Mary McDonald - No good deed

Mark nodded, not returning the smile. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been here.” His body shuddered, and he rubbed water off his face as it ran from his hair into his eyes. “I used to live down the street.”

“Ah, so you’re back to visit the old neighborhood.” Brittany smiled. “Did you move close by?” She jabbed her pen at him and said, “I sure hope so, because you’re going to freeze your tush off on the way home.”

Like a Mack truck, it hit Mark. He was homeless. His stomach twisted and the ache swelled, filling him. For a long moment, he couldn’t answer but finally managed to mumble, “No. It’s not that close. I’m looking for a new place.”

Brittany sighed. “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?” She slipped her order pad into her apron pocket. “Look, St. Paul’s has a soup kitchen tonight. It’s not far, and you can sleep there.”

Mark sat straight. “I have money.” He lifted his chin.

“I know, but, I hope you don’t mind me being nosy, but I bet you don’t have much, do ya?”

He tried to hold her gaze but then turned away, shrugging. “I have enough for a meal.”

“Yeah, but St. Paul’s has a good one, and you could save your money. I know they call it a soup kitchen, but it’s really more than soup. It’s a regular meal.” Her voice had become soft and encouraging. “I mean, if you want, you can eat here. God knows, my boss would shoot me if he knew I was sending a paying customer away, but I’d feel guilty taking your money. Do me a favor, and go to the shelter tonight.”

Exhausted in body and spirit, he gave in. He just didn’t have the energy to fight. Mark slid out of the booth, stood and nodded at Brittany. Without a word, he exited.

He knew where St. Paul’s was and Brittany’s ‘just around the corner’ was in reality, a good half-mile away. The few minutes of respite in the diner made it feel even colder outside, and it took him almost twenty minutes to walk to the church.

“Good lord! You’re half frozen.” The woman, stout and with tight gray curls, shook her head then motioned for Mark to follow as she headed across the lobby of the church to a door labeled ‘Basement’. “I just don’t think I’ll ever understand what you people are thinking, running around in this weather improperly dressed.” She opened the door, then looked back to see that he was still behind her.

He should have just bought his dinner at the diner. Saving a few bucks wasn’t worth this. If he hadn’t been so cold and miserable, he would have marched right back out, but his shivering had grown fierce and constant. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth.

“John, grab a blanket for this guy, would you?” the woman asked a young man sweeping the floor as they entered.

“Sure.” The kid leaned the broom against a table and jogged to the far side of the room where Mark saw stacks of sheets and blankets on a table. Between Mark’s spot and that table were approximately three dozen cots. “Here you go, Mister.”

He took it. “Thanks.” At least the kid didn’t have that tone in his voice. Mark tossed the blanket over his shoulders and pulled it tight, clutching both ends in his hands.

While he ate some kind of baked pasta casserole and bread, his shivering gradually subsided. Soon, he became so drowsy that even as he swallowed the last bite, he nodded off for a second. Blinking rapidly, he shook his head to clear it, unable to stifle a yawn. His feet felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each as he crossed to throw his paper plate and cup in the garbage. All he wanted was sleep, and at the moment, he wasn’t picky about where that sleep would take place.

Some other men had lined up for linens, so Mark joined them. Someone complained when he saw that Mark received another blanket, but the stout lady shut him down with a look. “The rules are out by sun-up, which at this time of year, is around seven. Bathrooms are that way.” She pointed down the hall, then took in Mark’s ragged appearance, her mouth pursed. “Do you need some personal items? Like a toothbrush, deodorant, that kind of thing? We have some personal care packages stashed away. Would you like one?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hadn’t thought about those things. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Well, at least you’re polite. I’ll be back in just a minute. You can make up your cot while you’re waiting.”

Mark pulled off his shoes and socks. His feet were pale and wrinkled from being wet, and he hoped his socks and shoes would dry during the night. He stretched out on the cot, intending to only lie down until the lady returned with the care package, but the next thing he knew, it was morning. It was time to rise and shine.

He found the care package stashed behind his shoes and cleaned up in the bathroom. After a cold breakfast, Mark headed out. The shelter gave each person a bag lunch to take with them, but he munched on the apple as soon as he reached the street. He couldn’t recall the last time he had eaten one and savored the tart sweetness as it burst over his tongue.

He walked his old neighborhood, recalling names of people who lived in adjacent buildings. Did Mrs. Scott still live in the old house on the corner? The older woman walked everywhere with her cute pug, Sparky, at her side. The sleet stopped and the sun shone in a deep blue sky despite the frigid temperatures. A blast of cold air tore at him and he huddled into the old navy pea coat he had found under his cot. The stout little lady must have put it there for him while he was sleeping. The wool had a dank musty odor, but kept him warm.

First thing he needed to do was call his parents. He headed for a mini-mart that he remembered had a phone. After buying some water, gum and a bag of peanuts, Mark asked for change. Outside, he lifted the receiver, but hesitated-what if they thought he was guilty of the things he was accused of? He didn’t think they would believe it, but he had to see their faces. He had to know for sure. Reluctantly, he set the receiver back on the hook.

He rode the EL out to the Greyhound station and bought a ticket to Madison. Getting from the bus station in Madison to the little town where his parents lived ten miles outside of the Wisconsin state capital would be a challenge, but if it came down to it, he could always walk.

Mark boarded the bus and opened the bag lunch. The fast food restaurants he’d seen outside the bus terminal tempted him with the tantalizing aroma of French fries and hamburgers, but he stiffened his resolve and bypassed them. Every penny counted and he had the bag lunch. As it was, the bus ticket had set him back almost forty dollars.

The turkey sandwich was dry, but not bad, and he washed it down with a gulp of water. A granola bar rounded out the meager meal. Taking another sip of the water, he reasoned that he’d survive the three hours to Madison easily.

The bus made a few stops on the way towards the Wisconsin border. At one, a young guy took the seat beside Mark. The buzz cut and his politeness as he asked Mark if the seat was taken, had Mark guessing he was a new basic training grad even before the guy mentioned it. He told Mark he was on his way home on his first leave before starting A school at Great Lakes Naval Base.

Mark smiled and nodded, hoping the kid wouldn’t talk the whole way, but he didn’t have to worry; the second the bus began moving, the sailor fell asleep.

In a way, Mark envied the guy. Fatigue burned his eyes, but, there was too much on his mind, too many things had happened in too short a time, for him to relax. The feeling haunted him that if he closed his eyes, he’d wake up back in the cell.

Resting his head against the window, he watched the flat Illinois farmland slide by. Ragged rows of corn stretched on either side of the highway, the shriveled tan leaves flapping in the wind.