Homeless Heart

Chapter 35

Phin

Lizzie got me a job at a shelter after our first week back together. I was so excited the night she told me I couldn't sleep thinking about the prospect of helping others and finally having a working paycheck. Lizzie had also worked out how I could get paid under the table to avoid being found by my family. They didn't ask for too many details, and Lizzie said it would be fine. Apparently, they had done this from time to time for other runaways and battered wives. Having a paying job, a roof over my head, and Lizzie by my side, I felt amazingly happy. Getting out of the warm bed I shared with her was the best feeling in the world. Lizzie was the key to my new life. She'd given me the strength to make it happen, and I would never be able to thank her enough. My inheritance wasn't even close to enough money to repay her.

My first week at the shelter went well, and during that week we’d settled into a comfortable routine. Lizzie gave me a ride into work every morning. I worked until three p.m., which gave me time to get home and take care of stuff around the house. The work didn't pay well; I was only part-time, but it was a living wage, and I couldn't complain. Helping others in a similar situation to mine was more than payment enough. Lizzie and I talked about our future when we were home alone, and we both enjoyed getting to know each other even better.

The shelter was one of the more dangerous ones located in the Mission. It had scared me in the past, so I usually stayed in North Beach or the Tenderloin shelters, which were pleasant by comparison. I got the job because they needed strong men around to help with the more unmanageable clients. A few other workers had been stabbed or beaten in the past.

That first week at the shelter, I realized these people are a different breed of the Invisibles. The majority of the clients were veterans from the Gulf War who had never recovered, and who were never given the help they needed on their return to life after the war. Society didn't understand PTSD, and there were so many here who needed essential mental health care. They were all too proud to take any help from a government that never acknowledged their contribution to the freedom we all enjoy. These guys were just old-fashioned and proud, so they were stoic about their hard luck in life. The surroundings should have made me sad, but they made me want to help even more.

My typical duties were to do laundry, clean up, help serve meals, and other random tasks. When I got a break, I would talk to the guests to try to get them to talk about their lives. I wanted to help them into better situations, give them a leg up. From my own experience, I knew that the act of a simple conversation with another human could make someone's day.

A few weeks later, I was talking to one of the veterans named Gil. He was a quiet guy but loved to play checkers. He and I had recently started an ongoing tournament—winner buys coffee. I’d told Gil a little about my upbringing while we played. I’d usually lose so I could buy him a coffee and we'd sort out the problems of the world. Today, he was a bit quiet, so I wanted to get to the bottom of his dark mood.

"Gil, you are quiet today. What's up?"

"Well, I got a letter from my daughter today. She's getting married."

"Gil, that's great news, isn't it?"

Taking a long pause, Gil moved one of his pieces on the board. He let out a long breath. "It's complicated, my friend, but my daughter and I haven't seen each other in a long time."

His confession hit home, and I did my best not to let my history affect my response to Gill's situation.

"There's no time like a special occasion. Now might be a time to let the past be the past."

Gil looked up at me for the first time today. "Silver spoons, you know something about shitty parents? I thought your parents fed you caviar for breakfast."

I'd gotten better about sharing my past with others, and I'd told Gil a little about my upbringing.

"You only have caviar after lunch, smart-ass."

His deep laugh put me at ease. "When I came back from the desert, life was different for me. My daughter was a young girl, and I wasn't there for her. I got lost in alcohol and shit. Her mom put up with a lot of shit from me, and I let her."

"Gil, the only thing I could say is if your daughter reached out, she must want you to be there. Trust me, if your kid doesn't want to talk to you, they won't. If she's made that gesture, you shouldn't throw that back in her face. I can tell you flat out that if I reached out to my parents, it would be a big deal."

He scrubbed his face and moved another checker piece. "God damn it, silver spoons, I know you are right."

"Forgiving your parents isn't easy. They are supposed to protect you and care for you. If she wants to see you, don't be a dick." I needed to check my anger because Gil needed my support.

I moved one of my checker pieces and won the game. His smile returned, and he held up his hands. "You win."

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I handed it to Gil. "Call her."

He took it and dialed a number. I got up and moved to the other table to give him some privacy and keep my feelings in check.

"Hello, baby," was all I heard and the regret in his voice almost made me cry. I didn't need these guys to see me tear up. Instead, I watched as he spoke to his daughter, wondering if I would someday take my own advice about my parents.