Once again, my thanks for being asked to participate in this event. I sincerely hope you enjoy the story, and as usual, I hope you will leave a comment.
*
I was less than three days old and twenty minutes away from dying of hypothermia. My name is Carter Larrabee.
Larrabee is the name of the street in Chicago where they found me in front of a police station. Carter was the brand name of the blanket they found wrapped around me. It was the only protection I had from the ten-degree winter cold that night; at least that's what they told me years later at the Cook County Children's Home.
My very first memory is of the beating I received at the hands of a foster parent when I was not quite three years old. That's also the first time I remember being in a hospital. For the next fifteen years, I was in and out of four more foster homes and was subjected to some form of mental or physical abuse in every one of them.
I was placed in the last home when I was fifteen. They needed a strong boy to do chores around the house. For the next three years, I lived a tolerable existence, then I turned eighteen and the monthly room and board checks from the state stopped coming. He at least waited for good weather before my foster dad drove me to a homeless shelter not far from the police station where I was discovered. I guess irony would call that "full circle." I had a small suitcase of clothes and fifty bucks he gave me as an afterthought. "You're on your own, now," he said as I exited the car, "good luck." Then he drove off.
Being in and out of different neighborhoods and attending different schools, I didn't get much book learning, but what I lacked in education, I made up for in street smarts. For a while, I stood on the sidewalk and watched the wretched poor as they entered and exited the building. I peeked my head inside and immediately knew I needed other accommodations.
I walked the streets looking for work during the day and snuck into the emergency waiting room of the Cook County Hospital at night to sleep in one of the chairs. That lasted almost a week before they caught on.
I had just fallen asleep when I heard a man's voice somewhere off in the distance. It got progressively louder as I was shaken awake. I looked up and saw a male orderly and a nurse standing over me. I could tell by the scowl on the nurse's face that she was not the benevolent type. "I saw you here last night. This isn't a flophouse you know. You can't just walk in and spend the night," she angrily stated.
Although the chairs were not made for sleeping, it was still better than that flea-bitten homeless shelter. I was hoping to play on their sympathies. "I'm sorry; I have nowhere else to go."
"The parks are full of benches," she snidely quipped. "If I see you here again, I'll call the police." She turned to the orderly. "See he leaves the building and let me know if you see him in here again." With those parting words, she turned and practically goose stepped down the hall.
The orderly looked a little embarrassed but walked me outside anyway. "You don't look like a bum," he said, looking at my clothes. "What happened, how come you're sleeping in here?"
I gave him a very brief synopsis of my plight. "Damn," he replied, "that's rough. Listen, I have a friend who would put you up but he's gay; at the very least, he'd expect you to blow him when he wanted it."
Growing up, I had been subjected to all kinds of abuse, but I wasn't about to get on my knees for anyone, including this guy's friend. "I appreciate the offer, but no thanks," I told him.
He pulled a pen and piece of paper from his pocket and started writing. "Okay, but if you change your mind call me," he said handing the paper to me. "I think he'd really like you." I dropped the paper in the first garbage can I came to. Now what, I thought.
It was almost midnight and I was tired; no way would I be able to walk the streets until daylight, but then I didn't see any other choice. I was just passing a small restaurant called Plato's Place when the door opened and a guy came out, sweeping some of the dirt from the inside to the outside. He startled me a little. When I looked over, I saw a sign on the front of the building saying "Room for rent."
"Hey, Mister, how much to rent the room?"
He looked me over before saying anything. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen."
"What are you doing walking the streets this time of night?"
"It's a long story, Mister. What about the room?"
"Two-fifty a week," he replied. "That includes the shower in the bathroom down the hall."
"How much for just tonight?"
"I don't rent it out by the night, son. I run into too many problems that way."
"I wouldn't give you any problems, honest. I just need a place to spend the night."
"Sorry," he said, shaking his head and going back to his sweeping.
It just wasn't my night. I turned and started to walk away when I thought of something. I turned to face him again. "Hey, how about if I work it off? I'll clean your place until it shines like new, then you let me sleep for a few hours in the room."
He stopped again and kind of hung on his broom while he gave me another look. "Can you wash dishes?"
"I can wash dishes so clean they squeak. I can also polish silverware, run a vacuum, dust furniture, mop floors... you name it," I bragged with exuberance.
"Come with me."
I followed him inside. The place was bigger than it looked from the outside. There were four booths along one wall and six or seven square tables scattered around the floor; each one accommodated four people. In addition, there were more, two-person tables on the other side of the room and a counter with another ten stools right in the middle.
We walked between a couple of the tables, passed the counter and turned the corner into the kitchen. I'd never seen a kitchen so big... or so dirty. There were dishes stacked up on every flat surface he could find.
"My night shift dishwasher called in sick three days ago and I haven't seen or heard from him since," the man said. "My daytime guy comes in at seven, but in the meantime, I need clean dishes for the morning rush when I open. Since you're so hard up for a place to sleep, I'll make you a deal; I need at least half of these washed by morning. You do 'em and you can sleep in that room until you're good and rested, then I'll give you breakfast before you go."
It was certainly the best offer I'd had in a while. "You got yourself a dishwasher, Mister."
"My name is Stan," he told me.
"Glad to meet you, Stan, my name's Carter... Carter Larrabee."
"Larrabee, like the street?"
"Yes, Sir."
He looked at me suspiciously. I assumed he thought I was giving him a phony name. "You running from the law, Boy?"
"No, Sir, I was named after the street. Like I said, it's a long story."
"You'll have to tell me sometime. Come on, I'll show you the room." We walked across the hall and up a flight of stairs. The second floor wasn't much. It was mostly just storage for a bunch of old restaurant-related stuff, but he had converted one room to a bedroom, or maybe I should say a room with a bed. He did have a small desk along one wall. There was a window in the wall opposite the door and the bed was against the other wall.
"This is it," he commented. "The bathroom is down the hall," he mentioned with a nod of his head, indicating the direction. "You're welcome to use the shower before you go," he told me, "but for now, get started on those dishes; the faster you get them done the faster your head hits the pillow."
I followed him back down and took another look at what I'd gotten myself into. It was a lot of work for a few hours of sleep and breakfast, but if the other guy didn't show up, I was hoping to get his job.
"I have an apartment in the back," Stan told me, "so try and keep it down as much as you can, will ya? Remember, I need at least half of the dishes done. I'm up around five, so if you're done before that, you don't have to wait for me, just go hit the sack."
"Yes, Sir," I answered as he headed toward his apartment. I found a big apron and some rubber gloves in the corner. I assumed they were for the dishwasher. One thing in my favor was the biggest double sink I'd ever seen. I could easily load fifty or sixty dishes in one side. I filled it with the hottest water I could stand and added enough dish soap to choke a horse. I got busy scrapping the leftovers in the garbage before submerging each dish into the hot water to soak.
It was almost five o'clock by the time I put the last dish in the drying rack. I could hear Stan moving around in the back. I really wanted to make a good impression so I looked around and found a closet full of cleaning supplies. I scrubbed the countertops until they shined then mopped the floor. By the time Stan came out from the back, I had everything sparkling clean.
He was surprised when he saw I was still working. As he looked around, I could tell he was impressed; I could see it in his face.
"Not bad, kid, not bad at all. Did you get any sleep?"
