Sorcerer on the Street

Case 11: Things that Matter

"Are you okay, honey?"

John groaned inaudibly, and raised his head from his hands a little. Glancing up, he saw Marla standing beside him with the coffee jug in her hands. His mug was still half full.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "Just letting the world get to me. Hard to relax, thinking I could be homeless this time tomorrow."

"That's very rough," she said. "Let me give you a refill, that'll be cold by now. Have you been to the unemployment office?"

"I tried," John answered slowly.

"Let me guess, delays in the paperwork? I had some of that, before I got my first job. Would have taken weeks for the money to get through, and I wouldn't have had enough to keep going that long if I hadn't found somewhere."

"They wouldn't even talk to me. I need a social security number, or a birth certificate, or all these things I never heard of before. I thought I could just come to the city and find work. I guess that makes me an idealist."

"Your parents can't help?" she asked, and then hesitated. There must have been something in John's eyes when he heard that question, because she didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "That must be terrifying. I was nervous enough, because I was scared to say I'd failed. I think it's every young woman's worst nightmare, ending up on the streets. Or the things that could happen to you there. But at least if everything fell through, I could have run back home with my tail between my legs. But I guess your folks wouldn't be that forgiving."

"Right," John answered with a nod. "They've got plans for me. I'm just a tool for them, to marry into the true family. I can't go back there, they'll never accept that I'm a man, or that I might have my own ideas. They're just..."

"I can't imagine anyone treating their son like that," I added, mostly out of a desire to comfort him in this moment of turmoil. "I don't know your family, but when you said where you came from, Mrs Kendrick seemed a little shocked. She said something..."

"They're a cult," John said, recalling the previous day's conversation a little more clearly than I did. "That's what she said, anyway. I don't really know what that means, but the way she said it... I think maybe I didn't realise just how weird my life there was. And now I don't know how to start having a normal life."

"Oh..." Marla mumbled, and we could see her wrestling with curiosity. She must know that in this situation, asking too many questions could have brought up bad memories. And even though John had come into the diner very rarely, she still saw him as a valued customer. "Maybe you should go to Saint Frederick's?"

"Where's that?" John and I asked at the same time. The question was so obvious that there was no need for me to tell John what to ask here.

"The old church, near the park. The old preacher is usually there, and they're connected to a homeless shelter. They talk a lot about helping people to get back into work, so they probably have someone who can tell you where to go. Your parents never talked about this stuff at all?"

"They didn't even like me reading," he answered, the bitterness swelling up inside him. "Most of the library was locked away. Men only, so I had to read the books I could get at and work out everything in between. No, I was supposed to be given away like some unwanted toy, or sold off to earn respect for the family. Learning how to do anything wouldn't help with that."

"Well, I'll say St Frederick's might be able to help you. I'll ask around too, in case anybody else here knows the right procedure. Getting somebody on your side is probably a good first step. And if you're really desperate, there'll always be a hot coffee waiting here for you."