Lithium, Chptr. 5 – Xperience Fiction

Lithium, Chptr. 5 – Xperience Fiction – by Liam Sweeny.

Mel sat on the toilet with a handful of his morning meds, a rainbow blend of shapes, sizes, and dosages. He took five just for Bipolar; two anti-depressants and three mood stabilizers. The morning dose was only two of them, plus two pills for other, more common maladies like his blood pressure and cholesterol.

Taking so many meds to keep his mind in check had its drawbacks. Restless legs robbed him the pleasure of napping when he got home from work exhausted. He had a stim which made him tap the fingertips of his right hand against the tip of his thumb, which wasn’t uncomfortable, but was a dead giveaway to anyone that he wasn’t general issue.

He picked up the clear plastic cup that was in the room and took one large gulp, holding the water in his mouth, tilting his head back and dropping all the pills in his human mixer. One big gulp, and he would revisit the ritual that night, like the night before, like the night before that.

He walked out into the bedroom. Andy was fast asleep. Ordinarily he’d shut the door and tiptoe his way into the living room to turn the television on, sound down. But there was no door save for the front door, and the bedroom was the living room. He thought of going to the Acorn to get a coffee, but if Andy woke up and he wasn’t there, he’d likely freak out.

There was a compact coffee maker on the dresser, and a packet of sub-generic coffee, also not made for Dutch River. He didn’t want to wake Andy up, but he needed to wake up himself. They had a lot to do that day.

It didn’t take long to percolate, but the coffee was everything that one would expect of a motel where you could get a room for sixty and change. Andy groaned and turned over, but he stayed down. Mel had to call the school; he didn’t want to forget that. Last thing they needed was a truant officer on their trail. Mel didn’t know the laws on homelessness, in their infinite complexity, but he suspected that a cop taking Andy away was in a few of those laws. He wished there was a Guide to the Newly Homeless on the rack in the front office.

Speaking of… there was Gregory. He had two kids, was he up at that hour? Dare he go over and knock and wake them up. But it wouldn’t hurt to walk by their room and if he happened to hear voices then hey, they were up. He wrote a quick note to Andy on a pad on the desk, tore it off and set it on Andy’s nightstand. As he walked out the door, he realized he could’ve done that to get coffee at Acorn.

He shut the front door in a display of stealth and started down the walk towards Gregory’s room, which, by seeing them go in yesterday, was Room Seven. He didn’t want to look weird, and the fingers of his right hand were already tapping each other. He edged up to the door and made an exaggerated effort to search for his keys, which he was jiggling, cupped in his left hand nestled in his pocket. In truth, he might as well have had a stethoscope on the door. There wasn’t much to hear. He took his hand out of his pocket and turned to go back when the door opened, and Gregory came out.

“You get lost?” Gregory said.

“Oh, no, I uh, I didn’t know if the kids had you up. I was gonna’ ask if you wanted to go to Acorn for coffee.”

“Oh, no. I would, but I can’t really leave the kids. Did you get the motel coffee?”

“Yeah,” Mel said. “Awful.”

“I don’t think it’s so bad,” Gregory said. “But I got a basic palate, you know.”

Another man came to the door, “Gregory, who is this?”

Gregory looked like he got caught cheating on his taxes. “This is a guy who just lost his apartment. He’s got a boy too. His name is, actually, I never got your name…”

“Mel. Mel Miller.” Mel extended his hand to the man standing in the doorway, then awkwardly, to Gregory. “I was just asking Gregory if he wanted to get some coffee at Acorn.”

“I told him I couldn’t,” Gregory said. “I wouldn’t leave the kids with you. Not that that would be a bad thing…”

“Mel, how old is your son?”

“Eleven going on twenty-two.”

“Are you getting any help?” The man said.

“Going today. Gregory told me to go to Helping Hands. I owe him ‘cause I wouldn’t have thought of that right now. It’s all new, you know?” The man nodded.

“Go get coffee,” the man said to Gregory. “Things are going good.”

“You sure, Barry?”

“Yeah. Do the neighborly thing. Just get back here before seven-thirty so we can get them ready for school.”

 

The store was packed with laborers, contractors and emergency workers, essential workers crowding the coffee station on their way to keep the demands of progress satisfied. Gregory paid for Mel’s coffee.

“You’re in no position to treat,” he said.

“Are you?”

“Nope, but I have more experience getting coffee money than you do.”

They brought their bounty back to the motel. After checking in on Andy, still asleep, he joined Gregory outside to caffeinate.

“So is that guy your husband, or boyfriend?”

“No, I ain’t gay,” Gregory said. “That’s my brother.”

“Oh, I didn’t know he was staying with you,” Mel said. “Is he, you know,…”

“Homeless. Not a dirty word.” Gregory said. “And nope. He’s doing me a favor.”

“Oh.” Mel took a sip of his coffee, wondering what kind of favor involved spending the night in a dinky motel room with a family of three. But it wasn’t his place to pry.

“My brother is why I got my kids right now,” Gregory said. “It’s a visitation.”

“Oh, okay. So they aren’t homeless.”

“They are not,” Gregory said. “But if their mother wasn’t on her honeymoon, I wouldn’t have them these past two weeks. And she trusts Barry to supervise. Cause she don’t have to give me shit. Sole custody.”

“I got sole custody of Andy.”

Gregory raised his coffee. “Here’s to you keeping it.”

 

***

 

After making a second stop to Acorn to get breakfast and pulling back far less change than he was expecting, Mel knew they had to find some kind of routine. Gregory left him a rambling list of tips to survive the streets, only some of which Mel remembered. One of them was pretty immediate.

“You keep living like this is gonna’ be a couple of days, treating yourself to stuff to make it not suck, you’re gonna run outta’ money,” he said. “And flat broke can kill you if you ain’t ready. Mind your pennies.”

Mel had the feeling of being on a road trip with his son, like they were going to spend a few days out and go back home. But there was no home. That fact lived in the back of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it to the front.

“Dad, are we going back to that motel?” Andy said between bites of his egg sandwich.

“I don’t really know,” Mel said. “I guess if we have to, but we’re going over to Troy to try to get some help. They may have some other place we can go.”

“Do we have to go to a homeless shelter?”

Mel sighed. “We might have to,” he said. “But I promise it’ll be temporary. Just until we can get in somewhere else.”

“Do I still have to go to school?”

“Shit.” Mel pulled out his phone and called the school, a number he was well familiar with.

“Hi, I’m Mel Miller. My son Andy has been sick since yesterday. The flu, I think. I forgot to call him in. I-,”

“Yes, I understand.”

“That is true.”

“I’ll make sure next time, I promise. Yesterday just got away from me.”

“Thanks.”

Was that Mrs. Klosky?” Andy said.

“Yeah. Not pleased, but she’s going to call off the truant officer.” Mell scooped out a spoonful of yoghurt. “I can buy us a few days, but school isn’t gonna’ go away.”

“Do I have to tell anyone?”

“Not unless one of your classmates are in the shelter too,” Mel said.

 

Helping Hands was a sentinel building next door to a highway overpass. Its five stories of smooth brick and minimal angles and decoration announced that what was inside was all business. The windows had a slight aquamarine tint not quite concealing Venetian blinds. It was an odd duck of a structure, new, on a reconstructed street corner surrounded by crumbling sidewalks and trash.

“You ready, kid?”

“Do I have to go in?”

“I’d prefer you did,” Mel said. “I’m sure there are kids that come here. They probably have stuff for you to do.”

They walked in and Mel saw that they did have stuff for kids to do if they were on the low side of about six years old. Instead, they walked up to the receptionist, who wrote down their names and told them to have a seat. She also gave Mel a five-page form to fill out.

Intake forms were always a pain in the ass for Mel, whose better expression was verbal, but this intake form was invasive. By the time he finished filling it out, he didn’t think there was anything that he actually could save for word of mouth.

They sat in the lobby for nearly an hour, and not alone. Mel counted the rest of the lobby and came up with seven, all children and receptionists included. It wasn’t a crowd; it reminded him of an average shrink’s appointment waiting room, except quieter. He only spoke with Andy occasionally in a soft voice. Andy was forcing himself to absorb a sports magazine. His love of sports didn’t extend beyond his video game controller.

“Mel Miller?” A large African American woman poked her head out from the hallway leading into the cubicles.

Mel got up in a spring and grabbed Andy’s hand. They followed behind the woman into a cubicle in the back left of the room. Arelda McEntyre was the name on the door.

Arelda took their paperwork and escorted them in to have a seat. She had a seat herself and she glanced through the intake form.

“So you two just got evicted yesterday?”

“Yes ma’am,” Mel said.

“Arelda is fine.”

“Yes, we stayed in a motel last night.”

“So this is your son,” she said, then looked up. “Andy?”

“Yes. Andy,” Mel said.

“Do you two have a place to go tonight?”

“We have enough money for another night at the motel, but I don’t know how we’re gonna’ eat.”

“Have you tried to go to Social Services to get emergency assistance?”

“I thought of it, but I was on public assistance before. I was on it for a few years in and out, and I think I’m over my limit.”

“Even if that’s true, they’ll still be able to help you out, just maybe not as much.”

“So that’s what you all do, tell people to go to Social Services?”

“We do a lot, Mel, but you’re going to need to do the basic stuff yourself.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be snappy; I’m just overwhelmed. I’ve never been homeless before. Also, I’m trying to keep my anxiety in check.”

“I see you have a serious mental health diagnosis.”

“I do. But I take meds for it,” Mel said. “Until I run out of them or money for them.”

“Do you have Medicaid?”

“I do,” Mel said. “I still have copays though.”

“All the more reason to go to Social Services,” she said.

“So is there any point in continuing the interview if every road leads back to Social Services?”

“We can do some stuff. We can put you in our system. And we can let you go to our pantry and pick up some groceries. And because you have a child and a mental health diagnosis before losing your housing, I can help you get a caseworker that can keep you in control of your medical situation.

“I can also give you a voucher for a motel stay for three days. That should help you get settled, and then you don’t have to run to Social Services today, although you should do it as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Mel said. “I’m sorry for being short.”

“It’s a tough situation you’re in,” she said. “You’re by no means the worst person I’ve seen, not even just today.”

 

The intake softened after Mel knew he was going to have a free place to stay for a couple of days. Arenda was a very warm person, despite having to deal with a lot of desperation every day. Mel told her about his love of painting and design, which he told few people, and Andy recounted everything he knew about Albert Einstein.

“Mel, I hope this is temporary,” Arelda said. “But if it’s longer, you’re going to need to manage your expectations. It’s easy to pull back from doing the stuff you have to do, but you guys have more riding on your success. So I hope to see you back soon. Ask for me.”

 

***

 

The Starlight motel was on the upper end of Central Avenue, one of its nondescript commercial sections. Mel grew up in the Capital Region, and, based off the address and where he mapped it on his phone, he couldn’t think of one thing that was a half-mile either way. Desolation on the busiest street.

He had a two hundred-and-sixty dollars between card and cash, and much as he’d like to avoid it, he had to go to Social Services. Even if he could land a job the next day, it would be a week at least before he would get paid. They needed to eat, he needed gas and even if he played hide and seek with a repo company for a while over the minivan, they could turn off his phone from anywhere.

He was starting to see Gregory’s point about spending like he was homeless. He and Andy pulled off into Master Burger after the Helping Hands appointment for two each of the dollar burgers and two medium sodas, which he begrudgingly changed to waters when it was time to order.

Four thirty-two, with tax. With napkins and straws Mel planned on saving. He didn’t know if going gangbusters on saving was the right thing to do or a manic reaction to the circumstance, but he was bound to make it useful.

He and Andy ate outside on a bench in front. The sun was out, and the wind was whipping the iconic teal and orange flags on top of the buildings. Mel had his phone on his side, expecting a miracle phone call that would swoop in and pull them back. In all reality, it would be a bill collector, or a friend he’d have to lie to or give an uncomfortable confession.

Andy was quiet as he ate. Mel could tell the uncertainty of it all was eating at him, and why shouldn’t it? He was a kid. Mel’s responsibility was to give him security and love, and he failed at one. He couldn’t make that up with even the greatest overabundance of the other. It didn’t matter that he had the illness. Other people had the illness, and they were able to keep a roof over their child’s head, keep them safe. Why couldn’t he?

He just sat there, burning through his savings until there was nothing left and he had to choose between rent and food, power, cable, gas, and phone.  He should’ve chose rent and power and forgone everything else. He could’ve lasted longer. But he couldn’t have lasted until Andy was eighteen.

He had to put it out of his head. Guilt was a distraction from the tightrope they were on, and he couldn’t fail Andy yet again. They finished their burgers, collected what they were saving, and threw out the trash.

Traffic in Albany was steady, not crazy like it was during the morning and afternoon rushes. Mel was glad they didn’t go to Social Services in the afternoon. They would’ve caught the second rush and ate gas for a half hour. They got to Central and drove through the uniqueness of Albany into the dullness of any city. And smack dab in the middle of that dullness was the Starlight.

Andy ran into the office as Mel unpacked their bookbags, putting them on the roof until he knew they had a room. As he walked toward the office, he hoped no one would steal the stuff. They weren’t in what he now had to call his old neighborhood.

The front desk clerk didn’t look up from his paperwork. Mel explained the vouchers.

“Oh,” he said. “No drugs, no prostitution, no public lewdness, public intoxication, or really public anything. Check out in ten. If you have more than one voucher, I can take them now.” He held his hand out.

“Do people really do all that stuff here?” Mel said. “I got a kid.”

“And a voucher, so you probably can’t be choosy, right?”

He took their vouchers, gave them the sign in sheet, and then their keys. Mel hoped he didn’t have to call the front desk for anything, lest he disturb the night’s paperwork.

 

He got a call when they were settled in, about to go out to the supermarket for what they decided would be a hobo’s dinner; franks and beans. He glanced at the number hoping for a lifeline and saw that it would be attached to a lead anchor; Debra.

He took the call outside, tossing Andy the remote and holding up his finger, though he knew if he answered, it wouldn’t take one moment.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Debra said. “Where’s Andy?”

“He’s with me, he’s inside,” Mel said as he ran his fingers along the outer windowsill.

“Inside of where?”

“What are you talking about?” Mel said.

He could hear her sigh on the other end. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’re out of the apartment.”

“Okay, I am. Why do you care?”

“I don’t. Not about you.”

“You don’t care about him either,” Mel said. “Don’t start now.”

Debra scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How’s Sam?”

“Fine. What does he have to do with anything?”

“He gonna’ pay me back for the hospital bills from the last time y’all ‘cared’ about Andy?” He shouldn’t have been winding her up, but if he went the cowering route, she would’ve smelled blood in the wading pool.

“Go fuck yourself,” Debra said. “So what, you’re homeless now? Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

“We’ll be on our feet soon enough. I’m already on the job search.”

“You haven’t had a job in a year, you lazy fuck.”

“I was sick,” Mel said. “And I’m better.”

“If only you knew that an eviction would cure your ills,” Debra said. “Look, I got one thing to say. That’s it. You think the bum life will build character for our son, have at it. We already got mouths to feed. But our child support deal stands, or I’ll go for custody and I’ll get it now. If you bring up child support in the welfare line, or anywhere, and they come after me for it, or back support, or whatever, it’s open season. I’ll take that kid right away from you. Got it?”

“Yeah, Debra. Figured this would be your first concern.”

“Wouldn’t be you,” she said. “And you poisoned that little shit about me, so I’d rather leave you to yourselves. But I’m not going to pay for something I don’t have.”

“Love you too, Deb.”

“Fuck off.” She hung up, and Mel shook his head to clear it for the coming headache.

 

 

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