Guide Me Home Read online

  “You really love your dad, huh?”

  “Yeah. He's my favorite guy.”

  “That's good. What about your mom?” My question seems to make her speechless. She never parts her lips to answer me even though I wait for one. And just as I feel like asking her again, a knock sounds on my door.

  “Logan, your favorite guy is here,” I nudge her. She jumps out of her seat and dashes over to what's temporarily keeping them apart. She swings the door open and leaps into his arms.

  “Hey beautiful,” he says. That hug looks so warm I almost feel it myself.

  “I'm so sorry I'm late, Ms. Faith. Please forgive me.”

  I wave him off. He doesn't need to apologize to me. I love being with Logan.

  “It's really no problem. I know things are busy.”

  “Yeah…” he stops as if he wants to say something else but doesn't.

  “Well thank you so much for keeping her for a little bit. I've never been late like this before.”

  “Mr. Wilhite, it was no problem, honestly. Logan is a pleasure to be around.”

  He fixes her hat and pulls tight her hood. She turns to me, waves goodbye. Those two are the cutest combo I've ever seen.

  CHAPTER 8

  DEVIN

  Day before Thanksgiving

  “Daddy, where are we going to sleep tonight?” Logan glares into my eyes as the expression of worry sets on her face. Believe me, I've been trying to figure it out, and nothing is coming to me. All of the shelters in the area are closing their doors at this hour. I was so caught up in finding employment, I lost track of time. The reality is now we're on the street, and I have the least bit clue of how to sleep on the street with a child. If it were just me, it would be no problem. I'd figure it out, but how in the world do I hide her? That's my issue. Not only that, but the temp has plummeted and would cause the both of us to catch hypothermia if we stay out here too long. Can't risk that.

  We take turns at the bathroom sink at the Dunkin Donuts, washing ourselves up the best we can. My reflection mimics a body custom-tailored in frustration and depression, accompanied by the off-putting fragrance of onions. It's a myth that you don't sweat or stink in the cold. This washing up shit is getting ridiculous.

  Logan taps my shoulder. “Where are we going to sleep tonight?” Her eyes cut through me for an answer, but I don't have a good one to give.

  “I don't want you worrying about that, okay? We'll find somewhere to go.”

  She nods and kisses my nose. My lips press against her warm forehead. We gather our things and leave out, head North towards the metro station. I look every which way for a place we can crash for the night, but nothing looks available. I know she's tired. Her feet drag with each step she takes. I'm tired too.

  Out of the blue, she says to me, “Daddy, I like Ms. Faith.”

  “Oh yeah? Why you like her so much?”

  “She's always nice to me.”

  “Well, that's good to know.”

  “She's a good friend.” I look at my child. What does she know about being a good friend?

  “How so?”

  “Because she made me feel better while we were on the field trip the other day.”

  “What happened? You didn't tell me you were sick.”

  “Well, I wasn't sick really. I was just really missing you. I wish you were there.”

  “I know. I wish I could've come too, but I promise I'll be at the next one.” We come to a crosswalk, and she squeezes my hand tighter.

  “She let me put my head on her arm too.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yeah. And I got to sit by her at lunch.”

  “Oh, so you guys are like best friends.”

  “Yep.” She giggles and looks up at me.

  “Well, I'm glad she's your friend. That makes me happy that you have a such a nice teacher.”

  “Yeah. She's special.”

  The walk signal switches and we come up on the metro station. But I get quickly reminded that I have no money to get us both on the train. Ugh. Here we go again. I hate to do this, but this is the only way. So I stand us near the entrance and set my book bag down and open it. People walk on by with cold shoulders to us and disappear into the station below.

  Chuck up your pride, Devin.

  “Excuse me miss, do you have some change that I could have? I need to catch the train home, but I am all out. I need…” I start to say, but just as fast, the woman speeds on by without a word. I won't give up hope though. Another person heads towards us, and again I try the same thing over and over. Logan looks at me after the third person and says, “Why aren't they giving you any money?”

  I tell her that they don't have to cause’ it's theirs, but in her little mind it doesn't make sense—why ask for it then—her eyes tell me. However, she doesn't say another word and turns her head the opposite way.

  Another dude is strutting our way in his black overcoat, matching blazer jacket beneath, grey slacks, and crisp white dress shirt and blue tie peeking through the opening of the blazer. I know he gotta be made of money. Let me ask him.

  “Excuse me, sir, I don't mean to bother you, but do you have any dollars you could spare so that my little girl and I could catch the train back home?”

  He looks my way as he slows down. His eyes bounce from me to her and then back to me.

  “Where's your sign?”

  I raise a brow, confused as to what kind of question that is to ask.

  “Come again?”

  “Your sign. Where is it? Aren't you supposed to have a sign? I just saw a couple of your buddies not too far back asking for the same thing. Had their kid with ‘em too. Aren't you supposed to have a sign? They did.”

  I'm not even sure if his ignorance can get any worse. “I'm not sure what you're talking about. What guys? What sign? I'm just asking for spare change if you have it. That's it. Tryna get me and my lil’ girl home.”

  “Oh, so you think cause’ you got a kid out here with you, that's supposed to move me to give you money?”

  Am I being punked right now?

  “Is she your bait?” He continues on, pointing at Logan. I look at her and then back at him, this time scooting her slightly behind me. Not today, Devin. Don't catch a charge for this fool.

  “What? My bait? What are you talking about?”

  He lets out a small chuckle. What I'm going through ain't a damn joke.

  “Listen, I know what you're all about. You've got it all figured out too. Playing the game. Got the whole look down. You even went as far as putting a little funk on you. I see right through you though, man. I'm not a fool. You're out here asking people for their hard-earned money, and all you're going to go do is take it and run and get in your fancy little car and go to the next place and pull the same shit, like you all do.”

  “You know what man, I'm good. I don't need your money.”

  “No no no,” he says. “I'll tell you what, it's about to be Thanksgiving. I can give a little something. I'm not that heartless.” He digs into his coat pocket, searching roughly through it. He pulls out a nickel and grabs my hand, flips it palm up and places it in my hand. I can't believe this shit right here.

  He chuckles and salutes me off. The nickel goes flying his way, hitting him in the back of his coat. I don't know if he felt it or not. I'm hoping he did.

  “Daddy, did he give you enough?”

  “Nowhere near, Lo.” I just want to give him a piece of my mind, but running after him ain't even worth it. Besides, I'm not going back to jail for something like that. Instead, I try my luck again as people continue to walk by us. A few stop and hand us whatever they have. After hours of collecting the amount I need, I grab my bag and take Logan by the hand, and we head downstairs into the station. Twenty dollars is at my liberty. Do I pay to get on the train or do I use it to feed us? I refuse to have to go back out there and beg for money again. If I can bypass one to be able to get the other, then that's what I'm going to have to do. We reach the turn styles, and I
help Logan go through the bottom at its tiny opening. She crawls through to the other side, and I take my time hopping over it as the station attendant sits, back to us, busying himself with his phone.

  “Lo don't make that a habit. It's only for tonight. We're going to be riding the train for a little while until I can figure out what to do about tonight.” She snickers and then jumps to her feet, nodding her head.

  The train arrives, squealing breaks echoing through the tunnel. As we wait for it to stop, she spins slowly, head up to the high ceiling, gazing at it.

  “Wow,” she whispers. The doors of the train pull up directly in front of us, and I take her hand and usher her inside.

  “It's nice and warm in here,” she says. Yes, it is. That was my point in coming on here. She grabs a metal pole situated in the middle of the aisle to hold on to. I take a seat at the back of the car, and she follows right behind me shortly after. Tonight is going to be a long one, that's for sure, but at least we're safe and warm for now.

  I lay my head against the window, and she lays hers against me. Out of the blue, she strikes up a conversation. Even though I love that she wants to talk to me, right now, I just want to sit in silence. I'm still hot about that asshole and just trying to figure out what we're going to do from here on out is still bothering me.

  “Daddy, when will we be able to have our own house?”

  That question takes me by surprise. I wish I had a definite answer.

  “I don't know sweetheart.”

  “I don't like not having a home.”

  I know what you're feeling little girl. It's daddy's fault too. Ever since you were born, daddy couldn't provide what you absolutely needed, and I'm sorry. I wish I could go back and do it right. You wouldn't have questions like this. I wouldn't have to see you suffer the way you do. It is my fault that we have no home so I can understand if you are frustrated with me. I'm frustrated with me too if you don't know.

  “I don't like not having one either,” I say, instead.

  “Why can't we just get one?”

  “It's not that easy, Lo. We have to have money.”

  “Well, don't you have any?”

  “You know I don't have any money, baby.”

  “But we can ask somebody, right?”

  The thought makes me shutter. I don't want her getting accustomed to that. That's not right.

  “We can, but daddy wants to get money on his own without asking.”

  “Well, how are you going to do that?”

  “I've got to get a job first.”

  “Can't you just ask for one?”

  “I wish it were that easy. I can ask for a job, but it doesn't mean they'll give it to me. There's a process I have to go through first.”

  “What kind of process?”

  “Well, I have to apply for the job first, and then I have to wait for them to call. When they call, that means that they're interested in me and want to see if I'm actually qualified for the job. And if I am, then that's when they will give me the job and then that's when daddy will be able to get some money so we can get a house to live in.”

  Just when I think my explanation is enough, she comes back with more questions—wants to know what qualified means and anything else that relates to getting close to having our own. Then she goes on to tell me that I'm the man and don’t need rules cause in her words, “daddies are kings who make their own rules.” I play along like I believe her. Put a convincing smile on my face that tells her so and kiss her forehead. If only she really knew.

  She snuggles beneath me again. Both our eyes stare out of the window. The whispering heat lulls us into silence. I can't help but wonder if all of this has been really messing with her. Have I put too much pressure on her to not say anything to anyone? I mean I don't want people to know for good reason. I wouldn't be able to handle not having her in my life. I know she deserves better. She deserves everything she asks for, and I want to be the one to give that to her, not some crazy family that loves taking in people for a good government paycheck. Logan and I have been inseparable since her birth and I'm doing everything to keep it that way. I just pray she's never taken from me. One day I'm going to be able to get it together. One day soon. In the meantime, I just hope through all of this, she isn't mad at me. I hope she's not looking at me as a failure cause’ God knows I'm trying. I'm trying my hardest.

  “Ms. Faith is really pretty.”

  She breaks my train of thought, catching my eyes looking at her through the window reflection.

  “She's a nice looking gal.”

  “I like how she wears her hair. It's always up in a ball or whatever. It's like mine but it looks neater, and it doesn't stick out all over the place.”

  I'm assuming she's thinking about the bun she wears.

  “And she always dresses nice and smells pretty.”

  “Oh does she now?”

  “Yeah. I wanna be like Ms. Faith.”

  This is new. Last year she said she wanted to be a skating apple lady. Whatever the hell that is.

  “You want to be a teacher?”

  “No. I just want to be her. I like her a lot.”

  “Wow. Okay. I think that's pretty cool.”

  “And you know sometimes at the end of the day, she lets me wash the board off. I love doing that. My hands get all dirty from the chalk.” She demonstrates to me how she holds her hands together from when she cleans.

  “My teacher used to let me do that.”

  “Your board probably wasn't cleaner than mine,” she laughs.

  “Oh, yes it was.”

  “Nuh uh. My board is sparkly. Ms. Faith always tells me how good of a job I do.”

  “Yeah but I bet if I cleaned the board, she would say, ‘oh Devin this is magnificent. I love it. I want you to wash my board all the time,’ and then what you gonna do?” The mimicry of a female's voice cracks her up senseless. She's even got me gut laughing myself.

  “Then I'm going to write on it again and make you have to clean it up.”

  “Aw, you gonna do your daddy like that? I thought you loved me?” I laugh heartedly.

  “I do but you not taking my job away.”

  “Nah, you can have it. My board washing days are done.”

  Her smile still fanned across her lips, she continues on, plucking at her fingernails. “You know what else I like about Ms. Faith?”

  “What's that?”

  “She's nice to me even when the other kids aren't.”

  I sit up, now concerned. “What you mean?”

  “She always tells me how beautiful and smart I am when the other kids call me dirty and stuff.”

  “They do that to you?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes. Kenneth always laughing and point at me because I don't have new clothes and he always says ‘ahh haa, look at Logan's pants. She wore those already.’ But don't nobody say nothing about his nappy hair looking like ants walking all over his head.”

  See what I'm saying? She's sensitive but feisty too. Then she stares out of the window again as if she's thinking out loud her confessions. I take her in close to try and hush her sensitive thoughts. I would love to snatch that lil’ piece of shit up, firmly press my knuckles into his chin and stare the wrath of God into him. Don't nobody mess with my baby girl. I don't care if he is six.

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “I beat him up at recess.”

  Can't even be mad cause’ I know that violent part she gets from me. It's not like I can tell her not to fight after she has seen her father nearly kill a man. It just doesn't work that way, but I'm going to try.

  “Have you told Ms. Faith about it?”

  “Yes. She just tells him to stop and that we don't bully in the class, but he still does it when she's not looking.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “I told you already. I beat him up at recess.”

  At least I know she can handle herself, but I don't want her fighting cause’ that's not who she is.

  �
��Listen, sweetheart, I know what some of the kids have said to you has hurt you, but I want you to know that none of what they say is true. You are absolutely beautiful, and you are smart. You don't need fancy clothes to make you into somebody. That boy Kenneth don't know no better. His parents probably teach him that stuff. But you know better because daddy is teaching you better, you understand? So from now on, no more fighting. You're way too pretty to be fighting. And I don't want you to let them get in your head like that. Don't believe what they say to you. Anything mean they say, is not true, you hear me?”

  She nods and then rests her head against me. I hope what I'm telling her is the right thing. I want her to know daddy’s got her back no matter what and that she really is special and beautiful and smart. Any child of mine automatically is.

  CHAPTER 9

  FAITH

  He climbs the stairs, calling out my name as if he's got some frustrating story he can't wait to tell me. I sit up on the bed, back against the headboard, waiting for him as he enters the room. My mother's voice plays in the back of my head, ‘Compromise. Stroke his ego a little.’ I'm just hoping that if I have to do all of that, this story better be worth it.

  “Hey,” I greet him. He sighs heavily, shakes his head and kicks off his shoes.

  “You know, I can't stand a liar. I ran into a homeless guy tonight, and he comes up to me asking for spare change.”

  He must hate himself then.

  “Now, I had the money, but at the same time, I thought to myself, what has happened to him that would make him fall flat on his face like this? He's a man and should be able to take care of himself. Beggars really get under my skin. If I'm able to do for myself as a man, then I believe every other man can do the same.”

  “Don't you think that's kind of harsh?” I ask, now setting my iPad beside me and giving him my full attention.

  “I'm serious. Why should I give him my hard-earned money just for him to go buy a beer or a carton of cigarettes on my dime? The fact of the matter is he needs to get off his lazy ass and find a job.”