Urban Playground

Copyright © 2012 Mettie Merryman

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Cover design by Fawn, and Isaiah Pesek

Cover models: Adriane Pesek and Mike Barham

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7868-2 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7869-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-7870-5 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923223

WestBow Press rev. date: 2/4/2013

CONTENTS

1.   Can You Spare Some Change?

2.   OBOE

3.   No Lifegaurd On Duty

4.   The Prophet

5.   The Mission

6.   Condo Claustaphobia

7.   Stan, Rickie and Bram

8.   Homeless

9.   Salem’s Outdoor Museum

10.   West Hills

11.   Daddy’s Car

12.   The Interview

13.   The Devil’s Progeny

14.   Every Man For Himself

15.   Officer Tardy

16.   Finished

17.   Harvest

For You Guys

For Nick, Chad, and all the young men I know personally who have lived on the streets of Salem; and to the concerned citizens who see with eyes of understanding and reach out with hands of compassion to the homeless in heart, as well as those bereft of resources to meet their basic daily needs; this is for you. God bless you! And in dedication to Pastor Bob Swope, his sermons were preached by his life in the generosity of his giving, to the homeless, and to those of us who sat in the pew.

Matthew 25:35-36

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. (NIV)

Urban Playground

1

CAN YOU SPARE SOME CHANGE?

How pathetically embarrassing. Imagine if she told anyone she had heart palpitations every time a certain homeless man talked to her or even smiled at her. Darla had prayed, begged, and pleaded that God would send an angel to find a husband for her. Since she had already passed her twenty- fourth birthday, she obviously couldn’t do it for herself. On the other hand, this man, whoever he was, was so aggravating it was evident no angel would pick him out of a crowd for her. Even God, in His omniscience, knew she was not that desperate.

Holding the mall door open for her, he was close enough for her to smell his masculine scent. She had already met him three mornings during the last week, not that she was counting, and now again today. Even under the scruffy hair on his firm jaw and the scraggy hat that covered most of his dark, uncombed hair, he had that dangerous air of attraction. She hated the way he made her feel, the way she heated up on the inside, atoms splitting, neurons exploding, teeth grinding.

Why her? Why did she always attract the bad boy type of guys? Why couldn’t she just find a nice man who lived at the end of some cul-de-sac?

He didn’t fit the vagabond description of a homeless wanderer. The clothes were right - baggy, out dated, and worn, and his hair was unruly in its tendency to curl. But the walk was wrong. The way he held his head up in confidence or arrogance was contradictory. He was not model-handsome, yet he had compelling, commanding self-assurance. He had nice eyes; she tried not to look into them in case she be hypnotized by them; blue like her mothers, they were clear and unclouded, misleading for a man of the street.

She glanced up, holding herself tense, and looked past him as he gazed with interest. The reflection in the window of a slim, trendy, professional young woman; said poised, all emotion successfully hidden. A small breeze of relief escaped her lips and lifted the edges of her mouth. The flicker of satisfaction made her amber eyes bright and wide open.

She was slightly irritated, even ironically surprised that she knew so much about him and still didn’t know anything of importance, not that she cared. She caught the smile he passed her and pretended she didn’t. He was as tall as her step dad, Loren, but sometimes it was hard to tell because if it were very early morning, he would have a big, ridiculous scarf wrapped three times around his neck; and might be hunched over, like an old man trying to stay warm.

Just go home and get out of the rain or the sun –out of my sight- stay out of my thoughts!

The last couple of years her view of the male species had changed. Instead of faces and strong muscles she looked at their hands, left hand to be exact. No ring on this guy. Go figure. You could get a man online with the click of a mouse; mice and men, it made perfect sense. Any guy worth looking at was already taken.

There had been a few guys in her life, some were even lots of fun, but they walked way too far from the center line of her morals, even for a liberated college girl. She didn’t want to kiss a thousand frogs just to get a prince.

Too much thinking! Brain trauma; first the heart and now the brain!

He seemed serious, genuine. She had met a lot of other men-types and somehow he didn’t fit any of her preformed mental images. Once, as he was talking to a well-dressed man,-probably working him for a handout -she had seen him smile. His face lit up in a very attractive way. Clean, white, even teeth showed briefly. At one time he must have been a fine-looking young man. Something must have happened to bring him to the streets, probably drugs or failed dreams of the mighty dollar. She hoped something might bring him to his knees.

Great! Here she was again, trying to redeem mankind. Her heart seriously cared about street people. You would have thought she was a preacher instead of a teacher.

Her vocation was with the lives of little people. As a teacher she could be herself and let them trust her. They were young and still impressionable; they were willing to make an effort to learn and find out acceptable ways to get along with others. They were willing to make friends and trust each other and play fair.

Darla could see homeless people from the window of her condo, walking by or sitting on one of the benches for citizens that had been placed at the corner of the street. Once she had passed by a woman with dull staring eyes. Darla had tried to engage her in a polite conversation, but the woman had just stared at her, looking her up and down as if pricing an item of clothing.

She couldn’t figure out what God calling her to do. Her desire was to help bring dignity and respect back into the lives of these people. She wondered if she also had a selfish aim about one man in particular. She didn’t want to see him waste his life when God could do great things through a changed life.

Darla’s heart beat with erratic rhythm. She walked ahead of him without a backward glance, flipping her hair to make her bangs stay out of her eyes. Then she turned with a business-like air and stood in line. She looked around the Coffee Shop as if it had been another classroom, taking in every detail. It was that familiar. She was also experienced in pretending to ignore. It was a safety tip she used, a stranger/danger scenario she taught children. Be polite; not personal. She ordered her latte in a to-go cup. She was meditating flight.

She could feel his dark-fringed blue eyes following her, assessing, probably staking a claim for a handout. She didn’t give handouts to street beggars, no matter what their age or physical handicap. She didn’t want to enable them in their errant life style. She held her breath, heart pounding.

Darla waited for her drink. Her feet were ready to run. If she had been born a horse, like she had dreamed as a child, she would have been pawing the ground and snorting at the breeze, her mane and tail ready to flare in the wind. Instead, her salon-pampered hair had been pulled back into a pony tail, and she was impatiently waiting.

She knew the baristas; she knew some of the regular patrons: preachers, teachers, suits and ties, businessmen and businesswomen. She even knew the city official and his friend who were approaching. They always managed to get a window seat with a clear view of the busy street. She wondered what their perspective was on Salem’s homeless situation.

The councilman could stare into the eyes of his opponents, look into the faces of his co-workers, and he could probably see eye to eye with his constituents. But he just averted his eyes when he walked past a homeless person holding a sign asking for help.

Panhandling was protected speech under Oregon law. The Oregon Supreme Court struck down a state law that wanted to prohibit panhandling along state roads. If the city of Salem allowed it, there must be a good reason behind their decision. Oregon ranked second in the nation in the number of people who were food insecure, to use the government term for going hungry.

Darla took her latte and went out the other door. She wasn’t trying to be a snob. She was just using common sense. Besides, she had something to do. She had a party to go to.

An older man looked up at her from his place against the side of the building. His eyes were pleading. Like the councilman, she averted her eyes. Guilt tightened her throat. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do. "Lord", she prayed silently," this one is Yours. Would you please take care of him Yourself?"

Patty-cake, patty-cake.

Darla helped the little hands clap together and was rewarded with a chuckle and a gurgle of baby laughter. She lifted Trey up into her arms and received an unexpected slobbery baby kiss. He loved his sissy.

Happy birthday, baby. Darla kissed him again. Trey was soft and cuddly and actually very strong and determined for a baby. He expressed his love freely and just as freely demanded his own way.

It had almost been embarrassing for her to see her mom pregnant. Now it was good to see her so happy. Marriage to Loren had changed her mother in a lot of ways. The future seemed brighter and although her mother planned ahead financially and spiritually, she lived for each day.

When are Daren and Susan getting here? I can’t wait to see Gigi. I bet she has grown a lot. Darla looked from Trey to her mom. They had the same blue eyes– that special blue. –And another face flashed on her mental screen. Trey had Loren’s nose. Gigi was petite and looked like an equal blend of Daren and Susan.

They will be here anytime along with Loren’s parents. Help me watch the stairs. Gigi is everywhere. It’s like going to the gym when the babies get together, Gigi at a toddling run and Trey half crawling, half walking. I get a really good workout. Glenda scooted a couple toys out of the walkway.

Baby birthday party decorations transformed the formal dining room. The number ‘one’ informed Trey not only of his age, but also of his status in the Goodman household. After cake, they were taking the babies and going to the Riverfront to attend the open-air, Christian Music Concert.

Mom? Darla hesitated as Glenda stopped and admired the picture of her two children bonding. Mom, do you think I will ever find someone and get married? Darla’s voice trailed off in a soft whine, her mouth drooped in a childish pout. She still transitioned sometimes into her old habits, doing what you needed to do, to get what you want when you want it. As much of a disciplinarian as her father had been; the pouting had worked better on him than on her mom.

Honey, you know God has the right man for you. He will be worth waiting for. Glenda touched the gold ring on Darla’s finger. Darla’s father, Ronald, had placed it there in a special date with his fifteen-year old daughter a few months before he died. ‘True love can wait.’ It was true then and it was still true now. Glenda looked into Darla’s face. Your prince will come and your marriage will be everything God promised you it would be.

Your Prince, Darla thought, made it sound like it was all a fairytale.

Mom, you’re just saying that because you are still starry-eyed about Loren.

Glenda smiled. She was still falling in love all over again almost everyday. Loren had come into her life not only to rescue her from her loneliness, but he had also come at a time when the storms of life and nature had overtaken her and Darla, and he had risked himself to keep them safe.

Darla had waited her whole life, actually she was twenty at the time, to become a bridesmaid and then the bride turned out to be her mother. She had shouted for her mother to toss her the bouquet. She had caught the bridal bouquet. She was supposed to be the next one to get married, but that hadn’t happened yet. A twinge of self-pity lowered her shoulders as well as the corners of her lips. Her pouting behavior didn’t seem to be working with God either. It looked like she was going to have to break away from her old expectations – maybe do something outrageous.

Darla’s mental vision flashed a picture of the homeless man at the Coffee Shop, the young guy wearing the baggy sweater, or sometimes a sleeveless shirt revealing strong muscled arms and a badly botched tattoo, the tall clumsy guy with the courtesy of a suitor. It would be just her luck.

Darla settled on the grass; the cool green blades were a cushion beneath her blanket. Trey lay asleep beside her, exhausted from his playtime. She sat looking down at her feet, counting her toes like a mother examining her newborn baby’s feet. Her mom and Susan stood in a slow moving line with the goal of buying a hearty afternoon snack before the music started. Loren and Daren strolled Gigi along the waterfront. Darla hugged her knees and looked around.

She stared within the safety of the crowd; everyone looking at everyone, seeking identity, familiar faces. The crowd was assembled mostly of family fragments, people holding choice seating places. Darla watched the children run and play and fall and roll on the grass. Occasionally a child would come up to her and venture a look and say, Hi, teacher. Their advances were shy and uncertain outside the class room. As a substitute teacher she had only brief segments with the kids. Going from school to school gave her insight into the mini cultural regions of the school district. The various compass points of the city projected income and ethnic diversities.

Darla watched the men that were there. Husbands and fathers, teenage boys, not a place to meet a potential life mate. She had no idea how God would ever be able to give her a husband when there seemed to be so few eligible bachelors left in the world. She sighed. She thought of all the nice boys she had met in elementary and middle school, Christian school. Where were they? Married no doubt to the nice girls. Some of her friends were having second babies already. She didn’t fit in their world.

Trey moved with a start, Darla placed her hand comfortingly on his tummy. He exhaled softly, his eyes moved beneath his eyelids, his lips puckered and sucked as if he were nursing. She placed her hand against her own stomach and felt the firm flatness. Would she ever have a baby? She lay back against the blanket and looked up into the sky, it was baby blanket blue and fluffed gently with white cotton-ball clouds.

The lawn chairs beside Daren and Loren remained empty as Susan and Glenda joined Darla on the large blanket. They talked in hushed whispers in the midst of the noisy crowd in case their familiar voices woke the sleeping babies. Trey continued his contented sucking and Gigi, exhausted from the birthday party, slept with her head tilted against the side of her stroller, little curls framing her face.

Darla had become family to Loren and his parents. With the same consideration and love, Rena came to live with them. Having grandma Rena with them strengthened their family tree. Rena was 84.

Darla looked away from the water’s edge and let her gaze sweep up the front of Rivers Condo. Hers was at the top. It was home. It was hers. It was beautiful. It was only lacking one thing, a man. She wanted a man who would stand beside her in the hard times that came to everyone, the lonely times. She visualized a man who would bring her a cup of tea in bed when she was sick, protect her, love her, and share her dreams like the stories in an old-fashioned romance novel.

She was saving herself for that one man. Her quest to find him had been all consuming, but now, she was giving it up. She and Rena had prayed and now she was supposed to be trying to let God bring him to her. Rena said God had someone for her. Rena had been right in her prophetic word before. It was hard for Darla to trust and not try to make things happen for herself, but she had failed at that too.

Darla let her mind wander while Glenda and Susan talked about the possibility of having more children. Darla imagined her handsome future husband walking toward her. He resembled her father, perhaps he would also be a doctor or the CEO of some big company; maybe a Navy man who navigated the seas, raised the flag and was ever watchful, the safety of his country and his woman on his mind.

A man dressed in a tropical floral print shirt, knee shorts and sunglasses came toward her. He was attracting a crowd of children and gawkers. He cleared a path; his flip-flops slapped against the cement pathway as he walked with a chicken on a lease. The black and white speckled hen strutted, half-walking, and half-flying, lifting off the ground every time someone stepped close to it. The man looked like a person flying a kite on a windy beach; the chicken darted erratically on its six foot tether.

Darla moved backward, startled. The young man behind the chicken laughed. She may as well join the circus. Ordinary people did not seem to walk in her hemisphere.

The concert started, and amazingly, the babies still slept.

I hope this one is a boy. Susan continued her conversation, keeping her voice low, well below her usual megaphone projection. I don’t really care as long as it is healthy, but a boy would be nice. Our boys would be able to play together.

Darla turned a serious look at Susan. Susan returned the gaze and answered as if Darla had spoken. Yes. Due just before Christmas.

That’s awesome. Darla really meant it. She needed to go for a walk. Go somewhere. She did a leisurely stretch and stood up.

I’m going to have a look around and see who’s here.

Glenda looked at her daughter. Darla had changed so much over the last couple of years. Her attitude about life in general modified. She had matured from a child to a woman. Glenda liked the look. Glenda understood her daughter’s longings all too well. Loren had come into her bereavement and dispelled her loneliness. Like