of my can and put it on the table next to a takeout container.
“Hang on, let me get a beer and we’ll talk,” he said, opening the refrigerator door as I passed. I couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that escaped as I flopped into the chair in front of where my sandwich sat. The frustration wasn’t with Mike. I needed to find something, because the conversation I’d had with Mr. Mayfield scared me. If he, with his money and connections, couldn’t find Jamie, how the hell was I going to?
Emilio and Tony, who had also just come in with Mike, dropped their takeout containers on the table across from our seats. I’d never seen the guys really eat at the table; usually they took their stuff over to the TV and ate while they watched. Mike watched me looking around the table and laughed.
“Mexican food really needs to be eaten on a table,” he said by way of explanation. “Well, by everyone except Paco here.” He indicated Emilio, who immediately flipped him off. I laughed, loving their easy camaraderie, and felt the knot in my chest loosen just a little. “Okay, now let’s talk about your problem.”
“What’s the kid’s problem?” Tony asked, opening his white Styrofoam container and pulling out a hard-shell taco. It smelled absolutely wonderful, and suddenly my ham sandwich didn’t look so appealing. Lettuce and tomato fell out of the corn shell when he bit into it, and a dribble of grease ran down the back of his hand. He licked it off and looked at me expectantly.
“I need to find a job, and it seems that they’ve all been taken by college students,” I said before biting into my sandwich, promising myself that right after I found a job, I’d get Mexican takeout. Carolyn had always cooked for me, and I could make grilled cheese or frozen pizza, but nothing like authentic tacos. So, until I found something, I’d be living on sandwiches, frozen pizza, and boxed soups. After my last two take-out containers disappeared before I could finish them, I figured out that with seven other guys in the house, I’d have to keep what I could hidden in my room.
“Okay, so what can you do that some philosophy major can’t?” Tony asked around a mouthful of rice. He washed it down with a drink of his beer, and I thought about his question. I didn’t think I could do anything better than any other high-school graduate.
“Well, I’m one test away from a brown belt in karate, but the only place I found in the paper that had a position open required at least a high-level brown. I’d starve to death before I could test up that high,” I remarked with a snort.
“Apply anyway. What’s the worst they could say?” he asked, looking at me seriously. “I mean, think about it. If you don’t apply, there is no way you’ll get the job. If you apply, at least you have a chance. They may say no, but there’s no harm in asking. You need to talk yourself into a job, Brian. Te
ll them why they’d be crazy not to hire you. Put your big-boy pants on and grow some balls.”
“Tony,” Emilio said in a low, admonishing voice.
“What? You want to see the kid starve? Get evicted? Go back to whatever hell he came from? I don’t.” Tony drained the last of his beer and stood up, stretching. Leaving his food on the table, he went into the kitchen for another beer.
“I’m not sure I’d have put it quite that way, but he’s right,” Mike said, throwing an amused glance over his shoulder. “Life isn’t just going to hand you what you want, kid. You need to grab it, fight for it.”
“I’ll go apply for it tomorrow,” I said.
“What else don’t you suck at?” Tony asked, taking another taco out of his container. “Computers?”
“No, I don’t know a lot about computers,” I said, shaking my head and ripping open the bag of salt-and-vinegar chips. Emilio had turned me on to them a couple of days ago while we had sat in front of the television watching some reality show, where he declared that one day he would be on television. I had agreed, mostly to placate him, and he had raised his glass to me in a mock toast.
“Kid, you need to figure them out. There’s one over there. I’m sure if you spent some time on it, you’d pick it up fast enough,” Tony told me as he popped open his second beer and took a long drink. A low, quiet belch erupted from him, and he smiled as Emilio rolled his eyes.
“There are some tutorials on the GLBT Center website if you need help,” Leo said as he came out of the office. “Tony’s right, not being very comfortable using a computer will be a disadvantage at any job you apply for.” Reaching into my bag of chips, he snagged one and popped it in his mouth. “Okay, I’m going up. Night, guys.”
“Night, Leo,” we called behind him, and he waved over his shoulder.
“He’s been keeping an eye out for you. We all have,” Mike said quietly. “If any of us hears about an open job, we’ll let you know.”
“Thanks,” I said with sincerity as Mike squeezed my knee under the table. I jumped and he winked at me, not in the lewd way he normally did, but more in a friendly, joking-type way before he spoke again.
“That’s what friends do.”
THE shelter looked like a high-school cafeteria. Half the area was full of huge metal lunch tables, where a few stragglers sat finishing their breakfasts in attached chairs. The other half of the room was full of bunk beds, each with a flat pillow and threadbare blanket, sitting in almost organized rows. It was a very small space that the shelter volunteers had made the best of, but it was still heartbreaking to think of Jamie forced to live in a place like that. With about two dozen bunk beds, it looked like the shelter would only hold about fifty of the city’s thousands of homeless.
“Excuse me?” I asked one of the volunteers carrying a bucket and sponge to wipe down the tables. He appeared to be in his late thirties and wore a deep-purple polo and khaki pants. Setting the bucket down on a nearby table, he turned to me and smiled.
“I’m sorry, son, but the soup kitchen won’t open again until this evening,” he informed me politely.
“No, I’m not here for that,” I said, holding up the enlarged picture of Jamie I had made from the computer the night before. “I’m looking for this guy. Have you seen him? He would have been here in the last few weeks.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually here when people start filing in. I help during the day when they’re all out. You’ll want to talk to Father Quinn or one of the women who hands out food. They see everyone who stays here overnight.” Picking up the bucket again, he went back to work after wishing me luck. At the far end of the room, where empty trays still sat, I didn’t see anyone working. There were a couple of doors in the back of the room on either side, so I went back to look. The first was a broom closet, so I tried the other side of the room and found a hallway. The walls were a faded mint green, and the cracks in the cinderblock reminded me faintly of the orphanage.
“Can I help you?”
The voice came from behind me, and I spun around to see an elderly man in a black short-sleeved shirt with a small white tab in the front of the collar. His sparse, neatly trimmed white hair shone in the low light.
“Have you seen this boy?” I asked, handing him the picture of Jamie. He studied it for almost an entire minute before handing it back.
“I meet with every soul who passes through those doors. I talk with them about trying to get into one of our programs, I pray with them, and I try to help them find their way again. This boy has not been here.” My shoulders sagged, and I folded the picture back up and put it in my pocket. My defeat must have been evident as I turned away because at once he called me back.
“Come with me. Maybe I can help,” he said and led me back to an impossibly small office with duct-taped chairs and a desk that looked like it might have been new sometime in the late sixties. The tile on the floor was cracked, and the books overflowing the shelves seemed like they’d seen better days, but the office was clean and even friendly. I don’t know what I expected; maybe that he would do a few computer searches or call a few friends. I didn’t expect him to sit back in his chair and ask me to tell him about Jamie.
“We were friends back in Alabama. Well, more than friends,” I started, trying to ignore the shame of telling this priest I was gay.
“There are no judgments here, son,” he said softly, encouraging me to continue. I told him about Jamie, about how I felt, and about Jamie’s parents. The tale ended with Jamie’s mother catching us and moving him to San Diego. Finally, I told him about the letter and how the boy at the center had told us about Jamie coming to San Diego with nothing but the clothes on his back.
“How big this city is scares me. I may never find him,” I told him finally, voicing my fear for the first time. It was possible I would never find Jamie. My abstract vision of San Diego, as a boy from a tiny town in Alabama, was nothing compared to what I’d found when I got off that bus. With so many people and so much going on, Jamie could be on the next block and I would never know.
“That is possible,” he conceded. “Do you have a list of shelters that you’re searching to start?” I nodded and handed him my printed list from the Internet. He looked it over and added a few more. “I might start with Leo and Margaret over at the gay and lesbian center in Hillcrest. They help a lot of gay runaway boys.”
“Leo? As in Leo Horshiwitz?” I asked.
“That’s the one. Have you already been over to the center?” he asked, and I shook my head.
“No, I live at his boardinghouse on Eighth. I moved in a couple of weeks ago.” To my surprise, he sighed.
“Leo does a lot of great work in the community. I’m just not comfortable with how he uses sex to keep that place running.” The memory of those men having sex in the bathhouse made my face flush. I could not stand here and talk about that with a priest, so I tried to change the subject.
“I’ve talked to him about Jamie. Do you have any other suggestions?” I asked.
“I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but a lot of young boys that end up on the streets here survive by selling their bodies, so there are places where you could start looking.” The wind left my body in a harsh gasp. I refused to believe that Jamie would consider it. I didn’t care how many teenage boys the priest saw go through here.
“Jamie wouldn’t do that,” I told him firmly, offended by the fact that he’d even suggested it. “He was always shy about sex. There’s no way he’d become a prostitute.”
“You’d be surprised what you would do to survive when you have no other choice.”
AS I flipped through the channels for the twentieth time, I finally understood why people had jobs during the day. Daytime television was an utter nightmare. If I had a job, I’d work just so I didn’t have to watch it. I snorted as a folding chair went flying by the host of the talk show that was currently on. If it had hit him, it would have been so much more interesting, but of course, they probably
choreographed the whole show. That was too bad.
A tinny disco song began to play from behind me, and I turned around to look. Leo had left his office door open, as he did most days when the rest of the guys were out. Normally, I would be out too, but it was raining. The other guys were either at work or hanging out somewhere, because Leo and I were the only ones home.
“You found me,” he answered the phone in his normal jovial tone. The talk-show host started to take control of his show back as I heard Leo stand up and start moving things around in his office. When he spoke again, his voice had lost all its normal good humor.
“Jesus, and they beat him to death?” he asked. I turned off the television, listening intently even though I knew it was rude. “Yeah, had we placed him at any point?” He paused as he listened, and I heard him pull his jacket off a hanger hard enough for it to bounce against the closet wall. “No, I’m on my way. Call Margaret, and let’s see if we can get a presence there. We don’t want another homeless murder to be invisible to them because they think no one cares.”
Stunned, I tried to process what he was saying. Someone had murdered a homeless guy. I refused to let my mind make the connection. There were thousands of homeless people in San Diego. Just because one of them was killed, it… it didn’t have to mean it was Jamie.
Leo walked out of his office, and I stood off to the side as he looked up. Our eyes met for a long moment, and my mouth finally formed the words I needed to ask.
“Is it? Could it be… could it be the boy I’m looking for?”
“I don’t know anything about the guy, Brian. It’s unlikely, but I can’t tell you it isn’t because I just don’t know,” he replied, his voice sounding tired and sad.
“Can… can I go with you?” I asked quietly, and he put his arm around my shoulders, giving me a little squeeze.
“I’d like for you to come with me,” he told me as I pulled away to grab my shoes. “We have to let the city know that the homeless aren’t invisible, they aren’t just going to sweep this man under the rug and make his death insignificant.” I nodded. I don’t think, with the possible exception of Mosley and his friends dragging me into the equipment room, that I had ever been so scared. Only I wasn’t scared for me.
Destiny (Waiting for Forever) Page 8