by Chad Zunker
“We’re short in the food line. We could use you.”
“Sure. Just tell me what to do.”
She handed him a red apron from a box, said he’d be on burger duty. Tying on his red apron, David looked forward to passing out burgers. It felt good to do something where he couldn’t directly bill a client or be rewarded financially. Plus, it took his mind off the whole confusing situation with Melissa and Lyons. David knew he couldn’t bring up anything with his boss about it. That would only get him into trouble. But would Melissa report back that she’d been busted? Would that affect things for him around the office? Thankfully, David hadn’t mentioned to Melissa how he’d discovered their secret arrangement in the first place.
David continued to search the faces but saw no sign of Larue anywhere. As a long line of homeless folks formed at the front of the burger station, David found his spot behind a table and met some of the other volunteers, who were just as happy to be there. He had a simple job—place burger patties on open buns and be extra friendly. He thought he could handle that. Suddenly, large containers of cooked patties were delivered to his table, and the food line was officially open for business.
David smiled, greeted, and quickly put burgers down onto the thick paper plates their guests carried with them. There were a lot of sincere thank-yous and God bless yous from those coming through the line.
David first noticed the woman in the red ball cap when she was kneeling next to an elderly black woman in a wheelchair carrying around several trash bags on her lap. The woman in the cap looked to be in her twenties, with a brown ponytail, a white T-shirt, tan shorts, and running shoes. She held a clipboard in her hands and seemed to be helping the elderly lady with something important. David was immediately drawn to her. And not just because of her looks—although she was very attractive in a tomboy kind of way. It was more the way she was interacting with the woman in the wheelchair. She hugged the lady, repeatedly patted her knee, and sat really close to her during their conversation. The brunette in the ball cap was not at all afraid to touch and engage with a homeless woman.
For the next hour, David worked up a good sweat serving burgers—more than a thousand of them, he guessed, as many of the guests returned through the food line two or three times until they were all stuffed. Ruth said that was just fine. Keep serving them. She instructed David to be generous and to give, give, give—both of the burgers and especially of himself. He liked Ruth a lot. She was passionate. Looking around, he realized he liked everything about this day.
As they began cleaning up, David again noticed the brunette in the red ball cap. She was standing by herself, jotting intently on her clipboard. He walked over to be closer to her. He noticed the tiny diamond stud pierced through her left nostril. There was a small butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck with a few words beneath it: The greatest of these is love. She seemed to notice his staring, looked up at him.
“Can I help you with something?” she asked.
She had the most engaging green eyes.
David shifted awkwardly. “You’re really great with them.”
She tilted her head, confused.
“Sorry, I’ve been watching you work,” he clarified. “I was just saying you’re really great with all of these people.”
“You’ve been watching me?”
“Not in a creepy way, I swear.”
She gave a curt smile. “Your first time serving these people?”
He realized he’d stupidly made an unnecessary distinction between himself and the guests. “Sorry, I promise you I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He stepped closer, held out a hand. “David Adams.”
She shook it firmly. “Jen Cantwell.”
“Do you work for one of the nonprofits?”
“I run the Advocate. A newspaper that serves the homeless.”
“Really? I’ll have to get a subscription.”
Another small smile. “You really are clueless, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I’m guessing I can’t have the Advocate delivered to my condo?”
“No, you can’t. Our street friends sell the newspaper on corners around the city to try to put a little money in their pockets and better serve their own community.”
“That’s cool. I like the way our street friends try to take care of each other. I don’t see that too much in my world. It was the same when I was out at the Camp the other day. All the guys were really looking after each other.”
“What camp?” she asked him.
David shrugged. “I don’t know. They all just called it the Camp.”
“Who called it that?”
“Guys named Benny, Doc, Shifty . . . Do you know any of them?”
“You’ve been to Benny’s camp?”
David nodded. “I’m not really supposed to talk about it.”
“Why were you at their camp?” Jen asked. “Didn’t you just tell me today’s the first time you’ve even served the homeless?”
“It’s a crazy story, actually.”
NINETEEN
Jen Cantwell wanted to hear all about David’s crazy story. She admitted she was intrigued as to why someone like David Adams—a clear fish out of water—had been invited to visit a place as secretive as the Camp. Because she had to leave the resource fair early on Saturday, she asked if David would be willing to meet her the following morning at seven on the running trails by the First Street Bridge. David found it an odd time and location to meet—after all, it was Sunday, with the sun barely up. Nevertheless, it worked well for him, as he could still be at the office early enough for a full day of billing. Lyons had given him some grace yesterday, but he knew not to push it too far.
He arrived a few minutes early and was surprised to find a big crowd already gathering—probably around a hundred people. Something was clearly going on here this morning. A majority of the crowd looked like the group he’d served burgers to the day before. They were all huddled near a tree by the banks of Lady Bird Lake, with the downtown landscape just on the other side of the river.
Jen was already there. David found her just as he had the previous day, wearing blue jeans and a white cotton pullover and hugging a woman wearing rags with frizzy gray hair.
“You actually came,” she said, as David walked up to her.
“Was there ever any doubt?”
“You’d be surprised how fast the euphoria of serving those in need can wear off with most people. It usually happens overnight.”
“Not to me. Coffee?” he asked, holding up a carton containing four different cups that he’d picked up at Caffé Medici on his walk over from the Austonian. “I wasn’t sure what kind of coffee you liked, so I just brought an assortment with me.”
She smiled at him. He noted the cute freckles on her cheeks. The diamond nose stud was still in place. She wore very little makeup and didn’t need a drop of it.
“I actually don’t drink coffee,” Jen admitted.
“Oops.”
She laughed. “But plenty of people here would love the treat.”
Jen took the tray and quickly gave the coffee away to four of her nearby homeless friends, who all gratefully accepted, no matter the make or flavor. David wished he’d brought a dozen more cups with him.
“What’s going on here, Jen?” David asked, the crowd growing.
“It’s an annual memorial service for all the friends we’ve lost on the streets during this past year.” She pointed over to the large oak tree close to the water, which seemed to be the focal point of the gathering. “We call that the Tree of Remembrance. It was planted there more than twenty years ago at the very first memorial service. Come on, they’re about to get started.”
They navigated to the front of the crowd and closer to the tree. A man behind a microphone called everyone together. Jen whispered that he was an author who’d written several books on homelessness. The speaker took a few minutes to offer some stark realities about life on t
he streets. He said that although those on the streets were invisible to most, they were not invisible to everyone, hence the nice crowd this morning. He then went on to read a passage from one of his books. As he did, David took a moment to scan the crowd, again hoping to spot Larue. There was no sign of the kid, but he did notice Benny and some of the other boys from the Camp standing across the way from him. All of them looked very somber. David wondered how many friends Benny had lost in the past year. Did a lot of people die while living out on the streets of Austin?
A city councilman took the microphone next. He talked about properly mourning the deaths of friends but to not let it steal away hope. Hope for change. Hope for the value of human life. Hope for equal justice. He praised the efforts of so many of the nonprofits in the city who were doing so much to make days like today less devastating. When he finished, a folk singer came up with a guitar and sang a song that echoed that same hope.
Another man walked up to the microphone and said it was time to read the list of those they were all there to mourn from the past year—may they rest in eternal peace. He began to slowly read names off a list. As he did, people from the crowd began walking forward, some with flowers to place at the tree’s base, others with handmade origami swans that they hung from various tree branches. There were many tears because there were a lot of swans hanging from the tree by the time the reader was done. Probably more than a hundred names had been read. David was stunned. How could that many people have died on the streets of Austin without him ever hearing anything about it? The folk singer did one more song, this one a bit happier. Finally, a local minister offered a closing prayer, the service concluded, and the crowd slowly began to disperse.
“How many did you personally know, Jen?” David asked.
“Dozens.”
“Damn. I’m really sorry.”
As the crowd shifted away, Benny and the boys from the Camp came over to see David, each of the men greeting him with the same warm embrace they’d offered him the other night. After giving Benny a hug, David said hello to Doc, the tall beanpole of a man; Elvis, with the sideburns; and Curly, with the thick mop of hair. Jen seemed to know the boys, too, including Benny, as they exchanged some pleasantries. At David’s request, Jen took a picture on his phone of Benny and him standing together, arms over each other’s shoulders.
“Benny, do you know where I can find Larue?” David asked.
“He’s here and there. Kid stays busy. Why?”
“I really need to talk to him.”
David wondered if Larue had said anything to Benny. By the blank look on the old man’s face, David guessed the kid hadn’t told him about their awkward interaction on the sidewalk.
“He’s been over at the library a lot lately.”
“Okay, I’ll try there. Thanks.”
When Benny and the boys had left, Jen’s eyes narrowed in on David. “Okay, I’ve got to hear this story already.”
They had breakfast at the Magnolia Cafe. David told Jen about his first encounter with Benny that dangerous night in the alley when the old man had likely saved his life. And then the subsequent trip to his condo. Jen had a good laugh at the image of David dragging Benny through the lobby of the glitzy Austonian. Then David told her about getting invited out to the Camp. Although Jen had heard about the place, she wanted to know everything. David gladly shared the details with her. It was fun watching her big eyes light up with each new revelation.
Concluding, David said, “It was truly unlike anything I’ve experienced in my life.”
Jen couldn’t stop smiling. “I still can’t believe you got invited. They are very protective of their camps. The police are constantly trying to bust them up because they are usually camping on someone’s private property. Or the neighbors are complaining about property values with the riffraff nearby. A lot of these camps can be vestibules for drugs. But I’d heard this place was really special.”
“You heard right,” David said, scooping up a bite of waffle.
“The guys seem to really like you, too,” Jen added.
“Why’re you so surprised? I’m actually a likable guy.”
Jen grinned. “Why do they all call you Shep?”
David laughed, shook his head, and explained his first conversation with Benny. “After that, Benny just started calling me Shep. I guess I’m stuck with it.” He shrugged. “I’ve been called a lot worse the past few months.”
“Was it because of your experience with the Camp that you decided to show up at the resource fair yesterday?”
“Sort of.” He didn’t really want to tell Jen how he’d treated Larue the other day. Not when it seemed like she was warming up to him. “I think I’m having a midlife crisis.”
“Right. You’re what? Twenty-five years old?”
“Yeah, but I feel like I’m already fifty.”
“They’re working you that hard over at Hunter and Kellerman?”
His eyes narrowed. He hadn’t told her that yet. “Wait, how’d you know I work at Hunter and Kellerman? Did you already Google me?”
She seemed a tad embarrassed. “I had to make sure I wasn’t meeting up with a psychopath, that’s all.”
He grinned. “What about you? Why’d you leave a high-profile newspaper gig in DC to come work here for the Advocate?”
It was Jen’s turn to act surprised.
He shrugged, smiled. “I also had to make sure I wasn’t meeting up with a psychopath.”
She playfully tossed a small piece of biscuit at him but went on to tell David her story. After graduating with honors from Columbia Journalism School, she got offered an entry-level reporter job at the Washington Post. Her dream job. She shadowed one of the big-deal investigative reporters on staff and worked her ass off. Then her brother, Jack, who’d been in the army, came home from a tour in Afghanistan, where he’d experienced some difficult things. Although Jack wouldn’t talk much about it, Jen knew through her military contacts that he’d had several buddies die right next to him during an explosion. A couple of survivors had lost arms and legs. When Jack returned to the States, he suffered from severe PTSD. He had trouble acclimating to normal life. He couldn’t keep a steady job and quickly spiraled into serious depression. Unbeknownst to the family, Jack started using drugs, so things got a lot worse for him. One night, he snapped and became violent with their mother, so their father kicked him out of the house. Told him to get cleaned up and not to come back until he did. They didn’t hear anything from Jack for over nine months.
“Then I get an email out of the blue from my brother,” Jen said. “He said he was living on the streets of Austin and needed my help. He said I was the only person he would ask. Our dad would never understand or even care. Could I come get him?”
“What’d you do?”
“I emailed him right back and said yes, of course. But I never got a reply. So I jumped on a plane and came to Austin to look for him. A couple of days of searching the streets and shelters turned into over three weeks. I couldn’t find my brother anywhere. Several people on the streets thought they recognized his picture, but no one had a clue where he was. I was so desperate. The Post needed me back in DC, but I couldn’t possibly leave town without finding my brother first. Then I got the call. Someone had found my brother. Jack was dead. They found him alone in the woods, camping all by himself. He’d overdosed.”
“Jen, I’m so sorry.”
“I visited his campsite. I had to see where my brother took his last breath. He died all alone inside a box tent in the middle of nowhere. I was devastated. One of the only things on him was a picture of the two of us riding our bikes together as kids. I cried something fierce out there in the woods. I wanted to be there for him, but I was too late. Although I tried to go back to my normal life in DC, I just couldn’t shake it. My heart was still in Austin. So I finally quit my job, packed my bags, and moved to Texas two years ago, determined to somehow make a difference. I’d met a lot of good people who were doing meaningful work during
my month searching for my brother. One of them owned the Advocate, so here I am.”
“You’re making a difference. I can tell.”
She shrugged, fiddled with her spoon in her bowl of oatmeal. “Some days I do feel that way. But days like today, when you hear that many names read off a list, remind me that there is still so much work to be done. Several of the names on that list were young men just like my brother. I like the work I’m doing. Putting together the Advocate every month feels meaningful. It helps put money in their pockets. But it never feels like enough.”
After a moment of quiet consideration, David decided to be vulnerable. “We were homeless for four months when I was a kid.”
Jen looked up at him, surprised.
He continued. “My mom, my sister, and I lived in a broken-down van in the parking lot behind a church because we’d been kicked out of our trailer. We were really poor, Jen. My dad died in a car crash when I was only six, and we had no other family support. My mom did the best she could, working up to three jobs at a time, but we just barely held it together most of the time. I’ve thought a lot about those days in the past week, ever since visiting the Camp. I was close to becoming one of the young guys I met out there. When my mom died suddenly before my senior year, I tried to quit everything and just run away. Flip the bird to this cruel world and everyone in it. I started drinking heavily, looking for other drug escapes, and acting out in really destructive ways. I even stole a car one night, just for the hell of it. I was in pretty bad shape and didn’t care anymore.”
“How’d you come out of it?” Jen asked.
“Brandy, my sister. She moved back home from college and started kicking my butt around, the way I always needed from her. By sheer force of her will, she got me back on the right path. Everything I have today is because of her.”
“God bless her. The single greatest cause of homelessness is the profound, catastrophic loss of family. Unfortunately, a lot of the guys at the Camp didn’t have a big-sister safety net.”
Sitting there, David realized he’d never told anyone that part of his story. Not his college buddies at ACU, not his classmates at Stanford. Not professors. Not the few girlfriends he’d had during college. Not Melissa. Certainly no one at the firm. He never wanted anyone to know about that part of his past—he thought it made him look weak. And he couldn’t afford to ever look weak in his world. David wondered why he’d so easily told Jen.