Keeping the Tarnished Read online

  “Young man, I can refuse to serve you if you wanna be hateful.” She placed her pudgy hands on either side of her extreme waistline. Her dress was atrocious as well. It reminded Johnny of the white and orange curtains his mother once threw in the burn barrel due to their unattractive nature.

  “I need some make-up like ladies use to cover up their spots,” he replied.

  The woman finally seemed to relax and leaned in closer to the boy so the people behind him couldn’t hear what she was saying. “We don’t got that, either. What you need to do is call child protective services, young man.”

  This was probably the kindest tone the woman had ever taken with him, yet he had no idea what this child place was, or why he needed to call. His glance momentarily fell upon his pathetic reflection in the store widow.

  “Well, can I use your phone?”

  “Use my phone? Hell no. I’m roaming and this prepaid bullshit don’t come cheap,” said the same elderly black man who was behind him in the line earlier. The cantankerous old man ended up sitting next to Johnny on the bus. “Kids are ungrateful shits these days, think the world owes them something,” the old man crankily continued.

  Johnny turned and looked at the man with his mouth open and eyes widened. He knew he wasn’t in the store near his father’s house, he was on the bus. He was on the moving bus, sitting by the window near the back. He then realized he must have been talking out loud. He did that sometimes, but the teen had been staring out the bus window the entire time.

  After his mother left two years prior, Johnny approached a mental breaking point, as a child’s mentality can only bear so much adversity. Once Johnny’s one source of security was gone, he began to lose his sense of clarity little by little, though it was never depleted to the point of clinical dysfunction. Johnny began to confuse his dreams and memories with present reality, and would often experience painful flashbacks of childhood trauma, as well as vivid nightmares of more recent atrocities.

  When Johnny became lost deep in thought, he often found it difficult to distinguish past from present, and even delusion from reality. He was a prisoner of the chaotic scrambling often associated with people that experience horrific traumatic events. The result was the occasional inability to understand what was really there to hurt him from what was no longer a viable threat. There were even times when he found it difficult to determine if a situation had occurred, if it were occurring, or if it were some wild, anxiety-driven delusion. Maintaining the ability to assure, and reassure, himself was the boy’s saving grace.

  Johnny may have angered the man with his question, but he paid little attention to the man’s harsh comments as they were mild in comparison to the harassments he had frequently endured. He looked at the old man briefly, and then returned his gaze toward the window.

  The bus was filthy, but so were the majority of the passengers, and the old man smelled awfully of body odor and pipe tobacco. The bus window was covered in greasy fingerprints, and what appeared to be smeared, dried ketchup along the bottom of the glass. By this time, Johnny’s excitement had somewhat faded, and he was slightly fearful. The reality of being without a viable plan was finally setting in to the extent that he was now wondering where he was going to go once he got off of the bus in Lake Charles. Perhaps he would simply buy another ticket and ride the bus indefinitely. The idea was, of course, beyond impractical, but it made more sense than anything else at this point.

  He knew something would work out in his favor. With every second, every minute, Johnny was further from his past, and this thought made it all worth it. He could sleep on the streets for years, and it would still be worth it. Leaving it all behind had seemed like a whimsical idea until his mother left. He understood there had to be more out there, and nothing in the world could hurt him anymore than he’d been hurt already. At the same time, he was only teetering on the fence of hope and complete numbness. He felt that with time and distance, part of him could heal. He had not a clue, however, what healing looked like. He only knew that something inside him told him to run, to exist, and to live.

  The old man had closed his eyes and leaned his head back as if he was going to attempt to sleep. Johnny took the opportunity to examine the man more closely. He was obviously extremely thin, and his facial stubble was completely gray. His thin, red, plaid, pearl-snap shirt appeared to be freshly pressed, and his jeans were extremely skinny. He appeared to be poor, yet made an effort to be presentable. He had the wasted look that Johnny was quite familiar with.

  Many of the fishermen near Johnny’s home that brought up fresh catch from the south had the same appearance. Maybe this man used to be a fisherman. Perhaps that was why he was so cranky. All the fishermen seemed cranky. He probably drank a lot when he was younger, maybe he still drank now. Johnny felt sad for the skinny old man. Regardless of how desperate his own situation was, he was still able to feel some form of compassion for a complete stranger.

  Many of the passengers were now either sleeping or reading papers, books, or having very quiet conversations among themselves or with themselves. Some were vagrant, some were disgustingly filthy, but they all had one thing in common, they were all leaving something behind. This too brought about a sense of comfort. This escape was his only option. He had no resources, but no other choice, so he had no reason to feel regretful. He thought perhaps he should try to sleep too. Maybe when he woke, things would make sense. The bus had left at seven, and it was only noon now. The night at the station was restless at best, and he still had several hours to go. If the man next to him could sleep, then Johnny thought he would be able to as well. He rested his head on the countless greasy fingerprints and closed his eyes.

  ***

  “Good afternoon, people!” the male driver announced over the loud speakers. “We’re coming up on a stop, you got twenty minutes to grab some grub, use the facilities, and get back on.”

  The bus exited the highway and the station was just off the exit. It slowly began to crawl as it pulled into a fuel station, which had a sign that advertised a Taco Bell and A&W within the store.

  Johnny stretched as much as he could in the cramped quarters, and let out a big sleepy yawn.

  “Yea, I hear ya. I’m dog-tired too,” the old man proclaimed.

  Johnny had never heard someone say dog-tired before, but he got the point. He simply gave the old man a nod and turned his attention to the store outside his window. He thought a hamburger sounded appetizing as he reached for his book bag.

  “Hey, son, you don’t have an extra dollar or two you could spare an old man, do you?” asked the elderly man.

  Johnny looked at the man, and was half tempted to tell him no simply because he had been so grouchy. But he knew all too well the pain of hunger, and the man was very thin.

  “Yes, sir. I got a little,” Johnny replied. He reached into his envelope and pulled out a five-dollar bill folded long ways. “Here you go. My name is Johnny, by the way.” As the man looked at the five-dollar bill, an expression of guilt fell about his face.

  “Why, thank ya kindly, Johnny; my name is Bo.” The man reached out to grab the five. His fingers were dark, long, and skinny, and his fingernails had a yellowish discoloration, probably from nicotine. The majority of the passengers had already exited the bus. The two stood from their seats, Bo with his cane, and made their way down the aisle toward the front of the bus.

  Chapter Four

  Rest

  “This is a damn good burger for a fast food joint,” Bo said, ravaging the burger and fries the five dollars had bought him.

  “Yea, it is pretty good. So, where are you from, Bo?” Johnny asked curiously as he dipped his fries in a pile of ketchup comprised of about thirty ketchup packets. The booth they sat at was one of about twenty inside the large store. There were two rows of booths running parallel with the large windows in the front of the store.

  “I was born and raised in Biloxi. I been in treatment upstate for my drinkin’, and now I’m going to stay with m
y baby sister and my nephew in Lake Charles, and I thank the good Lord every day I wake up sober.” The old man had a mouth full of food, and it was obvious his teeth were not real.

  “The treatment was just for drinkin’?” Johnny enquired with obvious curiosity in his voice.

  “Yes, sir. It certainly was, but I imagine they got a treatment or therapy for just about everything. You just gotta want it,” Bo replied.

  “So, you wanted the treatment to stop drinkin’?” Johnny asked. “Did they give you medicine for it? How did it work?”

  Bo set his burger down and looked at Johnny with a stone cold gaze, and after a long pause, he answered the curious boy. “I spent over forty years in the bottle. I did things I ain’t proud of. They don’t give alcoholics no damn pills. They talk to ’em. Get to the bottom of the reason they drink in the first place. Of course I wanted to quit. I went there on my own account.”

  “Do you think they can actually fix a lot of problems with talkin’?” Johnny asked in a serious tone.

  “I do, I do, I do, my young friend. And those people that do the talkin’ make the big bucks,” Bo said in a friendly voice with a French fry smile.

  Just then, the driver came over the loud speakers in the store. “Attention, passengers. Scarf it down, let’s get back out there.”

  Like a prisoner that had just learned of the possibility of a pardon, Johnny rose from the A&W carnage with an extended sense of hope. Perhaps someday he would be free of his past’s prison completely, not only in body, but in mind as well.

  Chapter Five

  Jackson

  The air was muggy, and the sweat stung Johnny’s eyes as it hastily invaded from his forehead. There was a light breeze on the air, but it smelled of exhaust and seemed almost suffocating at times. Johnny was walking down Interstate 10, headed away from the bus stop, as the bus had arrived in Lake Charles about forty-five minutes prior.

  It was almost six in the evening, and Johnny was completely defeated, walking aimlessly. The sound of the rocks beneath his feet only assured him he was physically desperate, and the situation was only going to get worse.

  How could he? There had been the talk of treatment, and the small chat the remainder of the ride. Johnny knew Bo must have done it when Johnny fell asleep. When the boy had awoken, both Bo and the remaining cash that he had in his bag were completely gone, taken right out of the side pocket of his book bag, envelope and all. Now he had nothing—no plan, and no money.

  His initial idea of finding a taxi to take him to the nearest recommended cheap hotel, or even a shelter, was now bashed. He was certain a good night’s sleep would improve the situation. Now that plan was stolen, along with his cash. Like an expanding wildfire in the dark of night, it was becoming increasingly clearer the dire state of his situation. The cars flying by him seemed to have little regard to his well-being or location. He was hungry, scared and had no idea where he was going to sleep once the sun went down.

  Bo had mentioned a place called The Salvation Army, and Johnny hoped that perhaps they could help him. Bo had said they had helped him in the past, but Johnny had no idea if anything that thieving bastard said was true. Up the interstate on the left was a Shell station with signs boasting a casino inside. Johnny thought perhaps someone inside would know where the salvation place was. He paid little mind to the speeding traffic. In fact, he paid little attention to any of the surrounding scenery. He had never been this far from home. Although it was the same state, this area was quite different from where he grew up. He had too much on his mind to attempt appreciating the local sights or the speeding drivers.

  As he walked into the store he noticed the stench of the bus and his own body odor was very evident on him. He needed a shower, a good meal, and a warm bed. There were many nights he had gone without any of them, so he wasn’t too concerned about the trivial things he was currently lacking. He was, however, concerned with his uncontrollable emotional state. He had continuously told himself that he was now legally a man. Men don’t cry.

  The reality was that he was a scared eighteen-year-old boy without a plan or a dime to his name. His eyes were puffy, his face was soaked, and he felt about as pathetic as possible. As he stood in front of the counter attempting to speak to the clerk and enquire as to where the salvation place was, he noticed a tall, clean, and charismatic-looking man with dark brown hair approaching him and the clerk. As he approached, he glanced at the clerk and raised his hand with all his fingers extended as if to say, I got this.

  “Excuse me, bud. Are you okay?”

  Trying his best to calm his quaking voice long enough to speak, Johnny was able to make out one clear word, “No.”

  “Why don’t you and I go sit down in a booth over there for a minute, okay?” Jackson asked, as he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, looking him in the eye. Johnny gave the man an affirming nod, and the two made their way to the row of booths by the entrance of the store.

  Chapter Six

  To Smile

  Jackson

  “We can figure it out in the morning. Tonight we’re going to get some fried chicken and homemade rolls in your belly. That always seems to do the trick for me,” Jackson said with a kind smile. He watched Johnny as the boy continuously glanced about the man’s car, seemingly observing each detail.

  The teen appeared a bit concerned by all the heartworm medication boxes and brochures in the backseat of Jackson’s car. Jackson had mentioned he worked with animals, but hadn’t gone into much detail. Johnny hadn’t disclosed too much, either; only that his father had kicked him out, he didn’t know where his mother was, he was totally broke, and had no idea why, of all the destinations, he chose to come here, to Lake Charles.

  Jackson was aware there was much more to the story, but he had also recognized the desperation that came pouring from the boy’s eyes.

  After about twenty minutes of small talk at the store, Jackson extended an invitation for supper and a bed for the night. He was satisfied the boy was not in any trouble with the law. When he watched Johnny load up in his car, he briefly questioned what the hell he was thinking inviting a homeless teen to supper.

  Jackson’s wife, Graye, was always laughing at her husband for bringing home stray dogs. She was hesitant when Jackson called her from his cell phone at the store, but she informed her husband that she trusted him more than any other soul on the planet. She readily agreed to offer a spare room, and some of her home cooking for a young man that was only four months older than her own son, Jared.

  It wasn’t every day that Jackson brought home a homeless boy. In fact, he had never before brought home a homeless person. He volunteered at the shelters, and knew they had open beds, but there was something about Johnny. Jackson wouldn’t take him there—not tonight. He was going to the Everett house.

  As the car drove past the bus station, Jackson noticed Johnny unzipping his book bag. The man’s peripheral vision remained fixed in an uneasy way on the teen as the boy reached into the bag.

  “If you don’t care, maybe I can wash these clothes out in your tub when we get to your house. That way they’ll be dry when I leave tomorrow,” Johnny requested as he opened his bag further.

  “We’ll take care of those in the wash machine when we get there, bud,” Jackson said with an uncomfortable smile. He gripped the wheel and took the curve.

  As Johnny opened his bag further, sitting on top of the clothing sat a crumpled white envelope. The boy grabbed it and opened it up, exposing a small assortment of bills. On the front of the envelope was a scribbled note. Jackson watched the boy’s amusement and was surprised to hear the young man mutter the words that had been jotted down.

  “You, my friend, are a good man. I hadn’t eaten in nearly two days. You need to keep this hidden better. Anyone could walk by and snatch it. Good things come to good people. Bo”

  “Everything okay?”

  “He wasn’t lying,” Johnny exclaimed, showcasing an uncontrollable smile. “I have a little bit of money
for you. Sorry, I lost it when I was on the bus,” Johnny said as he thumbed through the cash.

  “That won’t be necessary, sir. All I ask is that you clean your plate and always tell the wife her food is wonderful at least three times,” Jackson replied in a joking manner.

  “Okay,” said Johnny, whose tone gave the impression that he believed the request to be genuine.

  “When we get home, I’ll introduce you to the family. Jared will like having another guy besides me there for the night. I absolutely hate video games, and he thinks they’re the best thing ever,” Jackson said as he glanced over at Johnny. “Do you like video games?”

  “I played a game once at my friend Bobby’s house, but I only went there once because I wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. So, nah, I’m not too good at ’em,” Johnny replied as he looked out the window.

  “And why weren’t you supposed to be there?” Jackson asked curiously, glancing at Johnny as his eyes narrowed in intrigue.

  “Well, because he was black,” Johnny replied rather nonchalantly as he continued gazing about.

  This response surprised Jackson briefly. He knew this boy had an interesting story, but he imagined it to be painful as well. Either way, Jackson’s mind had been made since the store. He was certain this boy needed a great deal of help, and there was no reason for him to have to stay at a shelter the first night away from home. There were certain reservations, of course, but Jackson’s natural paternal instinct seemed to cloud his judgment from the practicality of the situation.

  “I’ll let you take a hot shower and scrub the bus station off of you when we get there, then we’ll get you fed, and make sure you get a good night’s sleep,” Jackson said as he began to yawn.