“All we get is five dollars for the whole bag?” Clark asked.
Crawling through the dumpster had involved spilling warm beer on himself and getting wet cigarette butts on his hands. He’d carried the bag more than three miles, as far as he could tell. He’d even though he’d felt something moving near the bottom of the bin. All of that for five dollars didn’t seem worth it.
“Five dollars will get you a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter,” Charlie said. “You can get pork and beans in a can…even a cheap fast food meal, if you’re careful.”
“I thought you got your food out of the trash,” Clark said.
“It goes bad quick in the summer,” Charlie said. “And if freezes in the winter...You can’t always depend on diving for food, but cash can save your life.”
Clark nodded slowly. His store of cash was dropping despite his best efforts and this was the first income that he’d had. He clutched the bill, then sighed and slowly offered it to the older man.
Charlie chuckled. “It’s tough trying to be fair when you’ve got nothing. You did the digging, you keep it. Besides, you’re about to need it.”
Clark blinked as he saw the complex of buildings they were approaching.
“The bus depot?”
“You can get a week pass for ten dollars,” Charlie said. “Covers the bus and the subway. There’s discounts for veterans and students, but you’d have to show some ID.”
“I can’t really afford…” Clark began.
“We’ve been walking for miles,” Charlie said. “My feet hurt.”
Clark’s didn’t. Physically he wasn’t tired at all.
At Clark’s look, the older man said, “The bus can save your life. On a cold day, you can ride the line, even sleep for a while and stay warm. The bus runs until midnight, and the subways run twenty four hours a day.”
Clark wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep on a bus or subway train that was constantly stopping to unload and reload passengers, but he supposed that if he was exhausted enough he wouldn’t have any other choice.
“Besides, how are you ever going to get from place to place before they close? Are you going to walk everywhere?”
It wasn’t like Clark could run everywhere without being noticed.
At Clark’s continued, stubborn look, Charlie said, “I’m tired. Me and Rufus are riding the bus back. You coming?”
Clark scowled and pulled a five dollar bill from his rapidly dwindling stash to match the money he’d gotten from collecting the cans.
At this rate he’d be eating out of dumpsters for the rest of his life.
******************
As he stepped off the bus, Clark had to admit that it had been much more pleasant and much quicker to ride rather than walk all the way back. The smell of urine and body odor from some of the other passengers wasn’t nearly as bad as what he’d smelled in the shelter, even though the bus had been crowded.
He was glad that Charlie had warned him to keep his hand on his wallet. He’d felt someone brushing by, but hadn’t confronted them.
Charlie, true to his word had been allowed to bring Rufus on the bus, although he’d had to sit in the front near the driver and Clark hadn’t gotten to talk to him. He’d been separated by the press of numerous passengers and he’d stood to allow an elderly woman to sit.
It made him feel better in a way. Although he was in the worst place in his life, he hadn’t forgotten what his parents had taught him. Being kind to others didn’t cost much, and if it brought goodness to their lives, it was worth the effort.
The bus had two doors, one in the front and one in the back. Clark was relieved to see Charlie and Rufus stepping off the front of the bus. Charlie had told him which stop to get off on, but he hadn’t been sure he’d heard right.
As the bus lurched off in a cloud of smoke and the crowd began to disperse, Clark approached the older man.
“Where are we now?” he asked.
“It’s time for lunch,” Charlie said. He gestured toward a nondescript building on the other side of the street.
“I don’t have a lot of money,” Clark said uneasily. The place obviously wasn’t a restaurant and he wasn’t sure he was up for another round of dumpster diving.
“And I look like I do?” Charlie asked. He grinned. “And here I am in my Armani suit…”
Clark followed the older man dubiously, stopping when he saw a small sign over the door.
“You want us to go to church?”
After his experience the night before he didn’t feel like listening to more about what a sinner he was or how he’d failed in the eyes of God and man.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie said. “Food’s good here, and they even let old Rufus in.”
A stocky black man in a dark gray suit opened the door. He was an older man, balding and with graying hair and he was stocky. He smiled warmly and said, “Brother King, it’s good to see you again.”
Charlie smiled and said, “I swear Rufus is going to be good this time.”
“it’s better to take the temptation away,” the man said. “We’ve got some bones we used in the broth that we saved up special for him.”
He looked behind Charlie and saw Clark and his smile widened.
“Who is this?”
“This is Clark Kent,” Charlie said. “I had another episode and he found me in the snow. He carried me to the hospital. I’m showing him around.”
Charlie turned and said, “This is Brother Wayman. I wasn’t always the charming levelheaded person I am now. This man is part of the reason I’m alive today.”
Brother Wayman smiled and he extended his hand. Clark took it reluctantly, but found that the man’s handshake was firm.
“I’m glad you’re here,” the man said warmly. “And I’m glad you were able to help Brother King.”
**************
Clark couldn’t help but feel warm and contented. Unlike the shelter, here the food came before the sermon, and he hadn’t tasted anything like it since his mother had died.
He’d stuffed himself, once he’d realized that there was going to be more than enough.
Apparently the food had been prepared by members of the congregation.
It was warm, and he’d relaxed as he’d realized that he didn’t see condemnation in the eyes of Wayman or any of the other church workers.
He’d been skittish at first, but after the meal he’d just had, Clark felt he could sit through almost any sermon.
Now he was sitting in a pew along with approximately thirty other men, some of whom he recognized from the night before. While the outside of the church was simple brick, the inside had the familiar church smell, clean and pure.
The decorations were simple; this obviously wasn’t a wealthy church that spent vast amounts of money on the building, but it was clean.
Wayman stood at the front of the room and he began to speak.
“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.”
Wayman’s voice was rich and full, but there was something gentle and reassuring about it.
“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?”
Clark looked around at the men he was sitting with. Last night they had been inattentive and restless. They’d been forced to be there and it showed. Now though, they at least seemed to be more attentive. While it was possibly because they were distracted by hunger, Clark suspected that the men respected the preacher. They at least seemed to be willing to listen to what he had to say.
“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
Clark found himself straightening. The sermon was beginning very differently than the one he’d heard last night.
Wayman said, “Our Jewish brothers like to say that whoever saves a life, it’s like they’ve saved a whole world. It always surprises me how easy it is to save a life. Sometimes all it takes is a smile, a pat on the back, a willingness to listen when someone is in their darkest moment.”
The sermon, as it turned out was very different.
It reminded him, if anything of the church his parents had attended. In a way, it felt a little like home.
******************
“It’s so much nicer here than the shelter,” Clark said. He felt embarrassed even admitting that he’d been in the shelter, but the preacher’s expression wasn’t judgmental. “It’s hard to understand how they can be so…”
Brother Wayman had asked them to stay while women from the church packed up some bones for Rufus.
“Cold?” Wayman said. “It’s a hard job, protecting people from each other and from themselves. It’s easy to get burned out.”
“How do you all stay so positive?”
“You have to have passion,” Wayman said. “Also, it helps that we get to go home to our families.”
Clark couldn’t help himself; he’d had pent up anger and he had to complain. “They kept acting like I was gay.”
“Clark,” Wayman said. “About four in ten young people in your situation are gay. Why do you think they are homeless in the first place?”
“Because their families can’t accept them for being different,” Clark said slowly. He’d had his own fears about being different and about not being accepted. He’d had nightmares for years that someone would discover just how inhuman he was.
“There are services out there to help,” Wayman said. “You don’t have to do it alone.”
“Isn’t that kind of what your sermon was about? Helping each other?” Clark asked. He smiled slightly, then shook his head. “I can’t…”
“I can’t make you do anything,” Wayman said. “But the least I can do is let you know what’s available.”
“Charlie is helping me,” Clark said stubbornly. He stared at the floor. The more official services he got involved in, the more likely someone would make a connection between the teenager in Metropolis, and the crime back in Kansas, no matter how tenuous.
However, he felt comfortable around this man; he was the first person not homeless himself not to look down on Clark.
“But ok…I’ll listen.”
