Clean Slate Complex (a daynight story)

by Megan Thomason

CHAPTER THREE

  Upon my return, the cops take my statement and let me know they’ve towed our van. We apparently have expired tabs and some outstanding parking tickets. Great. Now where are we supposed to go? When something’s the sum total of what you’ve got, you’re really hesitant to let it go. Adam assures me that the SCI will make room for us at the complex. That’s very kind of them, but what happens two days or a week from now, when they need to use our spot for someone else? Will we be sleeping on the streets with not even a blanket to keep us warm?

  As soon as the cops finish with me, my brothers and I head to see my mom in the clinic. For an inner city clinic, the place is nice. The waiting room’s decorated with pictures of cute kids from all over the world. A multi-colored glass wall separates the “sick” from the “healthy.” We stop in at reception and a sweet nurse that reminds me of my grandma takes us back. Back behind reception are two large rooms. The one on the right’s the lab where they draw blood and give shots. On the left’s a couple dozen beds the doctors use for exams that can be curtained off for privacy. That’s where we’re usually seen so I’m surprised when we keep walking past the exam room and nurse’s station.

  My mom’s in a small private room toward the back of the clinic—one of a dozen or so. An oxygen mask has been strapped to her face, medicine’s going in her by tubes, and they’ve given her a breathing treatment and a heavy sedative so she can rest. Not much I can do to help. I give Mom a kiss on the forehead, then the staff leads us to the main exam area. Mom’s doc wants to make sure we’re not showing any symptoms. Guess I hadn’t even thought about catching Mom’s bug. I’d be the first to get it. She coughed all over me. The doctor insists we stay onsite so they can keep an eye on us.

  We’re not sure where to go when we’re finished, but the same kind nurse that showed us in tells us to follow her. She takes us through the back door of the clinic, down a long corridor, and into a large dining hall. Different one than we’re used to at the shelter. While the shelter’s done up in plain white, everything in this part’s gold with dark doors and wall trim. Even the floor’s done in a gold tile, with dark diamond cut-outs.

  I scan the room. Joshua’s nowhere to be seen, but Adam waves us over to a table. He hands us each a boxed dinner: sub sandwich, bottle of water, apple and a chocolate chip cookie. Better than the granola bars we all split yesterday, so I eagerly dig in. After watching all those rich folks indulging at the mall all day, I’m starving. I inhale the sandwich and apple, but take my time with the cookie. It’s homemade, absolutely delicious and I moan with pleasure. My mom used to make cookies like this before my dad left. Adam chuckles and slips me his.

  “I’m stuffed. Take mine.” Ok, maybe I’ll forgive him for making me hold that sign at the mall. Chocolate can heal a lot of wounds.

  “This part of the shelter?” I ask between bites. His cookie has an even better chocolate chip-to-dough ratio. Yes, he’s definitely forgiven.

  Adam responds, “Nope. This is the central assembly hall for the Clean Slate Complex. It’s typically only open for lunch, but today’s Reallocation Day.” He says it like I should know what it is. “The ceremony will happen on stage.” He points to a raised area in front of us containing a podium.

  “Reallocation Day?”

  “The Clean Slate Complex houses about a thousand. But the need in LA is a whole lot greater than that. So, every week, a number of people are transferred out. Some have finished up their education and leave for college. Others get jobs outside the SCI. Many get invited to serve in other SCI locations. Typically foreign. LA’s been the pilot for the Clean Slate Complex program, and it’s been so successful that they’re taking it worldwide.” Wasn’t Joshua singing something about Reallocation?

  A man and woman walk out onto the stage arm in arm. They look like middle-aged versions of Brunette Barbie & Grey-haired Ken. Each are in black suits with crisp white shirts. She’s got a scarf—with SCI logos?—wrapped around her neck. And he’s got a matching one tucked into his front pocket. As they approach the podium, I feel like their eyes must be on me and my brothers. Dried blood’s all over my sweatshirt, and my last shower was a couple days ago. I can’t even remember the last time we did laundry. Week? Ten days? So, not only do I look like crap, I smell like it, too.

  Tapping on the microphone catches my attention. “Welcome, everyone.” Barbie’s speaking. I can’t help but stare at her bright-red lipstick. She seems to stare right back when she says, “If I haven’t had the chance to meet you yet, I’m Violet Black. And this is my husband, Victor. We’re in charge of the Clean Slate Complex project and have been absolutely overwhelmed by its success. I think everyone who has participated in the program can agree it is truly groundbreaking. We’re getting the homeless off the streets and working. The poor are being fed and clothed. And, we’re giving those without hope a second chance at life.” Ah, she must be the senator’s sister.

  Everyone in the room claps and stands up. Well, except me and my brothers. I’m wondering if they’re going to start singing a round of Kumbaya, given how excited they are. It’s cool that the SCI’s doing what they can to help, but I still see a lot of people out there on the streets. Particularly old folks. The average age here and at the rally today...pretty young. When the SCI’s driving their fancy bus around town, do they pass on by anyone over the age of 30? At least they don’t appear to be racist, since there’s all colors and kinds here.

  The crowd settles and Victor Black steps up to the microphone. “As my better half has mentioned, we’ve seen great success with the Clean Slate Complex program. So much so, that we have secured real estate and built complexes by all our SCI locations, near and far. In this fight against poverty, deprivation, and discrimination, we need willing soldiers to valiantly battle for the SCI causes everywhere. It’s a great honor to be chosen for Reallocation. Whether serving in Africa, or at some of our even more remote locations, know that you are needed. Valued. As you reap the benefits of having a second chance at life, you’ll be helping others do the same.” There’s more clapping.

  Adam looks nervous.

  “So, who’s headed out?” I whisper, leaning over.

  “We won’t know until they make the announcement. They’ll call people up one by one.”

  I turn to him. “You could be called?”

  “Yes,” he responds with a forced smile, before turning his eyes to the stage. The Blacks begin to call one name after another. Soon a large group of men and women, mostly young, have gathered on the stage. Some are shuffling and fidgeting—they’re probably nervous—but most are excitedly chattering.

  “Can you believe Matt and Brian got chosen?” Adam’s talking to a friend he’d introduced to us as Perry. “They’ve been total slackers. Not to mention the fact they were caught trying to pawn off some of the standard issue tablets and watches.”

  “Maybe they’re being sent to an electronics-free zone, where they’ll be digging water wells or something,” Perry says, chuckling.

  I frown, not liking the sound of that. I ask, “Why would they be rewarding people who’re stealing from them?” From the looks they give me, I can tell that they didn’t intend to include me in their conversation.

  Adam finally answers. “The SCI’s pulling people off the streets. Sure, they screen for drug use and do background checks for serious criminal behavior before accepting people in. But, I think petty theft comes with the territory. After all, the SCI’s all about second chances. So they’d be hypocrites if they didn’t practice what they preach.”

  Perry interrupts. “Adam, your girlfriend’s up there. I wonder where she’s headed.” I follow their line of sight up to a pretty, petite Hispanic girl with long, gorgeous hair. Adam grimaces.

  “We’re not together.” Adam’s trying to act like he doesn’t care, but I can tell he’s annoyed. He keeps glancing up at the girl, who seems to be avoiding his glares. Adam shifts his attention back to Perry. “Besides, Terryn’s up there too. Guess there’ll be n
o more late night booty calls for you.” In response, Perry lightly punches Adam’s arm. Apparently there’s no rule against hooking up with the people you work with.

  “How can all those people just up and leave? Don’t they have families? Do they keep in touch?” I ask the questions, but I don’t get a response due to what I hear next.

  “Perry Walters,” Violet calls from the podium. Perry looks like he’s been slugged in the gut. Clearly he wasn’t expecting to be reallocated. Perry and Adam share an awkward bro hug moment. They both seem a little choked up. Apparently, Perry was last on the list. Perry rushes to join the others on the stage.

  Once all the names have been read, Victor Black starts pumping the SCI’s “amazing” and “life changing” program again. My brothers seem to be hooked. Less by Victor’s words and more by the bunch of electronic devices a table-mate is showing off to them. All that donation money from today has got to go somewhere. But, if my brothers buy into the SCI’s promise of a happily ever after, then will they take off, leaving my mom and me alone? This could easily turn into their next get-rich-quick scheme. Particularly if the SCI’s offering up free stuff that they don’t actually have to work for—I’ll never get my brothers out of the SCI’s clutches. I ask Adam again whether he stays in touch with those who leave.

  Adam answers this time. “Nah, can’t say I’ve talked to any of them, though I’d like to keep up with Perry. Most people seem to fall off the radar once they leave. Must be too busy to mess around online and keep us posted on their awesome new jobs. The SCI has all the social networking sites blocked here at the CSC though. Interferes with productivity and all that. It’s not like my buddies who are still on the street are tweeting. Why, you got an internet hot spot in your van?”

  I roll my eyes. “Hardly. My brothers and I share a pre-paid phone, which we only use for emergencies. I was just wondering what would happen if we joined and got...separated. Whether we’d be able to stay close or not.”

  “Ask the Blacks,” Adam suggests. I’ll do just that if I get the chance.

  The ceremony plods on for another twenty minutes before we’re all invited out to a back parking lot to see the Reallocated off. Three shiny silver buses wait, and depending whether they are in group A, B or C, the Reallocated climb aboard one or the other. The sun’s come out and I’m now hot in my sweatshirt. Great, I think. Now I’ll smell even worse.

  Something’s bugging me about this whole deal, but I can’t pinpoint it. “What’s with the A, B, and C groups?”

  He responds, “I don’t know. Probably just heading to different airports or something.”

  “Huh.” Then the light bulb goes off. These people are packing awfully light. “Well, why don’t they have any luggage?” I ask.

  Adam rattles off, “No need. The SCI’ll provide everything they need at their next location, specific to that location.”

  “What about personal items?” I ask, thinking about the one picture I have of my dad and me before he took off. I can’t imagine ever leaving that behind, though the picture’s currently in the possession of the Los Angeles Police Department.

  A voice from behind me says, “Welcome to the Clean Slate Complex, Ms. Knight.” I turn to face a smiling Violet Black, who gives me a big hug, despite my horrid appearance. Up close, I notice her brilliant green eyes. Everything about her feels like an upgrade from me. Crisp, clean clothes. Fruity smell. Not a hair out of place on her head and that lipstick’s still so flawless that I’d almost think her lips were dyed that color. She runs a state of the art facility and electronics, while I didn’t even get to finish high school. Violet continues, “Perhaps I could offer you a tour of our facility and answer any questions you might have? We’d like to at least offer you housing while your mother is undergoing treatment, and we’re monitoring your health, as well as your brothers’.”

  Adam congratulates Violet for another great Reallocation ceremony. Then tells me I’m in great hands, gives me a quick hug and says he’ll catch up with me later.

  Violet invites me to follow her. She gives me the VIP tour, showing off the place like a proud mother shows off her babies. Apparently the complex isn’t just for the homeless. They’ll take in families who’re having trouble making ends meet. Or victims of abuse. Anyone who needs a “clean slate” can apply. Even I have to admit that Violet’s quite the salesperson and the complex is pretty snazzy. Everyone gets their own room in a small suite. The bedrooms aren’t fancy, but each have their own bath. Everything’s done up in the same colors as the assembly hall. There’s a living and kitchenette area that folks share with their roommates. Adam wasn’t kidding when he said “everything is provided.” Food, bathroom supplies, clothes...as long as you stay, the stuff’s yours. The jobs don’t look too bad either. All the residents pitch in—from working on their campaigns, to office work, to cleaning and laundry.

  I nod and smile at all the pleasantries and inviting surroundings, but I just can’t shake the thought I shared with Adam earlier...that it all sounds too good to be true. There’s got to be a catch. I remember back to my apartment and the one plant that we had. A Venus flytrap. I thought that was awfully pretty, too. Until I saw it catch and eat a fly.

  “Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal.”

  —Russell Lynes