The Volunteer
2
G2 KNEW where the community center was; he’d been there before. It might be nothing—and if it was he was no worse off than before—but something deep inside told him this was the night. He wrinkled up his nose as he got closer, searching in the air for a tell-tale scent. He was almost to the door before he finally caught it. They were serving dinner for the homeless tonight. Dinners at community centers were always the best. You could go in and eat your fill of whatever they served, grab a few slices of bread to put in your bag, and leave without having to listen to more than a few God blesses, and maybe a prayer. There were always missions you could get a meal at, but the price of food was often to sit through a long sermon, sometimes even before they let you eat. They wouldn’t let you bring wine into the mission and it was too late by the time you got out to get any. Some nights, Gerald was too hungry to resist. He didn’t object to the sermons or what people believed and tried to get him to believe. He could even nod his head at what they said and whisper “God bless” back at them. But sitting sober at one of their sermons always started Gerald thinking. And thinking like that could make you crazy.
“Brothers and sisters,” a preacher would start out and G2 would start asking himself if he was related to the preacher. And if he was related and everybody in the room was the preacher’s brother or sister, then he must be related to everybody in the room—even the black men, the Asian whores, and the Mexican day-laborers. Now G2 knew none of them were raised in the same house he was. He was pretty sure his mother only had two children. But his father might have had children by as many women as he wanted. Of course, he would have to travel all over the world to get Chinese and Mexican children. He’d be a regular George Washington who was father of his country. It just showed that religion started out lying in the first three words. Brothers and sisters. But they want people to believe really unbelievable stuff. G2 figured that if a preacher could make a bunch of bums in a mission believe they were his brothers and sisters, he was well on his way to making them believe any other thing he wanted to preach. G2 had long since learned how to talk like they wanted. Yes sir. I believe. Amen. God bless. If you tried to argue with them they couldn’t let go. They’d talk you to death and you’d be lucky to get cold soup for dinner. But at community centers you just walked in on a night they were serving dinner and filled a plate with hot greasy pasta and ate. Nobody looked in your bag to see if you were carrying a bit of wine. Nobody preached more than a God bless. Nobody noticed when you stuck an apple and three slices of doughy Wonder Bread in your pocket and left. Nobody noticed you. They were good people.
That’s the way it was with people. You get on in this world by nodding your head and keeping your eyes down. If you challenged people, they’d get you. G2 was never going back to Miami; that was sure enough. It was warm enough and you could sleep under the boardwalk or out on the beach without freezing to death as long as you weren’t there during a hurricane and kept out of the way of the patrols. But G2 argued with a man in Miami. It was a long time ago, but people like that don’t forget. It was nothing, really, but some folks just have to keep arguing even after you give up and move your bedroll to the other side of camp. Then they sneak up on you in the middle of the night and kick you in the gut with two of their friends, and you crawl away and slip into an empty boxcar on the first train heading north and you never go back.
When Gerald was a senior in high school, he heard that his friend Jeff had been shot and was in a hospital in Milwaukee. Gerald was compelled to go visit the friend that he had played army with in the neighborhood. The Milwaukee County General Hospital was a bleak place. It was, Gerald found out, the same hospital that operated the TB sanitarium his father worked in during the Korean conflict and had a large wing that was considered a mental hospital. The medical facility was painted white throughout. Gray tile paved the hallways giving the impression of a stark black and white photograph of a hospital from another age. The people housed in its wards were mostly indigents who could not afford medical care. They were the people that Gerald’s family had sometimes referred to as being “on the county.” In the barbershop, Forrest the barber had once asked Gerald’s father what ever happened to Old Man Sanders. He never came into the shop anymore. Gerald’s father shook his head sadly and said, “Sanders lost his job and the bank took his house. He’s on the county now. Probably can’t afford a haircut.” Jeff’s ward had eight beds in it and Jeff was in the third on the right. As soon as he saw his one-time friend, Gerald couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he’d come here. Jeff was stretched out on the bed flat on his back. The TV in the corner of the room was playing “The Edge of Night” and occasionally Jeff’s eyes flicked toward it. The sound was turned so low Gerald could hardly hear it. Jeff’s eyes watched Gerald come into the room but he didn’t turn his head.
Gerald had dressed in his good slacks with a white shirt and tie on. He didn’t know what the rules were for getting into a hospital. He’d just turned eighteen, but maybe they didn’t allow people to visit who were younger than twenty-one. He’d chosen the tie carefully, opting for a straight narrow black tie instead of one of his father’s broad multi-colored ties. Gerald’s father had had a different tie for every day of the year. He wore a tie to the office every day. When he was killed, Gerald took all the ties into his own closet and a few white shirts as well. This was the first time he’d actually worn one of them.
“You some kind of a priest now?” Jeff asked as Gerald came up beside his bed.
“Naw. I just didn’t know if they’d let me in to see you.” Gerald could tell Jeff was in a sour mood, but who wouldn’t be lying in this place flat on his back.
“Why’d you come? Nobody else came. None of the gang. Not one of the guys who said they were my friend. They all scattered and left me there.”
“I don’t know,” Gerald said. “We used to be friends.” There was a little silence with neither boy knowing what to say next. “What happened?” Jeff looked at him and managed to turn his head slightly to see him better.
“You with the cops?” Gerald shook his head. “They want to pin it all on me. I didn’t do anything.”
“What happened?” Gerald repeated.
“We decided to go down to Chicago and try to get some real booze. Guys had been drinking three-two all day and said we should have some whiskey. We all decided Chicago was the best place to go. We could get there where everybody looked the same, get some whiskey, and sit by the Lake and watch the sun come up. Then we’d roll back home. By the time we reached Milwaukee, everybody was tired of the whole idea. They said we might as well just get some booze in Milwaukee and light up the town. Norm was a Polack, so nobody’d be the wiser. We swung to the curb at the first liquor store we saw. That’s when we realized nobody had any money to buy booze. So Norm, Kirby, and Sam said they’d go in. Billy was to keep the car running and I was to watch outside for the cops. Sam had a gun and they just walked in, waved it around and took a couple of bottles and money. I didn’t know what was happening and I’d gone up to the corner to look for cops and was coming back when the three of them came running out of the store and piled in the car. Billy floored it with me running along behind to catch up. Bastard in the store came out with a rifle and plugged me in the back. Now I can’t even piss by myself.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Shoulda just kept my head down and gone the other way.” They were silent for a while. Gerald couldn’t think of anything to say. He would never have been caught with those guys in the first place. He guessed maybe he was a goody two-shoes. But maybe that was why nothing bad ever happened to him. He just wasn’t ever where the bad stuff happened.
“I ain’t ever gonna get out of this hospital, am I?” Jeff asked. “You were the smart one Ger. You were always the smart one.”
“I gotta go,” Gerald said. “I’ll come back and visit again.”
“Yeah, you do that. Thanks for coming.”
Gerald left and drove the two-and-a-half hours home lost in thought. Dad had been right. Just keep your nose clean and your head down and stay away from guns.
Jeff died later that winter.
G2 heard something he didn’t recognize in the noise of the crowded street. The bumping throb hit him in the chest and made his lungs vibrate. It didn’t seem to affect anyone else around, but it forced G2 to a wall for support. He must be crazy, thinking there was an earthquake when no one else could feel a thing. The teeth-shaking thump got louder and G2 could see a car—that was a Jeep, he remembered—approaching. As the Jeep went on past, the thumping gradually faded. That much echo in his chest made G2 feel empty. That must have been music, he thought.
There was a time when Gerald liked music. He was like any other teenager. He knew all the popular songs. They were good for getting to touch girls. Not all the songs. Some songs seemed to be made to keep people apart, dancing in their own little world as if no one else existed. One time Gerald took a girl to a dance and barely saw her all evening. When he took her home after the dance, she was effusive about how much she enjoyed herself, but she never went out with him again, even though they often went to the same dances and she never seemed to be with anyone else. There was some music, however, that seemed to make a girl melt into your arms—like at senior prom. It started out with everyone nervous about the big night, a corsage barely stuck with a trembling hand to the strap of a low-cut gown—that silent offer of a breast to caress, even if only with the back of one’s hand. The music started with lively numbers and kids jumping around—dancing—frantically trying to burn off the sexual energy that had built with anticipation of the evening. Gradually, the music slowed over the course of the night. Those who had outlasted the frenzy and were still on the dance floor moved together. By the end of the dance, their feet were barely moving, their bodies practically glued to each other.
Gerald drove his date home in his mother’s old Ford Galaxy. She sat in the center of the front seat, snuggled under his arm, holding his right hand against her breast as he carefully maneuvered the big car down the country roads, never going faster than thirty. This was a moment he wanted to last. He remembered there was music then, too, on the radio. She used her free hand to tune to a late-night jazz station. When he pulled into her long farm-house driveway, he coasted to a stop near the barn and turned off the car and the lights, but left the radio on. She sank further into his embrace, giving him even more access to her breasts as she lifted her lips to kiss him. That first kiss after the prom was exquisite. He never wanted it to end. When it did, their hands had found every intimate part of each other’s body and their breathing was shallow and intense. Gerald knew that this was the night and she was the girl. All he could think was a silent prayer that if they made love tonight he would never make love to another woman as long as he lived. She would be the one for him. But it wasn’t to be. As if in answer to his prayer, she whispered to him, “Nothing that could last longer than tonight, Gerald. No long-term consequences, just the moment.” They had cum together, but not through intercourse. When they were sated, she pulled her dress back together, kissed him one more luxurious time and got out of the car. Gerald jumped to walk her to the door, but she motioned him to stay. She walked to the back door of her house alone, turned to blow him a kiss, and then disappeared inside. They had only one date after that when she told him they were just too different to be dating. He was going to college and she was going to stay home and work. She just wasn’t cut out to be a college guy’s girlfriend. Later that year, she married a local farm boy and Gerald heard she had had two children by the time he finished college. Gerald had quit listening to music by that time. It was an interruption he didn’t need. Even when he went to see a movie with his college girlfriend or watched television, he hated the way music manipulated his feelings. Music could trigger fear, tears, and lust. Nothing could be trusted to be what it appeared to be if there was music playing.
G2 moved his feet around to see if he could dance, but he couldn’t remember any music. There was no rhythm, no sense to the movement of his feet, and no girl to hold. As he was intently trying unsuccessfully to remember a song—any song—from his teen years, a passerby dropped a coin in his cup, and all thought of music disappeared.
G2 was looking for an unoccupied corner in a retail area. People were more likely to give a handout in a retail area than in a business district. Business people were working and thought you should be, too. People who were shopping, though—especially those who bought things they didn’t really need and felt guilty about—were in a spending mode and were sensitive to people who couldn’t afford what they could. They could buy a quick indulgence for their greed and vanity with a few coins in his cup. You had to be careful of some businesses, though. He had once been taken by a well-meaning older woman into a beauty salon where she paid to have him barbered, shaved, and scrubbed. G2 came out looking young, clean, and smelling of some kind of fruit. He couldn’t get a handout for a week after.
He turned a corner and walked into the trailing scent of a woman who had recently passed by. Even after such a long time, the scent had a familiarity to it, and a fragment of lyrics to an old song flitted through his mind. “Never gonna give you up—never gonna let you down.” For a second he could feel the soft silkiness of Lori’s hair against his face and the scent of her perfume filled his nostrils as he kissed her neck. A bus drove past and its exhaust erased the last lingering fragrance in the air.
He should have said goodbye.
He stood in place for a moment, bewildered by the sudden burst of memory that had come upon him. He was confused about where he was and blinked an unexplained tear from his eye. The world around him came crashing back in on his awareness. A crowd of people pressed toward him in the wake of a walk light. A gentle hand tapped him on the shoulder and G2 turned toward it quickly. “Sorry,” said the young man who had touched him. “Didn’t mean to startle you, but you’d better step back away from the curb. People are going to run you over out there. That bus mirror almost got you.” G2 ducked his head and shuffled back toward the storefront on the other side of the walkway. To his surprise, the young man walked with him instead of turning to go away. G2 would normally not look twice at a boy this age. He’d learned long ago that males between 16 and 30 were simply too self-absorbed to notice a bum and give him a handout. This fellow looked like all the others. He wore khaki pants with a yellow polo shirt that had an animal stitched over his heart. Ear buds dangled around his neck and the cord led to his pants pocket. He wore loafers with pennies stuck in the tongue. This was not the kind of fellow who helped out bums.
“I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee,” the guy said. “You want one?” Gerald barely nodded his head and the young man was off at a trot to a Starbucks on the corner. For a few moments Gerald considered leaving before the guy got back, but an elderly woman struggling past paused and fished in her purse, finally dropping two quarters in his cup. He bobbed his head toward her and quietly muttered “God bless,” when the hand of another passerby reached out with a dollar for his cup. A small child, firmly gripped by his mother, smiled up at G2 and reached on tiptoe to drop a dime in G2’s cup. The mother added a dollar. By the time the young man returned with coffee, there was $3.10 in his cup. “I hope you like cream. I just fixed it the same way I like mine. I’m Phillip, by the way. Oh, and here. They had these on sale in there because it’s so late in the day.” Phillip held out a plastic wrapped bagel sandwich. Gerald hesitated, though his mouth had begun to water. The sandwich had an egg on it. “Go ahead,” Phillip encouraged him. “It’s not like I paid a fortune for it or anything. They practically gave it away. Besides, I know where my next meal is coming from and I’ll bet you don’t. That’s why I’m standing out here. My girlfriend is going to meet me. We’re going shopping for an engagement ring and then out to dinner so I can propose properly. Did you ever get married, old man?” Phillip paused in his rambling only long enough to confirm that G2 shook his head. “Well, all that talk about how guys should buy a ring and surprise her with it is dumb. I mean, she’s going to wear it every day for the rest of her life. She should have some say in what it looks like. And Lisa has some very strong opinions, let me tell you. You know those signs in a ballpark they put messages on? Some guys put their proposal up there and put the girl on the spot with 30,000 people watching. Man, if I did that I’d be a bachelor for life. No a eunuch. She’d make sure I was out of the running permanently. But you know what? If Lisa wasn’t in my life, it would be empty. There just wouldn’t be anything to give it meaning. Why would I want to be an engineer or move out west? I’d be pretty much like you. It’s too bad you never found the right girl.” Phillip kept talking, but G2 had stopped listening a long time ago. He was thinking again.
He should have said goodbye.
Everything had come so easy for him. He’d never really had to make a decision. Never in his life. He wore the same kind of clothes everyone else wore in school. He ate whatever his mother put on the table. He went to school and did what he was told to. “Keep your nose clean and your head down,” his father always said. As a result, he got good grades. He scored high on his tests. He went to the first State University that accepted him. His schooling was paid for by scholarships. He met the perfect girl and they dated all through college. He assumed that someday she would simply tell him when they were going to get married and they would have a perfect life together. When he finally made a decision—the only decision he could remember ever making in his life—it all changed.
“You’re drifting,” Brian had said. “You honestly have the balls to complain that you never really had to work at anything. It all came too easy.” Gerald and Brian had been friends for as long as he could remember and Gerald knew it had not all come easy for Brian. He’d worked hard in high school to get the grades Gerald got while playing ball. He’d taken loans to pay for college tuition that Gerald got on scholarship. Gerald not only respected Brian, he envied his ambition and drive. Brian knew what he wanted and wouldn’t stop until he got it. Gerald had nothing more than a vague notion that he should do some good with his life. He had so much; it should help the world some way. But he didn’t have an idea of what it should be. “What I’m saying is, don’t throw it all away,” Brian had said. “If you want to find meaning in life, then don’t take the corporate job. Go volunteer. Do the one thing that no one else would do and make a difference.”
It was two weeks before college graduation. Gerald finished his last paper and took his last exam, all the while wondering what would truly make a difference. If he could just change one person’s life—change it for the better—then perhaps he could look at himself in the mirror and be proud of himself. Maybe he would know his life wasn’t a waste—that it had meaning.
“Now there’s a guy,” Brian had said as they walked uptown after class, “who would give his left nut to be in your shoes.” The man in question was dressed in fatigues. He stood in a light rain, staring out at traffic coming to a stop at the light. The sign he held in his hands read, “Homeless Vet. Need a little help. God bless.”
“Hey man, wouldn’t you like to be area sales manager for a hot new company?” Brian was never subtle in his approach. The homeless vet looked up and muttered “Fuck off” under his breath, but Brian was undeterred. “The only thing that separates you from this homeless guy is nobody dropped an opportunity in his lap. You want to do something good, for somebody, why don’t you walk a mile in his moccasins and let him try on your wingtips. This guy would make something of his life if he had your opportunity, wouldn’t you buddy?” Brian looked at the homeless vet and found him nodding his head.
The homeless man looked straight at Gerald and Gerald made up his mind on the spot. There was something in the man’s eyes that had more spirit and fight aroused by Brian’s pep talk than had ever found its way into Gerald. There was a kind of pleading in the man’s eyes that captivated Gerald. For just a moment, Gerald could see the world through the other’s eyes. It was harsh and grim. The man was building a wall between himself and the desperate gray world that surrounded him. The glimpse of hope when he looked at Gerald was a last chink in the wall.
Gerald’s heart began to race as his breathing quickened. This could be possible. He could make a difference in the life of a man who desperately wanted what Gerald had. If Brian would agree to guide the man in his transition to a new, productive life, then Gerald could simply trade places—trade lives—with the homeless man. The way everything good just came to Gerald, he could earn his way out of homelessness in a year or two. Maybe he could develop a program based on his experiences—write a book. He’d do an analysis of life as a homeless man from the inside and he would be able to change not only this guy’s life, but the lives of every desperate man and woman on the street. Gerald was young good things always came to him. It wouldn’t be that hard and this guy would get the benefit of being Gerald for a year or two—enough time for him to be on-track for a good life of his own. It suddenly all made sense. Once he made his decision there was no reason to hold back or to wait. He had already earned his degree. Graduation was a mere formality. Within twenty-four hours, Gerald was homeless—G2, a man on the street—and the vet was dressed in Gerald’s clothes, learning how to do Gerald’s new job. Gerald didn’t wait for graduation; didn’t say goodbye. He walked out of his old life with the clothes on his back and disappeared.
Yes. He should have told Lori goodbye.
The sudden downpour had caught G2 unaware and he was soaked through. The weather had been getting warmer, but the rain was cold and G2 shivered. He wasn’t supposed to get caught in bad weather. Homeless people, especially those few like G2 who eschewed shelters and semi-permanent encampments like tent city, were supposed to develop feral instincts that enabled them to get to shelter before bad weather hit. But G2 had been sitting near the river, hiding in a bend out of sight, while he nursed a magnum of wine. It had been a good day and he bought the largest bottle he could with his $7. He’d sat by the river all the previous night, sometimes sleeping while sitting up, then starting awake to take another little sip from the jug. In the morning there was still quite a lot of wine left in the bottle, so Gerald simply stayed where he was instead of panhandling at the freeway exit again. He’d spaced his little sips out all day long, so focused on his precious bottle that he didn’t notice the clouds rolling in, or even the first few gentle spatters of rain until lightning split the night sky and the few drops turned to a downpour in seconds. When it started, G2 jumped up to run for cover, but a momentary disorientation as he bent to scoop up his bag and bottle left him unsure of which way to go. If he stepped out in the darkness the wrong direction he would fall into the river. It was some feet below the edge of the retaining wall and G2 knew that no matter how deep the water, he would be unable to climb back out. So G2 stood where he was, immobile as the rain washed over him.
“All things come to those who wait,” his mother said to Gerald. It had been on the occasion of his 8th birthday and the bicycle from Sears that he had wanted for so many months sat next to the breakfast table. He hadn’t dared to ask for it. His parents had a hard and fast rule to keep their children from being beggars. If you asked for it, you didn’t get it. Gerald and his sister learned early never to ask their parents for so much as an ice cream cone when they were out. But they had also learned to express their admiration for things they desired. Whenever the family went to Sears, Gerald made a point of admiring the bicycle, sitting on it, and examining the price tag and information. His parents had noticed.
G2 still made a practice of never asking, even when he stood with his cardboard sign on a street corner. It said simply, “Thank you for your help. God Bless. G2” It wasn’t clever, but it was the way G2 approached his life. Mad Jocko in Cincinnati was different. He boldly shook his sign at passersby. The sign read, “Ugly, broke, and homeless. Please help!” It worked all right for Mad Jocko. But he was crazy. Petey in D.C. usually sat outside the Greyhound Bus Station. He was pushy and the cops had been by to warn him off a few times. “Buddy, can you gimme a dime? Just a dime. I got ninety cents already and I just need one damn dime.” He was pushy, but people listened to him. He got a lot of dimes and a lot of other change, too. He didn’t hold any signs. He held a fistful of loose change that he was always looking at and counting. Then he’d look up suddenly as you passed by. “Hey Miss, could you spare a dime?” I got ninety cents already, but I just need another dime.” Petey’s favorite spot was next to the vending machines, but he never put money into them. Whenever someone got something from a machine, Petey would walk over when they left and check the change tray. Then he’d turn all of a sudden and catch a passerby. “Hey, you wouldn’t have a spare dime would ya? I only got ninety cents here.” Yeah, Petey did pretty good, but he was pushy.
G2 couldn’t figure out which way to move as he stood soaking up the rain, so he tried to remember how much money he had in his pocket. He was sure he had more than ninety cents, but a dime really wouldn’t do him any good. He started to shiver as the rain continued to pelt him. Each drop drove him closer to the ground until he was hunched into a little ball on the wet and muddy grass. One more sip from his precious bottle and G2 went to sleep with the rain still falling in torrents.
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