by E. B. Lee
Ten
“I knew you’d see this sometime,” said Grant. It was supposed to be “Ladies Day”: Carli’s second day with Outreach, and the day she would meet Sarah and Vera. Instead, Carli and Grant found Wilson face down on a snow-covered table in his pocket park. They raised him unceremoniously. Carli felt pity. She couldn’t help it.
“We’re taking you in,” Grant said. “To drop-in.” They waited for Wilson to take a trip to the back wall, the same as Carli had seen before. Then Wilson and Grant moved with arms slung around each other and the look of a three-legged race team about to topple. It was only five blocks but felt much longer, particularly since Carli was transporting Wilson’s bag of booze. Mercy simply nodded when they deposited him in a chair.
“Talk to her, Wilson,” said Grant. “She can help.”
Wilson seemed insulted. Grant pulled a chair closer, took a seat, and asked, “Do you think you can stay still? I have a gift.”
Wilson looked at a packet of shiny black buttons in Grant’s hand. In the middle of the drop-in center, Grant threaded a needle and began weaving it through button and fabric. Glancing at Carli, he asked, “Can you thread another? We’ll get out of here faster.”
Wilson’s head bobbed up. “I’ll do it,” he said.
“Not today, man.” Grant grabbed the card of needles from Wilson’s hand. “You just hold tight.”
Wilson’s pout was clear but short-lived.
“Thought you’d never ask,” said Carli. She took a seat and loosely measured some thread.
Two needles pricking and pulling at once were awkward but definitely faster. Grant was in a rush to get back outside.
“Looking good, Wilson,” said Carli, once the job was done. Wilson beamed like a toothless baby as he looked over the result of their work.
Of the thousands of people street sleepers encountered each day, Carli guessed Grant and other Outreach workers were nearly the only ones who called them by name. It made sense that they welcomed Grant’s visits, even if brief, which today they were. Carli wondered why the rush.
For the second time in two weeks, they found Spaceman Irving passed out on the sidewalk between First and Second Avenues as they searched for Vera and Sarah. Irving wore a bike helmet twenty-four seven and carried a hand-made jet pack of a knapsack. Three single sheets of The New York Times newspaper were his mattress.
“I’ll check him when he’s awake. Tonight,” said Grant, racing past. Carli was curious as to what made this concrete spot so sacred.
A man named Bert was also out, with his flea market of sorts spread across the sidewalk in the Thirties. He displayed upscale clothing catalogs and computer magazines, with a variety of address labels, along with a tattered lampshade, assorted hardware parts, and unopened mailers with coupons. Bert sold nothing but kept an arm thrust out in front of him practically all day, waiting for loose change. Grant gave a quick shout, nothing more.
Trying to slow Grant down, Carli asked, “How did you get into this?”
“Outreach?” he said. “Just did. Business suits aren’t my style.”
Carli waited for more. Grant picked up the pace. Something was clearly driving Grant forward. Finally, he gave a clue.
“Lenny’s out,” said Grant. “I saw him very early this morning at drop-in. He said he would go, and he did. I’m wondering why he wasn’t there just now, but, for his sake, I hope he stays. Or, better yet, goes home. His life’s a mess. Maybe that head blow will save his life. I’m still mad at him, though.”
“Mad?” asked Carli.
“Angry as hell. If it weren’t for him, the street cleaners wouldn’t be out, not yet, not so strong.”
Carli had never seen Grant this driven. “What does Lenny have to do with street cleaners?” she asked.
“It’s an expression. It means the officials are trying to get the street people off the sidewalks. The same ones we’re working on.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s an odd situation,” he said. “The mayor’s office does help, but it also moves the street people away so they don’t bother the tourists or the neighbors. They’re usually the biggest complainers. Lenny made the news, so the city had to respond. Sure, it helps sometimes, but it often louses things up. Forces our people to move, go places I can’t find. If they wanted to be in shelters, they’d be there. Most people are too scared.”
Carli jogged to keep pace.
“Thanks to Lenny’s incident, we’re looking at ‘The Sweep,’ and all my people will have to scramble,” he said.
It seemed odd for Grant to blame the extra work on Lenny, but what did Carli know? Grant, on the other hand, had plenty of experience. And he spoke with conviction. Today, especially.
Arriving at the lower reaches of Central Park, Grant’s eyes zeroed in on a woman in a bright blue coat, fortressed by seven plastic bags and an old rusty cart. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Well ...” Carli’s intermittent confidence had vanished.
“Don’t worry. You can do it,” said Grant, interrupting. “Her name’s Sarah. It took three months for her to raise her eyes to me. She’s not harmful, but not happy or healthy either. I think you’re ready to meet. Maybe she is too.”
“Sarah … I never knew her name,” Carli said softly. She didn’t know if Grant had heard her, but his stare showed he had.
“I saw her once,” she said. “Watched her after I sketched here one day. I told you about my artwork, right?”
Grant nodded. “Yes. You’re doing landscapes and things. Getting ready for a show.”
“Right.” Carli nodded. “I stopped by, and she—Sarah—took out everything from her bags, rearranged it, and put it away again. Bright blue heels to match her outerwear are in bag number one.”
“Shameless sapphires.” Grant let out a robust laugh. With more reserve, he delivered the rest of Sarah’s report. “A place in the Eighties will take her, but she needs a doctor’s referral first. It’s a special women’s shelter, and it could get her on disability, but she needs a diagnosis. So far, I’ve gotten nowhere with her. I need your help on this one. Who knows, maybe you have the same shoe size.”
Granted started walking. Carli remained frozen in place, contemplating her slim chance of success. “So, wait ... What do I do?” she asked.
“She might never talk with you,” he said, returning to Carli’s side. “You’ll find out. Right now, she has to see us together. I’ll introduce you. Just say hi to her. Anything more will overwhelm her.”
“That’s it?”
“Nothing more.”
“How do you know what makes people tick?” asked Carli. “Were you a psych major?”
Grant laughed and started walking. “No. But I’ve met a lot of people, and maybe a lot of shrinks too. Usually, I know what people want to hear. I guess I know what motivates them.” At the intersection, he said, “Turn right. We’ll swing down from inside the park. I always get a better reception when I come from that direction, no idea why.”
A circular trail brought them six benches from Sarah. She bobbed a string, with a metal flip top attached, up and down on the sidewalk. She was fishing, and her sport fish of choice was pigeon. With jerky spurts, a gray and white bird with coral feet approached and fled time and time again, showing intermittent curiosity and bravery. Grant guided Carli closer with a silent hold of her elbow. They soon sat directly across the promenade.
“I’ve seen her do this a million times,” he whispered. “If it were real food, she’d have every bird in the city by now.”
Sarah kept the lure bobbing until a messenger on a bicycle whizzed past, sending the pigeon cooing into the sky with a clatter of flapping wings. Sarah spat out angry caws, as though to chase the messenger’s tires out of the park. Then, she cast her line anew, and another pigeon stopped to taunt and be taunted, until it, too, had reason to fly. That’s when Sarah looked straight ahead, and then quickly away. Surely, she noticed them. Grant signaled it was time to visit.
The woman looked scared. That didn’t stop Grant from a quick introduction and equally quick departure.
“That was it?” asked Carli. “I thought you were kidding about my hardly speaking.”
Grant nodded.
“That was a big … big … nothing.”
Grant smiled. “That was not nothing. That,” said Grant, opening his arms to the sky, “was huge.”
Carli’s mouth dropped.
“No one builds a house without a foundation,” said Grant. “It’ll take you one to two months easy just to set the foundation.”
Carli felt like she was in a junior executive position, or worse, struggling through her first internship. How could that meager introduction possibly lead to results?
“Glad to see you’re ready to help,” said Grant. “I knew you would be. Still don’t know why, but I’ll get it out of you someday.”
“So that was it?” asked Kristin. Carli had phoned to share news of Outreach.
“In its entirety,” said Carli. “It was a big, fat nothing. I mean, it was less than a big, fat nothing. I looked at Sarah. Grant gave her my name. Sarah stared at the bench. I said, ‘Hi.’ That was it: ‘Hi.’ And we left ... I mean, what the hell?”
“Sorry, Sister,” said Kristin. “Definitely a bummer. The good news, you were ready. I mean, totally ready. Psyched. Pumped. Prepped ... On the edge of blowing it out of the water ... about to nail it, and ...”
“Okay. Okay. I get it. That’s nice. Thanks for the support.” Carli and Kristin broke into shared laughter. “I guess I was ready, wasn’t I?”
“That was my point,” said Kristin. “So, what do you think her story is?”
“I haven’t a clue. Last time I saw her, she had a bunch of clothes and took about a half hour to meticulously wrap them in paper and unwrap them. It was like she was folding purchases for a customer at a department store.”
“Oh, I hate that. It takes forever.”
“Exactly,” said Carli. “No one has time for that anymore.”
“Maybe she worked in one of those stores,” said Kristin.
“Maybe, but why do you think she keeps all of those clothes? She couldn’t possibly wear heels out there.”
“Beats me. I don’t know why anyone would be outside in the first place. Maybe she has dementia and doesn’t know where to go,” said Kristin.
“Maybe she was evicted and doesn’t have money,” said Carli.
“Or was disabled in some way by some kind of illness? Or maybe she fled domestic violence.”
“What if someone tries to poison her?” asked Carli. “Grant’s convinced it’s how Lucy died. But Mercy said it never happened.”
“Sounds like she wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“I know,” said Carli. “And she already looked so helpless. Do you think Sarah would get off the street if she knew someone might poison her?”
“It sounds like a pretty scary way to make someone move. And if Lucy wasn’t poisoned, you would undoubtedly come under investigation for saying it.”
“Right,” said Carli. “I know. But I doubt I’ll ever convince her of anything. She barely looked at me, and it’s not like I know what I’m doing.”
“So, what’s with Lila and Terrance?” asked Kristin. “You keeping them?”
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Carli glanced at the next cushions over on her sofa to see a bundle of paws stretched over the edges. “They’re pretty easy, actually, and they make for good company,” she said. “As a matter of fact, they’re sleeping right here.”
“Mr. Friedrich’s sleeping too. In his bed. No doubt dreaming of food.”
“They sure wake up happy every day,” said Carli. “I never knew Friedrich was a better friend than I am.”
“You saying I just dropped below L and T?”
“Funny. And funny you called them ‘L and T.’ It’s what Grant calls them.”
Eleven
Bad news hit the following week. Carli and Grant found Cedric sitting with arms crossed and face oozing with anger. His work gloves and stick, used to root out cans, lay between him and a well-groomed hedge outside Penn Station. After a long silence, he shared his wrath.
“They got ’em all. Found my stash. Last night.” Raising his eyes slightly, he added, “Gone.”
“After I saw you?” asked Grant.
“Yes. I was at the shelter. I have to find out who did it and get ’em.”
“I thought you had a place to take your cans.”
“They went traitor on me,” said Cedric. “They won’t take them anymore. Either I cross the city to hawk ’em back, or I gotta store ’em. It’s not like I’m stealing or nothing. I’m keeping the city clean.”
“Maybe it was the garbage collectors,” said Carli. “They pretty much grab everything once they hit a spot.”
“She’s right,” said Grant. Then he suggested, as he had apparently done dozens of times before, a different kind of work, with a paycheck and safety from the streets. Cedric wasn’t interested. Cans were his thing.
Grant slipped Cedric a couple of dollars to cover the loss. Then he said, “I’ll check on you later. Every business has setbacks some time or another.” His words, more than the money, seemed to mitigate the loss.
A short walk across town brought Carli and Grant to Vera. Carli was ready. Thankfully, Grant gave her the green light to say anything she wanted, a nice change from Sarah. But even without knowing her yet, Carli sensed trouble and became reluctant to engage
“What’s wrong?” Grant asked, jumping right in.
“One of those runt cops gave me a ticket,” said Vera. “I never got ticketed for nothing before, my whole entire life.”
“Ticket?” asked Grant.
“He said my box was blocking the door.”
“Was it?”
“Of course. How else is it supposed to fit in here? No one ever uses this door at night because it’s locked. Got to go around.”
Carli listened carefully to Vera’s every word, spoken with a distinct New York accent. She also heard a slight rattle in her voice, a wheezing sort of rattle, likely from age or the cold weather.
“What happened?” asked Grant.
“Well, he said I had to leave or he’d ticket me. I told him I wasn’t blocking anything since it was night. He said I was supposed to go to some sort of shelter. I told him they’re dangerous. He seemed shocked by the news. But then he asked if I had relatives. I told him they were six feet under. He said, ‘Do you have any friends?’ I asked if he had friends. That’s when he told me again to leave. I didn’t want to, and that’s what I told him. So, he gave me a ticket ... and still made me move.”
“Where’d you go?” asked Grant.
“Walked around this whole big, lousy block, then came right home where I belong. Don’t you know, he showed up the next night? Only, I moved before he got me, and then I came back as soon as the lousy roach left.”
Carli learned Vera had debilitating arthritis, and it wasn’t improving in the cold. It surely wouldn’t improve with extra walking.
“I thought they were supposed to protect us folks,” said Vera.
“They are,” said Grant. “Maybe he was trying to tell you something.”
“Hmph.”
“You’ve been dodging them long enough to know about that cheesy Sanitation Department Regulation,” said Grant. He turned to Carli with an explanation. “It’s meant to keep abandoned cars and boxes a.k.a. ‘vehicles and other movable property’ off the street. Unfortunately, Vera’s box qualifies. When the city decides to Sweep, it goes all out. Right, Vera? Goes all out?”
Vera nodded. “Wish they’d just go right out the city. Cross the bridge and leave me alone.”
“Sometimes they even enforce the ‘no camping without a permit’ regulation and ‘everyone out of the parks by one a.m.’ They’ll quit soon enough, though,” said Grant. “They don’t like e
nforcing it either. Just following orders.”
Vera released another indignant snort.
“Do you need anything?” asked Grant.
“Just to be left alone.”
Carli and Grant departed with one message: stay well and stay safe. Then they headed to lunch at St. Mary’s.
“It might take you a while to reach her, but we’ve got to try,” said Grant. “She’s plenty talkative with me but won’t budge when it comes to changing her lifestyle. Something’s stopping her, but I can’t get to it. Maybe you can. Who knows?”
“How long have you been trying?” asked Carli.
“With Vera? Must be four or five months by now. Not too long, but she looks worse than she used to. Street life is tough on her.” He paused. “It’s tough on everyone.”
The soup kitchen felt like a congenial family restaurant, metal stack-up chairs and all. Carli felt oddly excited when she stepped inside. She was sure others felt what she felt – the goodness of seeing Gretchen and other familiar faces and the goodness of having a “family” bound by common threads. After Grant visited with several others, he took a seat next to Aquaman Harry. From her seat at the op-ed table, Carli overheard Grant ask about Lenny’s attack, and saw Harry glance up from his soup and shrug, seemingly unconcerned. Grant gave an extended stare.
