by Warren, Mike
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Keith, I can’t believe you would do something like that and then have the audacity to ask me if we all could live together like one big happy family. Naw, I can’t do that.” I got out of the bed and started putting my clothes on.
He approached me. “Cameron, where are you going?”
“I don’t know, Keith. I just have to get out of here and be alone so I can think.”
I slid into some sandals and grabbed my man bag and headed down the stairs. Keith followed right behind me. I picked up my keys from the kitchen counter.
“You can leave if you want, but you’re not taking my car.”
I was so numb to everything that had just happened, I threw the keys back on the kitchen counter and walked out the front door.
Fortunately, it was towards the end of August, so the weather was still rather pleasant. It wasn’t until I got beyond the iron gate that I realized I didn’t have anywhere to go or anyone I could even call on to come and get me. I had walked up to the main highway, and there was a gas station/convenient store on one corner and a Waffle House on the other.
I walked inside the Waffle House and noticed the time on their wall clock. A little after midnight. I took a seat in one of the booths and began looking through the menu. I hadn’t eaten since earlier today when Keisha and I were at the mall. So I thought I would order something just to stall for time.
The spunky waitress said, “Good morning. Can I get you something to drink while you look over our menu?”
“Yes. Can I have an iced tea and a number four?” I placed the menu back in its slot.
“And how would you like your eggs?”
“Scrambled, please.”
“Would you like cheese in your eggs?”
“No, thank you.”
“Okay, that’s an iced tea with a number four. I’ll bring your iced tea back in a minute, okay.”
“Thank you.”
I sat and looked around the restaurant, and beside me, there was only one other customer there. At first I thought he might be a psycho, the way he kept looking at me funny, but then I noticed he had a collar on and that he was a priest. He nodded in my direction, and to be nice, I nodded back.
The waitress came with my food, and I ate every bite. Chile, I didn’t realize how hungry I was. The waitress asked if I wanted anything else, and I told her I didn’t, so she gave me the bill and continued cleaning off some of the empty tables.
I reached in my man bag to pull out my wallet and was furious to find out that my credit card, or shall I say, Keith’s credit card, wasn’t there. It had dawned on me that since Keith didn’t want me to drive his car, he obviously had gone in my wallet and took out everything that belonged to him, including his credit card and his money.
I looked around to see where the waitress had gone, and for a split second, I thought maybe I should just run out without worrying about paying the nine dollars. However, something stopped me, and all of a sudden, the floodgates opened, and I began to cry hysterically, wailing and sobbing uncontrollably.
“Are you okay?” the waitress asked me.
I boo wooed, “No, no, no, no, no.”
“Are you ill? Can I call someone for you?”
“I-I-I-I ain’t-ain’t got no-no-no one.”
The priest took a seat across from me. “Young man, look at me.”
I looked up at this white priest, wondering what he could possibly do to help me and wipe me of my sins.
“Young man, what is your name?” he asked.
“Cam-Cam-Cameron.”
“Do you have a place to stay? Are you homeless?”
“I don’t have anybody, and I don’t have any money!” I snapped as the tears continued to flow.
“I’m gonna call the police.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll pay for his meal. Look, Cameron, my name is Father Burk, and I know of a man who runs a shelter for homeless men. It’s called Yes We Can, Incorporated. You can come with me, and I can take you down there to see him. He will be able to provide shelter for you, so you won’t have to be out here on the streets. And you won’t have to worry about the police taking you in.”
Father Burk paid for my meal and escorted me out to his car. I was feeling so weak, he literally had to hold me up. One would have thought I hadn’t eaten in days. I cried the whole time Father Burk drove me to my new home. I realized my weakness was from having my spirit broken and that God was paying me back for all the wrong I had done.
I slumped down in Father Burk’s car and thought; Forty-eight hours ago I lived in a mansion, drove a nice car, wore all the latest fashions, and had money in my pockets. Now I’m homeless and alone.
Chapter 17
Yes We Can, Inc. occupied a run-down two-story brick building located in what they considered the hood area of town. If you were given permission to leave the grounds, you could leave out as early as seven a.m. and had to be back and checked in no later than ten p.m. The sleeping area was that of an open bay, with thirty-five iron-clad cots strategically placed in this one huge room. There was a bathroom on the first floor and one on the second floor. The bathrooms didn’t have tubs or even a shower. There was one toilet and one sink in each of the bathrooms. Needless to say, the lines were long at times. The walls were covered in graffiti, the paint was peeling, and water stains lined the corner of the walls. They also had a kitchen area in the rear of the first floor.
Most of the food they stored was donated by community churches. Two meals were served each day, breakfast and dinner, and if you missed either one, you were shit out of luck.
There was a small office located on the right as soon as you entered the building, Mr. Webber’s office. Mr. Webber was a big black guy, almost weighing 250 pounds, with a scruffy beard. He appeared to be in his early to mid-forties and seemed to get along with everyone. He always had a smile on his face, which made me wonder why.
The second day I spent at Yes We Can, Inc. was rough for me because, being one of the occupants, I had to participate in all activities, including their workshops. I attended my first NA meeting, and even though I wasn’t a drug addict, I was forced to attend. We all sat in a semicircle. I was terrified hearing the stories of these men and what they had been through as a result of their addiction. Most had been married with families and nice jobs, but because of their addiction, had lost it all. Some had been on the streets for years stealing whatever they could and selling their bodies just to get that next fix.
I sat there reading over the principles of the twelve-step program which stated:
Step One: We admitted we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.
Step Two: We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
Step Three: We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
Step Four: We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
Step Five: We admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
Step Six: We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
Step Seven: We humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
Step Eight: We made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
Step Nine: We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
Step Ten: We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.
Step Eleven: We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
Step Twelve: Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.
Not to be funny, but I was thinking how nice it
would be if there was something like a twelve-step program in being gay, primarily, a twelve-step program in the rules and bylaws of gayhood. Hmm.
Anyway I listened to the tragic yet inspiring stories of these brothas who at times would break down and cry. This one dude stood up and began telling his story. To make a long story short, he stated that he would stay high all the time on crack cocaine. He would stay in the house and was so paranoid. Every strange or unusual sound he heard, he would run into his living room and peek out his living room window to see if Santa Claus was actually coming to see him. He stated that since he didn’t have a fireplace in his home, he thought Santa would come and knock on his front door, not to hurt him but bring him his next fix.
Chile, I laughed so hard, I was literally asked to leave the meeting.
I truly felt sorry for these people. They scared the shit out of me. I was the youngest one here, and it was quite obvious to everyone that I was a feminine gay man. Now, most would have tried to butch it up, but I wasn’t gonna try to be something or someone I wasn’t.
I mentioned to Mr. Webber that some of the men were making threats and advances toward me, but he said there wasn’t anything he could do until something actually happened. He stated that brothas in here threatened each other all the time, but ninety-nine percent of the time, they were just mouthing off, doing what a lot of men did, wanting to be the alpha male in an all-male environment.
The worst time was at night because during the day, there was always something planned for us to do. Also, there was always someone in charge who could make sure nothing happened that wasn’t supposed to happen. Some of the occupants actually had daytime jobs and would leave in the morning and not come back until the evening.
I wanted to sleep somewhere closer to the walls, to avoid having anyone on either side of me, but I wasn’t that fortunate. The only cot left was in the middle of the room, with a bum that stunk to high heaven on one side, and a known drug addict, thief, rapist, and bully on the other.
The first time I met him, he uttered out of his mouth, “Yo, man, you look like a bitch,” grabbing his crotch and looking at me wide-eyed.
I woke up early the next morning and found myself on my stomach, though I usually slept on my side. The covers were pulled off me, and my underwear was down by my knees, and this known drug addict was standing over top of me, masturbating. I was so scared, I screamed as loud as I could, while trying to pull my underwear back up on me.
I woke up everyone in the building. They all looked at me as though I was crazy. Of course, the drug addict jumped back in his bed and acted like he didn’t know what was going on.
The night monitor escorted me into Mr. Webber’s office to ask me questions so that he could make out a report. I told the night monitor what had happened and answered all of his questions, but he acted as though he didn’t believe one word I’d said. Once the interview was over, I went back to my cot, threw my covers around me, and rocked myself back and forth until daybreak. I knew from that point on that I would never be able to sleep in this place.
The next morning I was summoned to Mr. Webber’s office. I couldn’t wait to talk to him and let him know what had happened, thinking he could make arrangements somehow for me to switch cots with someone, preferably someone who slept on the second floor, since I wanted to be as far away as possible from that goon.
Mr. Webber told me that, technically, no crime had been committed. As for switching cots, that wasn’t possible either.
“If I try to change someone’s sleeping area, that would cause confusion.”
Confusion? What the fuck was he talking about, confusion? He would prefer me to be harmed or raped than to cause confusion?
There was no way I could stay here another night. After leaving Mr. Webber’s office, I checked myself out and walked right out the front door, not knowing where I was going.
I walked until I got tired. I stumbled upon Freedom Park and decided to sit down and rest my legs. As I sat there watching people go on with their daily lives, I began to feel sorry for myself. I had no money and no place to go. I guess you could say, I had my own pity party going on.
I kept thinking about all the things I had been through up until this point. My spirit was still broken, and my faith was gone, so I couldn’t even ask God to forgive me or even help me. I had to start helping myself.
I began thinking about Keith and what he expected from me. I tried to weigh the pros and the cons. Bottom line was, I’d rather live in a mansion, have a full stomach, and have money in my pocket than to be homeless and broke. Thank goodness for the shelters and the churches that supported them, but it wasn’t the place for me.
I decided to put my pride aside and figure out a way to crawl back to Keith. I pulled my cell phone out of my man bag and called his number.
He answered his phone on the second ring. “Hey, shawty. What’s up?”
“Ah, can you come get me?” I said in a whisper.
“Where you at?”
“I’m over at Freedom Park, by the water fountains, on South Twenty-Fourth Street. You gonna come get me?”
“Yeah, shawty. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I was so excited to actually be going back to the mansion and having a soft comfortable bed to lay in, a tub full of bubbles, a large flat-screen TV with over 200 channels to view, my Patti Labelle CD collection, and last but not least, a delicacy of food to nourish my body. I felt like I’d been gone for weeks, and it had only been a couple of days.
I know that most could care less about these things but for me, I had to have them. Even if I had to sell my soul to the devil, so be it. God truly didn’t seem to care for me or my soul, so why not give Satan a chance? It sure beat the hell out of living in a shelter, chile boo.
Suddenly, I realized I had on the same jeans and T-shirt I had on when I’d left Keith’s house. Oh my God! What will he think?
I pulled out my compact and I looked a hot mess. I needed my braids redone because my hair was all over my head, I could use a serious facial treatment, and a manicure wouldn’t have hurt either.
I heard a horn honk and looked over my compact and saw Keith sitting in his Escalade, looking some kinda good in his “yo boy outfit” and sunglasses.
I got in the passenger side. “Thanks for coming and picking me up, Keith.”
“No problem, shawty. Where you been?”
“It’s a long story,” I replied, sitting back and getting comfortable in the cushioned leather seats. “I just need a nice hot bath.”
“Oh, okay. I have missed you.”
“Really, Keith?”
He looked deep into my eyes. “Of course, I have.”
I was so turned on by his comment. Not only that, it made me feel good about myself, and I know he meant every word because, if not, he wouldn’t have said it.
*
We pulled up to the gate, and Keith put his code in, and we drove up to the entrance.
Like I said before, I felt as though I had been gone for weeks. I couldn’t wait to get to my bedroom, rip these clothes off, and take a nice hot bath. Once we got inside, I was so surprised to see a big banner at the top of the stairs that literally took my breath away. It read, Welcome Home Shawty.
“How did you?” I asked, smiling from ear to ear.
“I had it made and hung the same day you left, shawty.”
Standing in the back of me, he placed his arms around my waist. I leaned my head back on his chest, wrapped my hands around his, and I truly felt safe, secured, and loved.
Keith spent the whole day with me, cooked me a huge breakfast, ran my bathwater with lots of bubbles, bathed me from head to toe, and cuddled with me in my bed as we watched reruns of The Golden Girls.
I know that’s so gay, but I love them three white dragons. Chile, what can I say?
Keith and I talked and laughed so much, we became so exhausted, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.
I must’ve been really tired because I didn’t
wake up until the next morning, and Keith was still lying beside me, asleep.
Maybe this could work? Besides, people make sacrifices in their relationship all the time, don’t they?
I truly loved Keith because no other man ever made me feel the way he did, emotionally or physically. Even now as I lay here looking at him sleep, I can’t help but try to be everything he wanted me to be.
Keith made me so aroused just by looking at him sleeping. I needed and wanted him inside me.
I pulled the covers back, crawled between his legs, and took him in my hungry mouth.
For the next couple of hours, no one else existed. He and I made tender, passionate love to each other as though we were the only two people in the entire world.
I was happy and in love again.
Chapter 18
A few days later, Keith was right back at doing his own thing. But I wasn’t going to complain. I had my car back, money in my bag, and two of his Visa Black cards, so I was good to go.
I had been trying all morning to contact my little sister Keisha because today was her birthday. I wanted to take her out and celebrate, but she wouldn’t answer her phone. I left a message to let her know to call me, that it was important.
Wow! My little sister is fourteen years old, a young lady. I smiled, thinking back about how much she used to get on my last nerve.
While waiting on Keisha to return my call, I fixed me a tuna fish sandwich along with some chips and began watching one of the morning talk shows. They had this woman on the show that had forgiven this young guy who had killed her one and only son. On top of that, she somewhat spearheaded his release from jail, even though he was convicted and sitting on death row. The murder had taken place more than twenty years earlier, but this woman actually forgave this guy and now lived right next door to him.
Of course, they’d both had time to think about what happened so many years ago, but to forgive him and accept him, not only as a neighbor, but to actually allow him to call her “Mom” was a bit much.
It did cause me to think more about my real mother and how bad I felt for not visiting her once within the past four and a half years since she’d been committed. I suddenly had the urge to see her. I wasn’t sure what I would say to her, but I just wanted to see if she had aged and if there was anything I could do for her. That show had caused me to feel real sentimental. I was ready to forgive my mother for zoning out on me and Keisha.
