Destiny (Waiting for Forever)

by Mayfield, Jamie

  The ride over to the shelter was quiet, and when he pulled into an empty space on the street, I turned to look at him, unable to make my hand move toward the handle of the van door.

  “Where are we?” I asked instead. “Is he… is the man… is he here?” My hands were starting to shake now. I’d only ever seen a dead body once before in my life. At three years old, I had sat next to my mother’s body, feeling the warmth and life drain out of her onto our living room floor. I didn’t want to see that again.

  “No, we’re here to talk to the man who runs the shelter, and maybe to a few reporters. Come on,” he encouraged me, checking his side mirror before opening the door and stepping out onto the deserted street. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and turned the handle. The door swung open, and I opened my eyes again as I stepped out. Closing the door quickly, I followed Leo to the corner, and we turned right. A small building with faded paint and a sign that read Relief Mission stood on the right. A small crowd of people gathered before the open door, a mixture of men in suits, women in jeans, and harsher-looking men and women in ripped and faded clothes. They all seemed to be talking at once, trying to drown each other out in adrenaline and emotion.

  “Jim,” Leo said, putting his hand on a man’s arm and motioning him to come away from the small crowd. “Did you know him?”

  “Yeah, poor George,” the man sighed. “He was in the Gulf and just had a hard time adjusting when he got back. But there was no way he would just stand back and let a woman be hurt.” The man was shaking his head, his eyes far away, as he seemed to lose himself in thought.

  “What happened?” Leo asked, and I felt my knees start to give. It wasn’t Jamie. Even if he had picked a new name for himself, no one would mistake him for a Gulf War veteran; he was far too young. I sat down hard on a bench near the door, and Leo came to sit beside me. The relief I felt started to make me feel a little light-headed. I couldn’t believe how relieved I felt, actually, since I had no idea where or even how Jamie was.

  “Are you okay, son?” Jim asked me, and I nodded. Then he looked at Leo. “He one of yours?” I didn’t know what he meant by that. One of yours; it sounded like an us-versus-them gay thing.

  “No, we didn’t place him. He answered an ad for the boardinghouse,” Leo said, and then he went on to explain. “He’s looking for his friend that he believes is homeless. He thought when you called that maybe his friend had been killed.”

  “Do you have a picture?” the man asked me gently, and I pulled the picture of Jamie from my wallet and handed it to him. He looked at it for a long moment and then shook his head. “How long has he been on his own?”

  “Since mid-August,” I said, not bothering to keep the defeat from my voice. “He ran away from that Sunshine Center place in La Mesa where his parents had put him. A delivery driver said he left him by the baseball field.” I knew I was rambling, but I just couldn’t stop. “He’s sweet and kind, one of the best people I’ve ever known, and now he’s alone and scared, and I can’t find him. It could have been him beaten to death in the street.” I just let the tears come, unable to prevent them any longer.

  “Margie, can you get us some juice from inside?” Leo asked someone in a low voice.

  “I’m okay,” I assured him. “I just… it’s….”

  “I know,” he said quietly as he gripped my shoulder, and then he turned a little toward Jim. “Do they know what happened?”

  “A woman was being assaulted by two men over in the alley, and George tried to help. The girl got away and ran into Pete’s Deli. They called the police, but by the time they showed up….” He trailed off because we all knew the result.

  “The police?” Leo asked as a woman handed him a paper cup of juice that he then gave to me. I took a sip without even looking at it.

  “It looks like they are going to take this one seriously since he turned out to be a hero instead of a vagrant,” Jim said, rolling his eyes. “One of these days we may actually get some cops to think all life is valuable, not just the ones they deem worthy.” He looked thoughtful. “That kid you’re looking for, did you e-mail his picture to the other shelters? I have a list of people that I work with, and I’m sure you and Margaret do too,” he said, looking at Leo.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t think to do that,” Leo said, shaking his head.

  “You’ve had a lot going on lately, organizing rallies and soliciting donations against the new legislation, and didn’t you guys have an art show last week?”

  “Yeah, we did. Hey, let’s go to your office and scan it. I can log in to my e-mail from here, and between us we can probably send it to half the shelters in the city.”

  I just sat there watching their conversation, feeling a wild kind of hope.

  Hours later, I rested my head on the back of the couch and tried to slow my frenzied thoughts. If Jamie didn’t want to be with me when I found him, I could live with that. I just couldn’t live with not knowing—not knowing where he was, if he had food or a roof over his head. Seeing those shelters made my heart hurt more with each passing minute. With my eyes closed, I started to make a mental list of the things I wanted to accomplish the next day. As much as I wanted to keep looking for Jamie, I really needed to find a job. I’d been living on my savings for so long, I’d gone through an alarming amount.

  “Hey, babe,” Mike said just before he vaulted over the back of the couch and landed, sprawling across it with his head in my lap. My heart stopped for an instant, and I jerked my hands up so I wasn’t touching him. The back of his head had grazed my dick through my jeans, and my body couldn’t help but notice the hot guy with his face just inches from my crotch who only had to turn his head and—I tried hard not to think about….

  “So, Bruce, did you find Dick today?” I just stared at him. Did he really just ask me if I’d found any dick? After everything I’d told him about Jamie, did he honestly believe I’d go out looking for sex?

  “What?” I asked, trying to push him off my lap, feeling dirty and a little disgusted.

  “Bruce and Dick were…. Ow, they were Batman and Robin,” he cried as I succeeded in pushing him onto the floor. “Dammit, Brian, I know you want my ass, but I’m not going to give it to you if you’re going to leave me with bruises.” Watching as he stood up, I couldn’t really make my mouth form the words that were screaming in my head. However, my body liked the sound of that very much, and I felt the flush creep over my skin, and the room seemed much warmer than it had just a moment ago. A vision of bending Mike over the couch flashed through my mind.

  “I didn’t… didn’t find anything,” I stammered, feeling beads of sweat form on my forehead and neck. Forcing myself to look away, I tried to push back the arousal threatening to consume me.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Mike replied, putting a hand on my shoulder. I got hard at the feeling of his warm hand through my thin shirt. Being turned on by a guy who wasn’t Jamie made me feel guilty.

  “It’s okay. Look, I need to go get on the computer and look for a job, so I’ll see you—” I started, but the look on his face stopped me. He kind of looked like the only student in class with the right answer for the teacher.

  “Oh my God, hold that thought,” Mike told me and pulled out his cell phone. Hitting a number on speed dial, he held one index finger up, motioning for me to wait. In the next second, his call was connected.

  “Hey, Kenny…. Yeah, I know but it was important…. I know I left early…. Damn it, Kenny, I have a guy for the crew!” he shouted, and I opened my mouth to ask what kind of crew and he waved me off. “He just moved into Leo’s with us…. Yeah…. Dude, what’s to know? Besides that, Kenny, he’s a beautiful kid…. Uh-huh…. Probably not a day over eighteen…. Okay, how much? I’ll text you and then just bring him in with me on Monday…. Yeah. Later.” Flipping the phone closed, Mike looked at me with a grin.

  “Do I even want to know?” I asked warily and flopped back down on the couch. “If this is about stripping or… or something
….” By the smirk on his face, I knew I had guessed wrong.

  “You think I’m a stripper? You just want to see me naked, don’t you?” Mike asked with an overemphasized leer, making me laugh.

  “Okay, then, what?”

  “We do landscaping, a couple of us here and a couple of guys from the neighborhood. A guy just left the crew, and we need someone right now because Kenny has contracts with some pretty big places,” Mike said. He sounded both impressed and excited.

  “I don’t know anything about landscaping,” I told him honestly. Most people in Crayford, including my parents, didn’t have that kind of money. Professionals who clipped hedges in the shape of a swan or built ponds or something did landscaping.

  “Did you cut the grass growing up?” he asked with one eyebrow raised, and I nodded. “Then that’s all you really need to know.”

  I SPENT the next afternoon looking for Jamie, more out of habit than any real hope that I would find anything. After absolutely no luck at three different shelters, I decided to celebrate my new job and picked up some Thai takeout. Once I finished dinner, I planned to get on the computer and start going through the tutorials to which Leo had e-mailed me links. I thought maybe I’d set up a few sites and add the friends I’d made. Not only would I be able to keep in touch with them, but maybe, just maybe, Jamie would see the site and contact me.

  The door from downstairs opened, and I saw Mike come in looking tired.

  “Hey,” I said, pulling the plastic takeout containers from the big brown paper bag. Since I’d moved in, I’d only had a few meals at that table, usually choosing to eat at the desk in my room instead. Right then, however, I wanted the company. Disappointed and frustrated over my lack of progress in finding Jamie, I thought maybe Mike’s sense of humor might be what I needed.

  “Hey,” he replied and dropped into one of the chairs across the table with his back to the kitchen.

  “There’s enough for two here,” I told him and was surprised at how much I wanted him to take me up on the offer.

  “You sure? I was just gonna fix a bowl of cereal and crash on the couch in front of the television,” he said and smiled when I nodded. “Okay. I got a couple of beers in the fridge. You want one?”

  “Uhmmm…,” I hedged.

  “Kid, it’s a beer, not a bomb, but there’s some soda too.” He got up and went into the kitchen. Reasoning quickly that if I could pay rent and buy my own groceries, I could probably handle a beer; I called that I’d take one with him. He handed me the open bottle and sat back down at the table, pulling the paper plate I’d just filled toward him.

  “Sweet and sour sauce?” he asked hopefully, and I handed him the remaining packets. Mike smiled as if I’d just given him the keys to the kingdom, and I figured he must really be tired to take that much enjoyment from condiment packets.

  “You look exhausted. Busy day?” I asked, trying to make conversation as I opened a few of the sweet and sour packets and emptied them onto an open space on the plate. That sauce went really well with the crab rangoon.

  “Yeah, it took longer than we thought it would. Stupid amateurs,” he said and then stopped short, as if he’d said something he hadn’t meant to.

  “Were you working? I thought you said the landscape crew didn’t work on the weekends?” I dropped my fork next to my plate and picked up a packet of soy sauce.

  “No, it was my other job. We didn’t have anything with Kenny today, don’t worry, kid,” he said with a sigh and took a long drink from his beer.

  “I didn’t know you had another job,” I told him quietly, wondering how I could not have known that about him.

  “It’s nothing,” he said, waving me off, which of course just made me more curious. I didn’t want to argue with him, and when he didn’t bring up the subject again, I just let it go. Following his lead, I took a drink of the beer.

  Then I tried not to gag.

  “It’s an acquired taste,” Mike said with an obvious effort to suppress his laughter. Taking a few more bites of my food, I tried to kill the taste in my mouth and took another drink. It was just as bad as the first. An amused smirk flitted around the edges of his mouth as Mike continued to eat and I choked back my very first beer.

  Seven

  CLICKING the Submit button, I watched as my profile picture appeared on the screen.

  “Okay, now that you’ve got the account set up, you can start entering information about yourself—but not too much. There are people out there that would take advantage of your personal information, like your address or phone number. If someone wants to contact you and they see this page, they can always send you a message whether they are your friend or not,” Andy said as we went through the setup of a couple of social networking sites he said would reach more people to help find Jamie. I still hadn’t heard anything from the e-mails Jim and Leo had sent out last month after the homeless man had died.

  Working every day helped to keep my rent paid and food in my stomach, but it seriously limited the time I had to look for Jamie. I usually went out on Saturdays, starting with the shelters that hadn’t received the e-mail. The Saturday before Halloween, I decided to go to a shelter on the west side of the city I hadn’t been to yet, a small Catholic place Pete had mentioned. It looked abandoned at first glance, with metal bars reinforcing the windows and paint that had faded so badly I couldn’t tell the actual color.

  I pulled open the front door and walked into the dimly lit room as I surveyed the shelter. Folding tables and chairs filled the large open area atop grungy tiles. Functional, dingy beige paint covered the walls, which had faded over time. A serving line stood at the back of the room with several people setting things up, so I made my way over. As I got closer, I saw an old priest with sparse white hair and square glasses that slid down his nose.

  “Sir,” I said politely, trying to get his attention as he uncovered a tray of food. Steam rose in spiraling tendrils from the aluminum tray filled to the rim with spaghetti.

  “Son, could you take the cover off of those trays,” he stated, not asked, as if he already knew I wouldn’t refuse. I looked over to see which trays he was talking about and saw several long, flat trays on the table near the end. So I grabbed the nearest one and carefully started working the hot aluminum foil off the top. Garlic toast lay underneath in perfect rows, and the smell actually made my mouth water.

  “Now, how can I help you?” he asked, pulling the foil off another tray as I folded the foil I’d just removed and set it aside. I tried not to smile at how effortlessly he had put me to work; it seemed he had a lot of practice at getting people to do what he wanted. I pulled Jamie’s picture from my wallet and held it up for him to see.

  “Father, have you seen him?” I asked, sure I would hear the same denial I’d heard from every other person I’d asked, but he surprised me by not answering but asking another question.

  “Why are you looking for him?” he asked, reaching out to take the photograph and looking at it for a long moment.

  “He’s my best friend,” I told him, not wanting to elaborate more if I didn’t have to.

  “I figured that, son. You both have the same accent,” he said, handing me the picture back.

  “Oh God, you’ve seen him! Is he okay? Does he come here a lot? How can I find him?” I asked in a rush, my heart pounding with the revelation. The door opened in the back, and a few people started to come in and line up for their evening meal. I watched, wondering if one of them would be Jamie.

  “Stop,” he said, putting a wrinkled hand on my arm. “Why are you looking for this boy? I’m not going to tell you anything until you answer that question.”

  I sighed.

  “I love him, Father,” I said quietly. “His mother made their family move here to stop him from seeing me. She even put him in a kind of institution to stop him from being gay. Only love isn’t something you can cure. He ran away from that place, and he didn’t have any money or anyplace to go. I just want to help him, Father, pleas
e.”

  “I believe you,” he said, pulling me off to the side as more people lined up. “He was here, maybe six or eight weeks ago, around the end of August. I could tell that he’d only just landed on the streets, so I tried to get him to go back to his parents, told him to get his feet under him before he tried to leave. I’ve seen too many kids lose their souls out on these streets, often even their lives. At that, he started to cry, talking about how his parents didn’t want him. I fed him, and he asked if he could stay here. We had a waiting list and were full, but he just tore at my heart, so I found him some blankets and let him sleep on the floor. He was gone when I came in the next morning to wake them all for breakfast. I haven’t seen him since.”

  I felt my nails digging into my palms inside my balled-up fists. Determined not to let the tears fall again, I focused on the anger. Jamie’s parents. Mitch Mayfield had sounded so goddamned convincing when I talked to him, but he’d thrown Jamie out on the street. Why else would Jamie think his parents didn’t want him?

  A disturbance from the line caught my attention, and I took a deep breath to get myself under control. Two men were pushing each other; both looked battered, ragged, and more than a little desperate. The old priest leaned down, grabbed a baseball bat from under the table, and walked around the table toward the line.

  “Hey!” he yelled loud enough to reverberate off the walls. “Dennis, what is the problem here?” His attention focused on the man to his right as he held the bat up toward the other man.

  “He cut in line in front of me, Father,” the man said in a quiet, pleading voice. He sounded scared, either of the priest or of missing his meal. “He can’t do that; it isn’t right.”