The second Mardi Gras parade was the next Saturday, and they had a festival, too. This parade is several years older than the downtown one, and the festival was two days, Friday and Saturday, not just one day. They had several mini-parades, like children, pets, people in wheelchairs, and people in golf carts on Friday, but we didn't go to any of that. In fact, we didn't have anything to do with any of that stuff but to go to the parade and festival on Saturday. There are two main krewes in town, ours and the Old Town krewe. Kevin and Rick only pay dues to our krewe, and they get to ride in the other parade as a courtesy, for which they have to pay an extra $50 each. While the first parade had thirty-five units, this one had seventy or more, and it was a daytime parade. The streets in Old Town, which was founded in 1827, or something like that, are old and narrow. Old Town is now a part of the City of Emerald Beach, but it has its own historical commission, its own preservation authority, and all that. It's like a town within a town, and you can really tell the difference when you drive from one to the other. Not that I do that very often, that's for sure. I keep my ass west of the bridge as much as possible. Back in the old days, like when my daddy was in school, the Beach Rats had to go into town every day on school buses to go to high school, but those days are long gone. As it was, I had to go into town to college, but Emerald Coast Community College is right at the foot of the bridge, so I still don't have to have much dealings with the town. Anyway, the parade was great, and their festival was bigger and better than ours was, too. They had a lot of the same vendors at the festival. I was with Todd and some of the other ones at the plate-breaking booth, and the man said "no more" after Todd won three really good basketballs for nine dollars. To win a basketball, you had to break three plates, but they didn't have to be in a row. Todd broke all nine in a row. It must have cost that man sixty bucks for those three balls, wholesale. Todd could have gone on all night, but he would have broke the man, and the man knew it. That wasn't luck. That was skill. I don't know what we were going to do with all those basketballs, what with the two new ones the weekend before. I guess we'll wear 'em out, one at a time. I ate me a good bit of food. I ate a bratwurst sandwich, which was really, really good, and, of course, I ate me several funnel cakes. They had those combination plates like I had eaten the week before, but I just got me a big ole plate of red beans and rice, instead of a combination. That was the best. I had me one beer with dinner, but I just wasn't in the mood to drink that night. I saw a pack of boys from my fraternity, and they wanted me to go with 'em. There wasn't any way I was leaving Tim and my family, though, and I knew all they wanted to do was get drunk and, hopefully, get laid. "Why didn't you go with them?" Tim asked. "'Cause I want to be with you and the rest of 'em, that's why," I said. "They like me, but they don't love me. And I don't love them." I knew he liked me saying that, but I didn't say it to please him. I said it 'cause it's true. The police estimated there were 70,000 people at that parade, and I believed 'em. The traffic when it was over sure said 70,000, if nothing else did. That was almost half the people who live there, but a whole lot of them were from the surrounding counties. Regardless, though, it was a traffic nightmare, and getting over that chickenshit bridge going home took us the better part of an hour. I sure will be glad when those new ones are opened. It shouldn't be too long now, though.
Our local Mardi Gras was incredibly fun. I grew up with Mardi Gras in New Orleans, of course, and in so many ways it is the same, and in so many other ways it's totally different. "I think we should wear costumes in New Orleans this year," Rick said on the Monday after our second parade. "That's the spirit of it, after all." "Yeah, but where are we going to get costumes? People work on those things for months," I said. "We can rent 'em," Kyle said. "I know of two shops that rent costumes, one on the beach and one in town. There may be more." "I'm game to do it, but somebody else has to organize it," I said. "I'll do it," Kyle said. "What do we want to be, cowboys and Indians?" "That sounds good to me, but only if I can be a cowboy," Justin said. "I already got the boots." "I've got the boots and the hat, too," Kyle said. "That's kind of trite." Rick said. "How about pirates? That's a lot more fitting for where we live, don't you think? And didn't the pirates help save the city in the Battle of New Orleans?" "Cowboys and Indians, or pirates. They're both good with me," Kyle said. "Let's just decide. I'll be anything, only I ain't dressing up like a woman." "If we do cowboys and Indians, I figure you to be Pocahontas," Justin said. "Before I did that, I'd poke your hontas, and that ain't going to happen," Kyle said. We laughed. "Let's do the pirates," Denny said. "I like that idea." "Is everybody cool with pirates?" I asked, and they said they were. Tuesday night Kyle gave us his report. "I found six pirate suits at one place, and four at another. So there's enough for the nine of us. But we've got to get down there tomorrow so they can alter them as needs be," Kyle said. "How much are we talking here, Kyle?" Kevin asked. "I don't know, but it's covered," Kyle said. There was an awkward silence. "Once again, thank you, Kyle," Rick said. Another awkward silence. "Rick, do you think I spend money recklessly?" Kyle asked. "No, not at all, Bubba," Rick said. "So why did you say that the way you did just now? Huh?" Kyle asked. "I didn't mean anything by what I said," Rick said. There was a slight hint of sarcasm in the way Rick had made his statement, but I didn't think he meant anything by it. "If I hadn't paid for those costumes, would you and Kevin have paid for them? Or would you have made the boys pay for them out of their allowances?" Kyle asked. "We would have paid for them," Rick said. "And that's money that can be spent on the boys, right?" There was a long silence. "Rick, this is like two guys arguing over who's going to leave a five-dollar tip in a restaurant. It's just plain stupid," Kyle said. "I agree. I'll get the tip the next time," Rick said, and he and Kyle laughed. * * * We decided to leave on Saturday morning, and we decided to take Kyle's Land Cruiser. It isn't any more powerful than Rick's Suburban, but it is a lot more comfortable. Both of them are eight-seaters, but, with the luggage on the roof, it really isn't all that uncomfortable. Tim, Brian, Denny, and Murray all volunteered to spend time behind the last seat. I worried that they didn't have seatbelts back there, but it was all that we could do. Once we got on I-10, it was a straight shot to New Orleans, but Kyle veered off in Pensacola. "Good. I'm glad we're stopping. I got to pee bad," Justin said. We all went into the convenience store. Kyle topped off the gas tank, we all peed, and we bought snacks. "We've got time to stop and see Nana and Miss Rose, don't you think?" Kyle asked Rick and me in private. He didn't want Murray and Todd to hear him. "Do you think they can handle unexpected company?" I asked. "We can call and see. It just seems like a shame to be this close and not go see 'em. Murray hasn't seen Nana since Justin and I brought him over here during Christmas," Kyle said. "Give 'em a call," Rick said. Kyle, cell phone ever at the ready, whipped it out and dialed a speed-dial number. He waited a few minutes while the nurse's aide took the phone to the ladies. The upshot was, they'd love to see us. "We can only stay about an hour, probably. We're on our way to New Orleans," he said into the phone. Pause. "No, ma'am. I mean, we'll see them. In fact, that's where we'll stay, but mainly we're going for Mardi Gras. It's this weekend." Pause. "We'd love for you to, Nana, but I don't think there's enough room," he said. Pause. He laughed. "Dang, you sure did get me last. You're getting way to good at that game." Pause. "Okay, we're on our way. Bye, and I love you, too. Both of you." "She got you last, huh? She's a sharp one. They both are," Rick said. We didn't say anything to Murray and Todd, or the other ones, either, about where we were going. After ten minutes, Justin started laughing. "What?" Kyle asked. "I know what you're doing, Kyle. You ain't nothing but a devil. A good devil this time, though," Jus said. "Well, don't say nothing," Kyle said. We pulled up to the nursing home. Murray was busy reading, and he didn't even notice. Todd did, though. "What is this place?" he asked. "That's where your grandma lives. We're paying her a call," Kyle said. "Didn't y'all see her at Christmas?" "Yeah, but she came to my uncle's house. We didn't come here," Todd said. Todd's face lit up like the City of Paris on New Year's Eve. By that point, Murray had looked up to see where we were, and his face got like Todd's. We all went in to say hello, but there really wasn't anyplace in the home to accommodate as big a crowd as we had. Miss Sarah and Miss Rose were beside themselves with joy, and they couldn't stop thanking us for coming by. We left the two boys with their grandmothers, and we told them we'd be back to get them in about an hour. "What do we do now?" Brian asked. "It's time for lunch, don't you think?" Justin said. "I know I could eat." It was only 10:30, but we really didn't have anything else to do. We decided to go to a Denny's that was nearby. "I wish I could see my grandparents," Tim said. "I haven't seen them in a year and a half." "I wish I could see mine, too, although they don't really talk to my mom, so they probably wouldn't want to see me," Brian said. "I wish I had some to see," Kyle said. "Same here," Denny and Justin said in unison. "What happened to your grandparents, Kyle?" Justin asked. "You've never talked about them." "They're all dead. Every last one of 'em," Kyle said. "The only relative I've got , besides my parents, is my aunt in Charleston. She's got a couple of kids, so I guess I got them as relatives, too. The boy's an artist, and he's gay, too." "Is your aunt married?" Justin asked. "Yeah. So I've got an uncle, too, but I meant blood kin," Kyle said. "Now that I think about it, my girl cousin is married, and she has a little girl, so I guess I got her, too. She's my second cousin." "First cousin, once removed," Brian said. "No, her mama's my first cousin, so she must be my second cousin," Kyle said. "Kyle, I'm telling you. We studied this in AP Biology, for genetics. If you had any children, your children and that little girl would be second cousins. If the little girl had children, they would be your first cousins, twice removed," Brian said. "This shit is too complicated," Kyle said. "He's right, though, Babe," Tim said. "Paddy and those others in Boston are my second cousins, but they're my dad's first cousins, once removed, because my dad and their moms are first cousins." "Well, I'm going to let y'all worry about that," Kyle said. "I wish the Townhouse Boys had been able to come on this trip. I miss them being here." "They missed a lot of days of work for the wedding and all," Rick said. "Oh, I know why they couldn't come, but I still miss 'em," Kyle said. "Kevin, I wish you'd talk my daddy into buying one of those limo buses, like the one we rented that time. Remember that?" "What would he do with it, besides lend it to you for trips?" Rick asked. "He's already got all the shuttle vans he needs. Each of the four brand-name hotels has one." "I know, and how many drivers? Four, right? And how many drivers would he need for one limo bus? One, right? That would pay for the limo in a year, right there. Not only that, the limo is much nicer than the shuttle vans. Besides, he could rent it out for weddings and such. Prom, too. I think the whole idea demands further investigation," Kyle said. I had been sitting quietly, listening in rapt attention. "Say something, Babe," Rick said. "I'm thinking about his idea. The turnover with those van drivers is fierce. If we were only paying one, instead of three, we could afford to pay him or her enough to make the job more attractive. We actually have more than four drivers. We have six, to accommodate days off. It's worth thinking about," I said. "And it would be wonderful for trips, wouldn't it?" "It's got to be a win-win, the way I see it," Kyle said. "How long have you been thinking about this?" Rick asked. "I don't know. Ten minutes?" Kyle replied. "I wonder how much they cost?" "Probably not any more than four vans," I said. "They might take a special kind of license, so a few of us would have to upgrade our driver's licenses, if they do. That wouldn't be a big deal. We could also keep one of the vans for use when the limo is otherwise in service. Kyle, there may be a future in the business for you yet." "We could call it 'The Goodsonmobile.' Since it wouldn't really belong to any one hotel. And the places are all close enough to one another that the delays wouldn't be bad. Just publish a schedule. What do we care if somebody has to hang out at the airport an extra little while? We could take the whole fam damnly on trips at the same time," Kyle said. "It's time to go," I said. "Kyle, thanks for the idea, Bubba. I think it has a lot of potential. You know, if we don't buy one, we could look into renting one for trips." Murray and Todd had a wonderful hour with their grandmothers, and I was glad Kyle had thought of that. We promised to do the same thing on our way home on Wednesday, so the two old ladies had that to look forward to. The rest of the way to New Orleans was pleasant but unremarkable. I couldn't get my mind off Kyle's idea, though. I doubted I'd have any time to talk to Gene about it that weekend, but maybe I would. And, as it turned out, I did. On Monday afternoon some of the kids and Craig went to Chubby's Pool Hall to shoot pool, and the rest were out sight seeing. Gene and I found some time to talk. "I hate to bring up business matters on vacation, Gene, but Kyle had an idea that I wanted to pass on to you," I said. "I'm all ears," Gene said. I told him about the limo idea. "I think it has a lot of merit, but I'd hate for the current drivers to lose their jobs. That's the only thing I don't like about it," Gene said. "Gene, we're constantly replacing drivers. They're tip employees, and I don't think they make very much money. We wouldn't have to lay off anybody who's now working. We could let attrition take care of that. True, for a while we might have to keep a couple of the vans going, along with the limo, but it wouldn't surprise me at all if all the drivers we now have are gone by the end of Spring Break. That's what happened last year. Or it will happen by the end of the summer, for sure. There's one young guy who seems pretty sharp. Maybe we can get him to take the limo job, at double the pay. What do you think?" I said. "I'll tell you what, Kevin. Do some investigating when we get home. Find out details and let me know. I want to know everything, but it's going to be your call," he said. I already figured it would be my call. I was excited about it. * * * Murray and Todd thought Mardi Gras was fantastic, and they enjoyed the sight seeing they did on Monday, too. Our other kids knew their way around the city pretty well by then, so Rick and I pretty much let them go on their own. We went out with them at night to the parade on Monday and to the Quarter afterward, and, of course, we were all together on Sunday and Tuesday. We enjoyed seeing everybody. The Smyth kids were home from their year of adventure, and our boys hung out with them a good bit. The Smyths had originally planned on attending Harvard, but they switched to Tulane. They had had a wonderful time during their year of traveling, but they missed their dads, they missed the city, and they missed the stability of being in familiar territory. The two dads are Harvard men, and they were a bit disappointed they had opted for Tulane. They were philosophical about it, though, and seemed to accept it because that's what their sons wanted. Seth and Curt continued to mature and grow, physically and psychologically. It has been two years since we first met Seth at Mardi Gras, and it was almost impossible to imagine the kid he had been then when you compared him to the young man he is now. Matt and Cathy, his parents, still credit us and our kids with his transformation, and it was obvious they accept Curt as their second son. Mardi Gras was another very successful family trip, and the boys chattered endlessly about the different things we had done and seen. The costumes looked good, and everybody liked them. The general public only wear costumes on Tuesday, and Tuesday, Carnival Day, was sunny and hot. By noon the boys had their costumes off, and shorts and tee shirts on. Kyle had borrowed some grease paint from the drama teacher at Beachside, and that stuff was downright uncomfortable to wear. We took it off when we took off the costumes, of course. By mid-afternoon the tee shirts were off Justin and Kyle, and Todd couldn't keep his eyes off them. I couldn't remember if he had seen them shirtless before, but evidently he found them attractive. We made another quick stop at the nursing home in Pensacola on the way back to Emerald Beach, and once again we were able to bring joy to Miss Sarah and Miss Rose. They were dressed to go out when we got there, so we squeezed them and their wheelchairs into the Land Cruiser with us and took them out to lunch. I wished we had the limo bus right then. Emerald Beach had about a two-week respite after Mardi Gras before the Spring Breakers descended on us during the last weekend of February. Things returned to the regular routine as Lent began. Justin's instructions for becoming a Catholic shifted into a higher gear, both for him as a candidate and for me as his sponsor. He is taking fifteen hours at college, learning Catholicism, and working part time at the Laguna. His life is busy. The rest of them stay busy, as well.
Spring Break is an important part of our local economy, and I know many of the merchants, restaurants, and hotels on the beach make a substantial portion of their annual revenue from the thousands of college and high school kids who come to town every year. It is six or seven weeks long, depending on whose statistics you look at, but it always means a significant increase in the workload of my agency. Somehow runaways have an easier time getting here with friends of theirs who are coming down for Break, and I probably deal with twice as many during that time as I do from September until the end of February. Much of the beach proper is part of the City of Emerald Beach, but a good bit of it is unincorporated area that comes under the county sheriff for primary law enforcement. Those are the relatively less-affluent portions of the beach, and that's where the older, less expensive motels are located. The Goodson Enterprises properties are all in the City, for example. The runaways always seem to turn up in the poorer places. My contact person with the Sheriff's Department is a young woman named Patricia Young. Patricia called me at home on the Saturday afternoon at the end of the first week of Break. She had a live one who needed immediate emergency placement. The boy's name is Peter Hendricks. He's sixteen, from Atlanta. He had hooked up with a group of college students, who had met him in a fast food place when they stopped there on their way down from Maine. He had left home about two months before, and he had been surviving on the streets of Atlanta by hook or by crook. The four girls who befriended him in Atlanta had given him a ride to Emerald Beach, and they had fed him and let him stay in their room for the week they were here. The motel owner had discovered him still in the room after the girls had checked out, and he had called the Sheriff's office. "He has no place to go. We called the last known phone number he had for his mother, but that line has been disconnected. He doesn't have grandparents that he knows, or any other relatives or family friends. You're my next step, Tyrone," Patricia said. "Does he appear to be healthy?" I asked. "He's not coughing or trembling or anything, and he has a decent tan. He looks very healthy to me," she said. "Is he gay, do you know?" I asked. "One gets that distinct impression," she said. "Is he there in your office? Is that why you don't want to talk more openly?" I asked. "Affirmative," she said. "Ask him if he's gay," I said. "I have a great home I can put him in if he's gay." "With Kevin and Rick?" she asked. "You know them? How?" I asked. "One of theirs, not a DCF kid, got into trouble, and I worked the case. Technically, I'm still working it, but you know how it is when a smart kid, who has money and a car, runs away," she said. "Who was it?" I asked. I knew they had a kid who didn't come through DCF because Kevin had called me about lining up a counselor for him. I didn't know his name, though, or much about him. It had been a few months. "Tyrone, you know I can't tell you his name. I'll let you get the other information directly from Pete, but I think he'll qualify hands down, and I also think that would be the perfect placement for him," she said. "Patricia, let me call Kevin and Rick, and get right back to you. This afternoon is my daughter's birthday party. Would you be able to take him out there, if they say 'yes?' Since you already know them, and all?" I said. "I'd be happy to, but you'll owe me for this," she said. "But you're on duty, right?" I said. "I'm on call, not on duty. Just like you," she said. "Okay. Let me get busy. We're going to have a house full of little girls here in about thirty minutes, and my wife will have a fit if I'm not here to help her," I said. "Okay. I'm not going anywhere," she said. Rick answered the phone when I called their house, and, just as I figured, they'd be glad to take Pete in. I explained the arrangement with Patricia Young, and I told him I'd take care of the paperwork on Monday. He said that was fine. I called Patricia back and told her what Rick had said. She said she and Pete were on their way.
I like Tyrone Williams a lot, and I have the utmost respect for him as a professional. I hadn't planned on working on Saturday afternoon, but being "on call" means you work if you have to. That day, I had to. Pete is a cute kid. He said he was sixteen, but he could have passed for much younger. He's small, probably 5'4", and he probably didn't weigh more than 120 pounds, soaking wet. He has pale blond hair that needed to be cut, and blue eyes. His nose was peeling from being in the sun, but the rest of his face, and what I could see of his arms, were tanned. He had a small piece of luggage with him, something that I thought of as a gym bag, but that was all. He appears to be totally innocent. He isn't what I would call flamingly effeminate, but I felt instinctively that he is gay. Since I was taking him to an exclusively gay foster home, I worked up the nerve to ask him. "Pete, the place I'm taking you is a very fine foster home that's run by a gay couple. Two men in their mid-twenties, Kevin Foley and Rick Mashburn. I don't know how many boys are in the home right now, but I know they're all gay. Will that be a problem for you?" I asked. "Oh, no. I'm gay, too," he said. Well, that was easy, I thought. "What grade are you in?" I asked. "I don't go to school," he said. Oh, but you will starting Monday morning, I thought. I didn't say anything, though. "When did you drop out?" I asked. "At the end of eighth grade. I've never been to high school," he said. "What did you do all day, if you didn't go to school," I asked. "I worked," he said. "Oh? What kind of work did you do?" I asked. I was as much making conversation as I was conducting an interview. "Do we have to talk about that?" he asked. "We will eventually. We might as well get it out of the way," I said. "Was the work you did illegal?" "Yes," he whispered. "Did you do it willingly, or did somebody force you to do it?" I asked. He didn't answer for a long time, but I waited. I have interviewed hundreds of kids, and I know that you have to let them set the pace. "He made me do it," he said, eventually. "Who's he? Your father, your stepfather, or somebody else?" I asked. "My mom's boyfriend. We lived with him," he said. "He said he'd cut my mom off, if I didn't do it." "Was it drug-related?" I asked. "Yes," he said, again in a soft voice. "Do you use drugs?" I asked. "No. My job was to deliver them, but I never used them. My mom does, though. Heroin," he said. "She would die if he cut her off. That's why I did it." "Don't worry. You won't be in trouble for that, baby," I said. "Do you know what prostitution is?" "Tricking?" he asked. "Yes. Tricking. Did he ever make you do that?" I asked. "No, but he kept saying he would turn me out to trick if he thought he could make any money off me. He didn't think guys would want me," he said. "He said I was stupid and ugly, and that's a bad combination." "Well, you're neither stupid nor ugly," I said. A few inches of height and about thirty pounds wouldn't hurt, though, I thought. "Did he ever want to have sex with you?" I asked. "Or want you to have sex with any of his friends?" "He said he wanted me to . . . you know, but he never made me," he said. "You can say it," I said. "A few times he said he wanted me to, uhm . . . suck his pee-pee. You know?" he said. "I never did it, though." "Are you sure you're gay?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "I don't know that much about it, but I know I am. He knew it, too. I always have been." "Do you know your father?" I asked. "No," he said softly. "Well, you're going to have two wonderful dads at your new home. They're both twenty-seven years old, and they love kids, especially gay kids," I said. "That's how old my mom's boyfriend is. She's thirty-two," he said. "Am I going to have to have sex with them?" "Oh, baby, no. Absolutely not. This is a good place you're going to. Nothing like that will happen to you. If it does, though, you call 9-1-1 immediately, okay? But I know that's not going to happen. You'll be safe there," I said. * * * Kevin and Rick were waiting at the door for us when I drove up. I made the introductions, and they shook hands with their new son. "Can you stay for a while?" Kevin asked. "Not long, but we do need to talk," I said. We went into the den, and there were two boys in there. "Hi, I'm Kyle Goodson, and this is my boyfriend, Tim Murphy. Welcome, Bubba. That's what we call one another. Bubba," Kyle said with a huge, welcoming grin. They shook hands. "Let us show you around," Kyle said. "Kyle, put him on three," Kevin said. "In the new room?" Kyle asked. "Todd's already in the other new one." "Yeah," Kevin said. "Yes, sir. Will do," Kyle said, and the three boys left the room. "He's cute, but he's scared," Rick said. "Yes, to both," I said. "Did you get anything out of him?" Kevin asked. "Quite a bit, actually," I said, and I proceeded to tell them what I knew about Pete. Rick whistled softly when I told him Pete's story, or what I knew of it. "Patricia, since Sean ran, Kevin and I have decided to try a new approach. Sean never fit in here, partly, I think, because he didn't have a mentor or best friend in the house to look after him. The four older boys pitched in like troopers, of course, but all the kids here stay on the go. We've assigned Kyle and Tim the responsibility of looking out for Pete, of being his mentors, so to speak. That's why they're here and the rest aren't. Kyle's pretty macho, and I can tell that Pete isn't. Tim's masculine-acting, but he also has insight and intuition and a certain sensitivity that Kyle lacks," Rick said. "Guys, if you're looking for advice from me about that, I'm afraid I can't give it. You know your children, and I don't. Kyle's the photographer, right?" I asked. "Yeah," Kevin said. "I actually picked up a copy of his book. As an artist, a photographer, he seems to have more insight into the nature of boyhood than anybody I've ever encountered, based on the pictures in that book," I said. "And there's certainly no lack of sensitivity. Of course, I'm no critic." "He's gruff at times, though," Kevin said. "Does he use the Grumble?" I asked. "You know about that?" Rick asked. "I grew up here. I'm a Beach Rat, and I have two brothers. Of course I know about the Grumble," I said. "So you know. Kyle is pure Emerald Beach, except that he's gay," Kevin said. "So is one of my brothers," I said. I could see them cutting their eyes at each other. "Is that why you don't have . . . " Rick said. "Exactly," I said. "We aren't in the same social circles as the Goodsons, but Kyle is my brother, for all intents and purposes. Hunting, fishing, SCUBA diving, boating, skiing, surfing? Am I getting warm?" I asked. "You're not getting warm. You're dead on target," Kevin said. "But Kyle's a whole lot more than that. A whole lot more." "So is my brother. He's a guidance counselor at a high school in Ft. Lauderdale, and he and his partner routinely take in kids in trouble. Not just gay kids, but they've had their share of them. I don't think you have to worry about Kyle and Pete." I looked at my watch, and it was already 4:45. "Guys, I'm going to have to run. I actually have a date tonight, and he's picking me up for dinner at seven. I live all the way out at the air-base end of town, and I need all the time I can get to look presentable for him. He's an Air Force captain. Those don't come along very often, and I don't want to jinx it. Take care of Pete," I said. "We will, and enjoy your date," Kevin said. "Is this the first one?" "No. It's the fifth one, actually, but it's the first 'romantic-dinner-at-a-nice-restaurant' one," I said. "I might even get lucky tonight. Who knows? Bye, guys." I felt good. I felt as though Kevin and Rick were truly the salt of the earth who had nothing but the best interests of those kids at heart. I was excited about my date with Allan, and I knew Pete would be well cared for. I was on top of the world.
When I got back to our house from making my last delivery of the day, the place was deserted. They went out sometimes, but that time it seemed different, like they had left. I knew we were way past due on the rent, and the phone company had already cut off the phone, but that wasn't all that new an idea for us. That day, though, things weren't right. The three or four pictures of my mom and me that used to be on the top of the TV set were missing, and the TV itself was gone. I went into their bedroom, and their clothes were gone. I went into the kitchen. In the middle of the table were two packs of cigarettes and under them was a note in my mom's handwriting. "Dear Pete, "We had to split. Cops on our tail. Enjoy these smokes, and you can keep the money you got today. I was alone when I was your age, only I also had you. You can do it. Take care. M." I sat down at the table, and I was in shock. They had left me. They were gone. Vanished. I had collected $220 that day, and that was mine. I had no idea how long I could live on that. I opened the fridge, and they had cleaned it out. The cabinets, too, not that there was ever much in either place. I didn't know what to do. The house came furnished, so at least I had furniture to sit on and sleep in. I went to my room, threw myself on my bed, and cried. I woke up the next morning to somebody pounding on the front door. When I stumbled out to answer it, still in my clothes from the day before, it was the landlord. He was our next-door neighbor, and he pushed the door in, brushing me aside. He stormed through the house. "Where is that miserable son of a bitch?" he demanded. "I don't know. I think they ran away. Here's the note they left me," I said, showing him the note. He read it quick. "Your ass is out of here. How much money do you have?" he screamed. "None. I didn't get nothing yesterday," I lied. "You people owe me so fucking much money. And look at this place. It's a fucking pig sty. It'll take two hundred bucks just to get it so decent people can live here. Shit!" he said. He was pissed off. "You've got till noon to get your ass out of here, or I'm calling the cops," he said. "Okay," I said. "I'll be gone." I had a really beat-up 1984 Ford. It barely ran, and I couldn't get it up faster than forty. I didn't have a driver's license, but that didn't stop me from driving it all over Atlanta to make deliveries and collections. That damn thing was an accident waiting to happen, but he didn't care. At least I didn't have to make deliveries and collections on my bike anymore. I didn't even know what had happened to my bike. It was just gone when I got home one day. I didn't have many clothes, but I packed all that I had in an Atlanta Braves gym bag I had found in front of somebody's house next to a garbage can that hadn't been emptied yet. Just two pairs of jeans, besides the pair I was wearing, a few tee shirts, some underwear, a few pairs of socks, one sweater, and a pretty nice jacket I had bought at Goodwill. I was wearing the only shoes I owned, worn-out Nikes. I locked my bag in the trunk of the car and took off. Most of my customers were college and high school kids, and I knew they wouldn't help me. I had one customer that I thought might, though, so I went to him. He was a heroin customer, not a weed customer like the kids. That was a mistake. He screamed at me and hit me a couple of times for coming to his house. He called me every name in the book. I didn't know what to do. I was scared and hungry as hell, so I pulled into a McDonald's. I got a good meal, and I felt a lot better. That particular McDonald's was in the parking lot of a big shopping center. I parked near the entrance to Gold's Gym, where other cars were parked, and I went to sleep for the night on the back seat. That McDonald's became sort of the center of my world. I limited myself to two meals a day, breakfast and dinner, both at McDonald's. After about a week, I started smelling bad. Even I noticed it, especially when I woke up in my car in the morning. The morning manager at McDonald's knew what was up with me. One morning he said, "Son, you need to get cleaned up. You've had the same clothes on for a week or more. Do you have a place to go?" I shook my head. "Any suggestions?" I asked. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. There's a truck stop about two miles east of here. You can take a shower there. Do you have clean clothes to put on?" "Yes, sir," I said, even though he wasn't that much older than me. "Do it, boy. You're getting rank," he said. After I ate my breakfast, I went there and took a shower. I had to pay for the privilege, but it felt so good that it was worth it. I started doing that about every third day, and I always felt so good when I was clean. I stayed in that parking lot. I'd move my car to different locations so the people wouldn't get suspicious, but there were about a dozen cars, or more, that did the same thing, night after night. During the day, I would haunt the stores in the shopping center. Let me tell you something. You can spend a month or more in a Wal-Mart roaming around, and nobody will ever challenge you. I never bought a thing, either. I'd pick up a bag of candy when I walked in, and it would be gone by the time I left. Nobody was the wiser. I read several books there, too. They didn't know I hadn't paid for them, and not a one of them challenged me. Those two packs of cigarettes my mom left for me didn't last any time, and I lifted a pack of smokes every day. One time I took a whole carton, and I was totally surprised when I walked out with those under my jacket and nobody noticed. That shopping center was big. Besides Wal-Mart, they had Target, Home Depot, and a gigantic Winn-Dixie. I always got me a shopping cart at Winn-Dixie, and I'd throw two or three things in it to make them think I was shopping. My first stop was always produce. I'd get me a small bunch of grapes here, a handful of cherries there, an apple, a raw carrot, a couple of stalks of celery. A few mushrooms. Anything that was loose and easy to eat. Then I'd move to the meat section. On Saturdays, there were always ladies giving out samples. I'd see people come up and take one piece of smoked sausage. I'd take twenty. "Yum, this is good," I'd say. "I've got to go find my mama and get her to buy me some of this. It's delicious." And the lady would smile. Cheese. Seafood spread. A new kind of peanut butter. Pork roast. It was all the same. I learned I could get me a mighty fine meal in a big grocery store for free. I couldn't do that every day because they didn't have samples out like that during the week, but Saturday and Sunday were great days for that. I lived like that for two months. At least I think it was that long. I didn't have a calendar or a watch or anything, but that's about what it felt like. I know I missed Christmas, not that it was ever anything special, because everything was closed one day. Even McDonald's. I just didn't eat that day. One morning, after I had eaten my Mickey D breakfast, I fired up my car to go take a shower. When I put it in gear, I heard something hit the ground under my car. I got out to see what it was, but I don't know shit from shinola about cars. A guy from one of the other cars that had been in that parking lot for about a week came running over. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Yeah, I'm fine. What happened?" I asked. He dropped down to the ground to look under my car. "You just broke your front u-joint and dropped the fucking drive shaft. You ain't going nowhere in this piece of shit," he said. "Just my luck," I said. "Where were you going?" he asked. "Down to the truck stop to take a shower," I said. "Me, too," he said. "I'll take you." It turned out he was homeless, like me. He was twenty-one, gay, and had recently been released from some hospital in South Carolina. I told him I'm gay, too. I figured that might make him like me and let me sleep in his car that night. "Seeing as how we're both gay, you want to hook up?" he asked me on the way back to the parking lot. "No," I said. "Aw, come on, man. What you saving it for? Prince Charming?" he asked. He grabbed my arm, and I got scared. "Yes," I said. I ran into McDonalds. He followed me, but I pushed my way into a booth with four girls. He was right behind me. "Come on, man. I can make your ass sing, you know?" he said. He was standing at the head of the booth. "No! I don't want that," I said. The morning manager, who was sort of a friend by now, came out and made him leave. He threatened to call the cops, and that guy left. I apologized to the girls and told them my story. They told me I was welcome to go with them, and that sounded like a good idea to me. I got my bag and a few things from the inside of my car, and we drove off to Emerald Beach. The week with those girls was the most fun I had ever had. They made friends with some guys on the beach during the day, and one night a couple of guys came to our room. They had twelve bottles of beer and a bottle of whiskey, so we all had a good time. One guy started making out with one of the girls. Pretty soon they left so she could see what the guys' motel room looked like. "It's just you and me, sport," the guy who stayed said to me. "You think the two of us can take on these three chicks?" "Pete's not interested in taking on girls," one of them said. "Is that right? What are you, some kind of fag or something?" he asked. "He's gay. Leave him alone. He can't help it, and we like him. He's our little brother," Mary said. "All right," he said. "Which one of you wants to be first? If you don't want to fuck me, at least give me a blowjob." "Ewww, that's disgusting," Ann said. "You're not getting anything from us." "Well, goddamn it, I'm getting it from somebody. I'm the one who bought the fucking booze, and my buddy's the one getting laid. That don't compute," he said. "You're drunk," Shelly said. "That might be true, but I'm also horny as hell," he said. His name was Rich. "What about you, Pete? You'd like to suck a big, hard, fratboy cock, wouldn't you? Sure you would. Come here and show me what you can do." He grabbed me by the arm and started pulling me toward him. He started pulling down the zipper of his shorts with the other hand, and I saw that he had an erection. I braced myself against his leg, I thought, to keep him from pulling me up. Then, all of a sudden, he flung me to the floor. "Goddamn it, you motherfucking faggot. You couldn't wait, could you? You sorry sack of shit. I ought to beat you till you can't walk," he said. "What happened?" Ann asked. "That motherfucker made me come. He grabbed my dick and made me come," he said. "He didn't grab you. I saw what happened," Mary said. She got between me and Rich, and she helped me up from the floor. "Get out. Now, or I'm calling the police." "All right. Fine. I hope you three dykes and your faggot boyfriend have fun the rest of the night. I'm out," he said, and then he left. I was crying hard. I couldn't help myself. The three girls petted me and told me it was all right. They were so sweet to me. "Pete, just for the record, we're not lesbians. And we're not so sex-starved that we'd let a cretin like him touch us," Shelly said. "Thank you for helping me. It's been so good until now," I whimpered. "We've got three more days. It'll be good again tomorrow," Ann said. |