{"id":1762,"date":"2017-03-18T03:22:18","date_gmt":"2017-03-18T03:22:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/?p=1762"},"modified":"2021-10-05T22:04:55","modified_gmt":"2021-10-05T22:04:55","slug":"jonathan-b-ferrini","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/jonathan-b-ferrini\/","title":{"rendered":"Jonathan B. Ferrini"},"content":{"rendered":"

 
 Stars above Detroit  <\/span><\/p>\n

It was a cold and snowy December when I was handed the address of a \u201ccrack house\u201d in one of the deserted and boarded up Detroit neighborhoods once inhabited by happy families whose source of livelihood were good paying manufacturing jobs. The closing of the automobile plants made the neighborhoods ghost towns. A significant percentage of housing parcels in the city were vacant, with abandoned lots making up more than half of the total residential lots in the city.<\/p>\n

They call me \u201cMr. X\u201d around the office because it\u2019s my job to \u201ctag\u201d deserted homes for demolition by spray-painting a large red \u201cX\u201d across the front of the homes. It\u2019s my first job since graduating with a degree in drafting. The City of Detroit hired me because I grew up remodeling homes with my father and I knew building materials. My official title was \u201cBuilding Safety Inspector,\u201d but my work had nothing to do with building safety. The City was broke and sent me alone, armed with only pepper spray into the blighted neighborhoods to identify homes with valuable building materials like copper, used brick, marble, or fine woods the City could sell before bulldozing the home. My work was dangerous because poking around deserted homes; you\u2019d never know what you\u2019d find. I\u2019ve been chased away by crazed drug addicts, packs of wild dogs, or the stench of decaying human corpses who were drug addicts, or sadly, the elderly owners of the homes who died silently and forgotten.<\/p>\n

The address led me to a boarded up Victorian mansion which was the largest home on the block. My instincts told me it would be a treasure trove of valuable building materials which might earn me a raise or promotion. I didn\u2019t realize the old mansion was occupied, but I decided to assume the role of a homeless man, hoping the occupants would permit me to stay long enough to assess the value of the building materials. Besides, I was single, and alone in Detroit, without family to spend Christmas with.<\/p>\n

Winters are a blessing and a curse in these blighted neighborhoods. The winter cold brought paying \u201clodgers\u201d like me in from off the streets. Ice is plentiful, permitting the preservation of food and water for drinking and bathing. There were no utilities in the house. The toilets were removed exposing the sewer pipes, permitting us to directly deposit faeces and urine. Fire for cooking and heat was from wood siding poached from nearby homes. Ride-share and taxis won\u2019t come into the neighborhood. The nearest shopping mall was four, long residential blocks away on 7 Mile- consisting of a discount retail store, independent market, and a few fast food joints. Downtown Detroit is about fifteen miles away.<\/p>\n

Nobody asked me any questions other than telling me the rent was $5 per day. It provided a roof over my head, along with a blanket and a place to sleep in the hallway amongst junkies. I did my best to hide my red-paint-colored index finger. Despite the bleak environment, it was a Christmas I would never forget.<\/p>\n

It was a long night for Roxie when I first met her. She was returning home from working as a prostitute. It costs a heroin addict $150-$200 per day to support a habit like her\u2019s. I offered her a cigarette and told her I had just \u201cchecked in\u201d as a \u201clodger.\u201d This put her at ease. She told me she made bank and I could tell she was eager for her fix, which would anesthetize her throughout the long, dreary, winter day until she was ready for another evening on the stroll. Roxie was no older than thirty. She was a beautiful woman born to a Puerto Rican mother who was a prostitute. Her father was of mixed race. Roxie inherited a beautiful exotic face, and an attention-getting curvaceous body, permitting her to earn top dollar from the businessmen traveling through Detroit. She was taken from her mother as a teenager and placed into foster care where she was molested by the husband and thrown into the streets when the wife found out. She never reunited with her mother. Roxie was quite the entrepreneur- creating a loyal network of hotel concierges, bartenders, and limousine drivers who handed out her business card to potential clients in return for her special treats.<\/p>\n

We heard a flying helicopter and she ran to the boarded up window peering through a knot hole to see a fire department helicopter, its spot light rained upon the fully engulfed house down the street. 911 won\u2019t send the fire department, cops, or paramedics into these abandoned neighborhoods because it\u2019s too costly. In the case of a fire, it\u2019s less expensive to send the helicopter to assess the need for further action. Most of the time, the helicopter is sent in to determine if the home is vacant and lets it burn to the ground. Even if the fire department wanted to extinguish the fire, the water from the fire hose would freeze up in the winter cold. A man shouted, \u201cGet away from that window girl! If that search light catches your cat eyes we\u2019ll be thrown out of here!\u201d Roxie quickly took her beautiful eyes away from the peep hole. Samuel placed his frail arm around her in an attempt to comfort her, whispering, \u201cDon\u2019t fear the spotlight, child. It\u2019s a reminder that the bright, shiny star will soon reveal itself, and shine upon us all\u201d.<\/p>\n

Samuel was a tall, lanky, balding, black man with a scruffy grey beard; he was nearly eighty. He was once a headliner in the best jazz clubs in the States. He became a junky, and it ruined his musical career as a tenor saxophonist. Although he kicked the habit decades ago, he\u2019s was an alcoholic, finishing off a fifth of cheap whiskey each day. He sometimes rode the bus into Detroit with Roxie at night- where he busked; playing on street corners for change. His old tenor sax had lost its luster, but like fine wine aging graciously over time, the music coming out was as sweet as ever despite the arthritic fingers squeezing out the notes.
<\/p>\n

I slept against the wall in the dark hallway with a few other guys wrapped in blankets. They snored, moaned, and jerked. In a far off corner of the old mansion, a tenor saxophone whaled. The notes brought back memories of saying goodbye to somebody you love for the last time. I felt privileged to hear such beauty in desolation. When the tenor sax stopped, the musician, who sounded like Samuel, recited the following:<\/p>\n

\n

Come out bright, lonely, little star.
Don\u2019t fear the dark clouds, the cold of winter, or the pain below you.
Bless us with your divine rays of hope, warm our spirits, and guide us to a peaceful world where every man, woman, child, and animal lives in dignity and happiness.
Come out bright, lonely little star. Don\u2019t be shy. We\u2019ll accept you as you are and take you into our hearts.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

I drifted into a deep sleep as if being read a lullaby. I awoke to an obese, seventy-something-year-old black woman extending a cup of coffee to me. \u201cHello lodger, I\u2019m Queenie,\u201d she said. Follow me down to the kitchen and let\u2019s talk.\u201d<\/p>\n

I followed the old woman and noticed she had difficulty walking. Her feet were swollen and I suspected she suffered from diabetes given her age and weight. We entered a big kitchen, the type found only in mansions staffed with butlers and maids. It was spotless and hadn\u2019t changed since its construction sometime in the early twentieth century. Its walls were lined with sparkling lime green tiles, matching counter tops, butcher block tables, and vintage kitchen appliances with manufacturer\u2019s labels marked, \u201cDutiful Brand\u201d.<\/p>\n

There was a breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen where Samuel was sitting, smoking a cigarette, and sipping coffee. I was invited to sit by Queenie who struggled to sit. Samuel rose like a gentleman and aided her. Queenie reached for my arms and examined each for needle punctures. \u201cYou\u2019re not a user are you?\u201d I nodded in agreement saying, \u201cNo ma\u2019am. I\u2019m not.\u201d Samuel took a drag of his cigarette, blew the smoke into the air, and agreed, \u201cYeah, his eyes are clear and he doesn\u2019t have the shakes. He looks clean to me. What\u2019s your game young man?\u201d \u201cI\u2019m down on my luck and I\u2019m just looking for a roof over my head for Christmas, Sir.\u201d I replied nervously. I heard somebody walking swiftly down the hallway and a young man entered the kitchen pulling up a chair. Queenie sternly remarked, \u201cWhat do you say first thing in the morning, Rascal?\u201d The young man replied respectfully, \u201cGood morning\u201d. Queenie smiled like a proud grandmother.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s a proper mornin\u2019 greeting. Let me get ya\u2019 all some oatmeal. \u201cRascal was a white dude in his early twenties, he was about six feet tall, thin, tatted up and pierced, and missing some front teeth. His face was showing the ravages of meth use. He was wearing low hanging faded jeans, old sneakers, and a \u201cRed Wings\u201d hockey hoody. Rascal extended his hand to me and we shook. Samuel looked Rascal up and down like a grandfather and scolded him, \u201cPull your britches up boy! Why don\u2019t you clean up and make something of yourself.\u201d Like a doting grandmother, Queenie defended Rascal, \u201cLeave him alone, old man! Why don\u2019t you clean up and make something of yourself playing that old sax for big dollars at weddings and Bar Mitzvah\u2019s instead of busking on dirty, cold sidewalks. You still got it, old man. Use it!\u201d Samuel stared at the ceiling as if looking into the past, and angrily replied, \u201cStay out of my business, woman.\u201d<\/p>\n

Queenie gave each of us a piping hot bowl of oatmeal she prepared atop a butane-fuelled hotplate. Rascal immediately rose to help her sit. Then he sat, devouring his oatmeal, washing each mouthful down with a glass of milk. Queenie finished a silent prayer and began eating her oatmeal with etiquette that seemed out of place- considering her present situation in life. It made me curious about her background. She spoke and reverenced Samuel, \u201cBack in the day, Samuel was kickin\u2019 it with the likes of Duke, Ella, Basie, Miles, and workin\u2019 the best clubs in the Country. Show \u2018em that Downbeat Magazine cover with you on it, Samuel!\u201d Samuel shook his head as he slowly ate his oatmeal, his hands trembling from the effects of alcoholism, and old age. Rascal finished his oatmeal, wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve when Queenie was not looking his way. He rose from the table, and placed his arms around Samuel, boasting, \u201cIt\u2019s true, man. I saw the magazine cover.<\/p>\n

Samuel was a cool young dude on the cover of a sixties Downbeat Magazine. In big letters above his photo, it say\u2019s, New Tenor Sax Virtuoso Makes the Scene. All right folks, got to start my day dumpster divin\u2019. Nice to meet you, Sir.\u201d I was impressed with Rascal\u2019s manners and replied, \u201cMy pleasure to meet you Rascal. Good luck out there!\u201d Rascal kissed Queenie on the cheek before exiting the kitchen from the boarded up service entrance. I caught a glimpse of him retrieve a shopping cart hidden behind the bushes. In a hushed voice, Queenie remarked, \u201cRascal was thrown out on the streets by his folks. He comes from a good family with parental expectations he couldn\u2019t live up to, he seldom talks about his family. I treat him like my grandson. He has a sweet temperament but slips into a dark hole of depression, so he self medicates by shooting up. If only he could kick the junk, he still has time to make somethin\u2019 of himself.\u201d<\/p>\n

Queenie slowly rose from her chair, gathered the bowls and cups, and rinsed them in a bucket. She placed them in a dish rack to dry, took a deep sigh, and said, \u201cWell, it\u2019s time to start my day. I got to hit the food pantries first thing this mornin\u2019. Between Rascal and me, we\u2019ll gather all the fixings for a proper Christmas Dinner. Pay your $5 dollars a day and board, lodger. Leave the money with Samuel. If there\u2019s anything else you need to know, just ask him.\u201d Queenie reached for her winter coat hanging on a hook, draped it on, grabbed her handbag, and headed for the door. Queenie dressed nicely for a homeless woman. My heart was heavy as I watched her walk slowly up the sidewalk, her feet swollen, and her joints aching.<\/p>\n

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a twenty dollar bill, handed it to Samuel, and said, \u201cIt\u2019s the 24th today. I\u2019ll be out on the 26th. Keep the ten dollars change. I\u2019m certain the house can use it.\u201d Samuel rose from his seat and placed the twenty dollar bill into a drawer and said, \u201cThank you, young lodger. This \u2018ol man got to get some sleep before headin\u2019 out tonight but maybe you can help me with a chore, first?\u201d<\/p>\n

Samuel reached for his tattered pea coat and struggled to get into it. \u201cI\u2019ll be glad to help you with the chore,\u201d I said as I helped him get into his coat. We exited the kitchen through the boarded up service entrance out into the cold, sunny daylight. I followed him into the expansive back yard of the mansion, now overgrown with weed, shrubs, and tree branches. He led me to a baby Christmas tree about three feet tall, it was standing alone in the corner of the backyard. He knelt next to it as if it were a child, \u201cThis little tree sprung up out of the ground last spring. I saw it grow inch by inch throughout the springtime. I wanted it to survive even amongst all this squalor, so I started to water it and it grew so fast. It withstood the scorching heat and humidity of summer, the chill of autumn, and here it is in the dead of an icy winter, still alive. It ain\u2019t a big tree but it will make a fine Christmas tree. I\u2019d like you to help me dig it up, pot it, take it inside, and we\u2019ll give it a home for Christmas. It won\u2019t end up on the trash heap like the others. No, Sir! After Christmas, I\u2019ll plant it a couple of blocks away in the City Park so if this old house gets bulldozed, this tree will survive. Will you help me?\u201d He asked. \u201cOf course I will, Samuel\u201d, I answered. Samuel retrieved an old spade, pick axe, and a pot filled with fresh potting soil. We carefully dug around the roots of the tree. \u201cWhat\u2019s Queenie\u2019s story?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

Samuel turned towards the mansion, pointing at it with the spade, \u201cQueenie was the maid for the family who owned the mansion. She lost her son in Vietnam and her job when the owners of the house moved away in the seventies. She drowned her pain with alcohol, struggled as a hotel maid, but she couldn\u2019t keep it together as she got older, and ended up on the streets. Even though she\u2019s a big woman and sick with diabetes, she has the grit and determination to be the first in line at the food pantries, walkin\u2019 on those frozen, swollen feet.\u201d<\/p>\n

We managed to carefully remove the small tree from the frozen ground. Samuel placed it in the pot and ensured the roots were securely planted. As we walked back into the mansion with the tree, Samuel continued, \u201cQueenie reveres the old mansion like it\u2019s hers. It was owned by a fine family, they were manufacturers of durable kitchen appliances used in the finest homes, restaurants, and hotels. The company was called Dutiful Manufacturing and their blenders, mixers, and toasters were called Dutiful Brand. Check the library upstairs and you\u2019ll find a stack of old catalogues showing the history of the brand. Start from the bottom of the stack and you can read it like a history book.\u201d<\/p>\n

We entered the kitchen, removed our coats, and Samuel sprayed a bottle of water to tenderly irrigate the potted tree. \u201cWhy did the home fall into disarray?\u201d I asked. \u201cThe business was handed to a no good son who succumbed to thieving Wall Street bankers who convinced him he could make more money by manufacturing with less steel and more plastic. The appliances became shoddy and less reliable. Sales plummeted and the once proud company became tarnished. The only people who made more money were the Wall Street snakes. When the company went bankrupt, only the brand name had value, it was sold to a company in China who never used it. The patriarch of the family, and founder of the business, died from a heart attack in the library when he learned his son bankrupted the company. The family history mirrored the history of Detroit. With each decade, the Dutiful family and Detroit\u2019s manufacturing jobs grew smaller, eventually to the point of extinction. Our little family and these blighted neighborhoods is like the Dutiful Company. We\u2019re threatened with eventual extinction. Those large red Xs spray painted on the houses signify they\u2019re scheduled for demolition. Every day, I see more red in the neighborhood and know it\u2019s a matter of time before we\u2019re extinct!\u201d
<\/p>\n

I roamed the mansion alone. I found the basement, it had some copper plumbing and copper wire. The library, dining room, and most of the house was paneled with fine wood, the bathrooms with marble. I was fascinated with the library, it was the repository for the manufacturing catalogues, blueprints, and family photographs. Samuel was correct. The catalogues read like a history book about a fine, manufacturing Detroit family of a bygone era.<\/p>\n

I joined Samuel for a cup of coffee in the late afternoon before he and Roxie would catch the bus to Detroit.. Queenie arrived home with a cooked, sliced ham. She had bags of potatoes, a pumpkin pie, vegetables, and fruits. We rose from the table to help the tired old woman carry the groceries inside the kitchen. She was breathing heavy, wiped her brow, and said, \u201cWhew, what a day but I sure did score a fine Christmas dinner for tomorrow night!\u201d Queenie began to wobble on her feet as if she was about to pass out. I quickly grabbed her and helped her sit. Samuel brought her a glass of water. I heard someone in high heels hurry down the hall and Roxie entered the kitchen, dressed to kill, and ready to catch the bus to work. Queenie remarked, \u201cGirl, you ain\u2019t out hustling yet? Roxie looked into the glass pane of the kitchen cabinet, primping herself, \u201cI got to buy my fix, first.\u201d<\/p>\n

Queenie knew the drug dealer would be stopping by shortly to deliver Roxie and Rascal\u2019s heroin. \u201cI guess that nasty, no good pusher, Wrangler, will be showing his ugly, hillbilly face soon!\u201d She lamented. We heard Rascal\u2019s old shopping cart approaching the kitchen. He came into the kitchen beaming with pride because he had a great day dumpster diving. \u201cCheck it out, Christmas ornaments!\u201d He yelled. He found discount store price tags cut into the shape of stars in red, green, gold, and silver inside a dumpster. Despite the word, \u201cDiscount Price\u201d printed on each card, they were beautiful. Rascal also scrounged some plastic Christmas bulbs with the name of the discount store printed on them. He dangled one and asked,\u201dDid you dig up the Christmas tree, Samuel?\u201d Samuel replied, \u201cMe and the lodger dug it up and it\u2019s sittin\u2019 in the livin\u2019 room ready for the ornaments.\u201d Rascal made a dash with the ornaments towards the tree but was stopped by Queenie, \u201cNot so quick, Rascal. We\u2019re decorating the tree tomorrow night, together, like a family.\u201d She tried to get up but fell backwards, sighing, \u201cI sure did wear myself out today.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a hard knock at the back door and a man with a stern voice, announced, \u201cIt\u2019s Wrangler.\u201d Roxie opened the boarded up service door and Wrangler came in. He was a forty-something-year-old, medium built, Caucasian man with a frightening look. He wore a leather jacket and jeans. I noticed his shiny cowboy boots were rattlesnake skin and his briefcase was genuine alligator skin. I caught a glimpse of a hidden pistol inside his coat. He looked me up and down and I knew he was suspicious of me when he said, \u201cWho\u2019s the dude?\u201d Queenie replied in annoyance, \u201cHe\u2019s our lodger and you pay him no mind. I don\u2019t want you pushin\u2019 your junk in my kitchen. Go do your business in the library.\u201d<\/p>\n

After Roxie, Rascal, and Wrangler left the kitchen to conduct their business, I lamented, \u201cI hope I didn\u2019t scare their pusher away.\u201d Queenie answered, \u201cI never liked that \u2018ol redneck. We call him Wrangler because he rides the horse- which is slang for the product he\u2019s pushin\u2019, heroin! I bet his grand-daddy was lynching Black folks down South.\u201d Samuel piped in, \u201cNow woman, don\u2019t get carried away. Wrangler moved to Detroit with his parents from the South when his daddy got a job at the auto plant. Don\u2019t blame him for not losin\u2019 his Southern drawl. He\u2019s just tryin\u2019 to survive in Detroit like everybody else since the auto plants closed down.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wrangler finished his business and entered the kitchen to leave by the service door. \u201cMerry Christmas and Happy New Year.\u201d He said and turned to leave. Queenie shouted, \u201cJoin us for Christmas Dinner, Wrangler. 6pm sharp.\u201d Wrangler\u2019s business of death dealing was a lonely business, and an invitation to join a rag tag family for Christmas dinner, was a special invitation. He paused, thinking about the many Christmas dinners he had missed over the years, and gratefully accepted, \u201cThank you. I\u2019ll be here at 6pm, sharp.\u201d He left hurriedly to deliver more \u201choliday cheer\u201d to his eager clientele.<\/p>\n

I helped Queenie prepare the Christmas meal in the kitchen. I peeled potatoes, cut string beans and did whatever was asked of me. Samuel prepared a layer of charcoal atop tin foil in the vintage oven which would warm the ham wrapped in aluminum foil. I spent the remainder of Christmas Eve alone in the library, pouring through product catalogues and imagined the cheerful Christmas holidays inside the mansion during the heyday of the family business.<\/p>\n

On Christmas day, Queenie had the meal fully prepared and cooked. Roxie set the makeshift dining room table with paper plates, plastic utensils, and paper cups. I produced crystal champagne glasses I found in the basement which would do justice to the champagne Samuel had purchased.<\/p>\n

We all retired to the living room to decorate the tree. It was eerily silent as each person hung a star shaped store tag or plastic bulb on the little tree. I suspected each person was remembering happier times with family. Our efforts produced a magnificent Christmas tree. Samuel planned a surprise. He removed the folded up Downbeat Cover from his wallet revealing a handsome young musician, and tacked it above the fireplace. He handed us copies of his poem and asked us to recite it slowly while he played beautiful notes on his tenor sax. Each note conjured up a beautiful lullaby spoken by loving parents to children eagerly waiting for Christmas morning. We held hands and recited:<\/p>\n

\n

Come out bright, lonely little star.
Don\u2019t fear the dark clouds, the cold of winter, or the pain below you.
Bless us with your divine rays of hope, warm our spirits, and guide us to a peaceful world where every man, woman, child, and animal lives in dignity and happiness.
Come out bright, lonely little star. Don\u2019t be shy. We\u2019ll accept you as you are and take you into our hearts.<\/p>\n

Come out bright lonely star, you won\u2019t be judged nor shunned.
Just loved and adored atop our tree of many beautiful lights.
Revered and respected for whom you are.
Beautiful and original as you were created to be.
You\u2019re a loving reminder that we all have self worth.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Samuel\u2019s beautiful melody triggered some memories and painful introspection. It affected Rascal in particular as he appeared to be slipping into an emotional dark space. He rubbed his arms indicating he was in need of a heroin fix. Queenie wiped a tear from her eye. \u201cMy man, Samuel, still has the magic touch. Thank you, \u2018ol man. It\u2019s time to eat. Everybody find a seat at the table in the dining room,\u201d She said.<\/p>\n

Wrangler showed up on time with a bottle of wine and sat next to me at the makeshift dining table. He put his arm around me pulling me close, and whispered, \u201cI saw the red paint on your index finger in the kitchen. You\u2019re \u201cMr. X\u201d! Leave this old house be so these people can be left to live the small family life they made for themselves. This neighborhood is known to swallow people alive. Strangers come in and never leave if you know what I mean.\u201d I knew it was a veiled threat but Wrangler didn\u2019t know that during my secret inspection of the house, I was able to determine that it qualified as a \u201cHistorical Preservation Home\u201d and with a simple check of the box on my inspection form; the mansion would be entered into the city database of \u201cHistoric Homes\u201d which couldn\u2019t be demolished.<\/p>\n

Queenie and Roxie returned from the kitchen with the Christmas dinner, carefully placing the ham, mashed potatoes, vegetables and pies on the table. It was a magnificent feast, everybody was happy and ravenous. Roxie stood up and helped Queenie sit at the table., \u201cEverybody take a moment and say a silent prayer of thanks.\u201d Queenie said. I looked around the room and everybody, including Wrangler, bowed their heads and mumbled a prayer. Queenie was the last to finish her prayer, and gleefully exclaimed, \u201cIt\u2019s time to eat, brothers and sisters. Pass the food around family style.\u201d For a moment, it didn\u2019t look like we were dining in a boarded up deserted mansion. The food was bountiful and delicious, and the table setting, albeit picnic style, was beautiful.<\/p>\n

, \u201cI met an interesting trick last night. He didn\u2019t want to go to the room but paid me to have dinner with him. He\u2019s a big shot talent agent in Hollywood who scouts rappers and R & B talent.\u201d Roxie, who sat across Queenie, next to Rascal, said.She pulled out a business card, handing it to Queenie, who handed it to Samuel and said, \u201cGo on girl. Keep talkin\u2019. Roxie continued, \u201cI told him about Samuel and the dude lit up saying, Sam is still alive! The man is a living legend. Can I meet him?\u201d Samuel wasn\u2019t flattered. Instead he said, \u201cMan, I don\u2019t want to waste no time recounting my past with nobody! I\u2019m retired!\u201d Roxie was persistent, \u201cHe said he can line you up with steady, studio work!\u201d Rascal was elated, \u201cThat\u2019s fantastic, Samuel. You got to meet this dude!\u201d Roxie continued, \u201cThat ain\u2019t all. I mentioned you, too, Rascal. He said he can hook you up as a roadie, and, if you want to learn to drive a truck, he\u2019ll get you into the Teamsters Union as a truck driver with full benefits and great union pay!\u201d<\/p>\n

Rascal and Samuel were dumbfounded. They had both lived lives of false promises and rejection but this felt real to them. They needed to ponder on the reality that their lives could change if they had the motivation to get sober. Queenie was interested in the trick\u2019s motivation and asked, \u201cYou think this man is sweet on you, baby girl?\u201d Roxie was embarrassed but replied, \u201cYeah, we kinda have a thing brewin.\u201d Queenie lit up, \u201cWell good for you, girl! You hooked a big fish. Reel him in slow, the traditional, romantic way. Got it, girlfriend?\u201d Roxie had an expression on her face like it was the first time she might be in love. \u201cI got it, Ms. Queenie. He wants to have dinner with me, Samuel, and Rascal the day after Christmas,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n

Roxie had made good money on Christmas Eve and she was generous with her gifts. She gifted a pair of orthopaedic shoes for Queenie and a set of cashmere gloves with the finger tips removed permitting Samuel to play the sax more comfortably in the cold weather. She bought Rascal a new hoodie and pair of trendy sneakers.<\/p>\n

During Christmas dinner, Rascal descended deeper into depression, as thoughts of missing his family weighed heavily upon him. I saw a fresh needle mark on his arm and knew he shot up before dinner. He was even struggling to stay awake. \u201cIf you\u2019re tired baby boy, go take a rest. It\u2019s ok.\u201d Queenie said to Rascal. His eyes rolled back into his head, his mouth began to foam, and his face fell into his plate. Wrangler shouted, \u201cGet him off the chair and flat on the floor.\u201d Rascal\u2019s lips were blue and his breathing was barely noticeable. Wrangler made for his briefcase and opened it hurriedly. It contained a kit of drugs. Samuel shouted, \u201cShoot him with the Narcan, quick.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wrangler reached into his briefcase and produced two packs of Narcan nose spray, tearing one dispenser from the package, and pumping the contents into Rascal\u2019s nose. Rascal didn\u2019t respond. Wrangler yelled, \u201cHe\u2019s not helping. He doesn\u2019t want to come back. I\u2019ve seen it before. Wake up, Rascal!\u201d Queenie was besides herself with fear but she was impressed by Wrangler\u2019s fervent efforts to revive Rascal. She placed her arm around Wrangler and whispered, \u201cSo, you have a heart after all!\u201d \u201cHe reminds me of myself when I was young.\u201d Wrangler replied. He tilted Rascal\u2019s head up, put the second plastic syringe into his nostril and released the spray with a forceful pump. Rascal opened his eyes slowly. Roxie cried tears of joy watching her \u201cbrother\u201d of sorts regain consciousness. In all the commotion, nobody noticed Samuel was slumped against the wall, holding his chest and gasping for air. Queenie screamed, \u201cDon\u2019t you die old man! I can\u2019t run this household by myself. Please, dear God, let him live!\u201d
 
We huddled around Rascal and Samuel, trying to render comfort and aid but there was nothing anybody could do for them in a blighted neighborhood on Christmas, except me. I carried a small flip phone hidden within my jeans. I knew that if I called 911 and identified myself as a City Building Inspector, medical help would arrive swiftly but break up the family forever, placing each person within the penal and inadequate social services system, and the old mansion would be locked up by the cops. I speculated that if given the choice of dying or permitting Queenie and Roxie to go on living in the old mansion, Samuel and Rascal would have chosen death- but not calling for help and letting them die, was a choice I didn\u2019t want to make. Samuel\u2019s beautiful notes resounded in my ears; bringing back memories of saying goodbye to somebody you love for the last time. Wrangler\u2019s admonition to \u201cleave this old house be\u201d was quite clairvoyant. It was the City of Detroit which led me to the old mansion. It was a loving, flawed, little family, who extended their hospitality to a stranger, inviting me to share their love and kindness on Christmas. I looked at my paint stained, red index finger, and knew that I couldn\u2019t be responsible for the extinction of this family. I was certain my call to 911 would be a final goodbye and so I didn\u2019t reach for my phone. I prayed for Rascal and Samuel to recover instead.<\/p>\n

It was a sleepless night for everybody, but the following morning, Christmas delivered a gift of life to both Rascal and Samuel who were both resting comfortably- lovingly tended to by Queenie, Roxie, and Wrangler. I gathered my possessions and discretely removed the little Christmas tree from the living room. I placed a note alongside the Downbeat cover reading, \u201cTree at City Park.\u201d I left the mansion without saying goodbye because I didn\u2019t want to interrupt their quality time. It was my hope Roxie would find true and lasting love with the talent agent who would make good on his promise with jobs for Samuel and Rascal. It would be up to Samuel and Rascal to treasure the gift of life and seize the opportunity extended to them. One thing I knew for sure: as long as Queenie could draw breath, her love, strength, and inner beauty would hold the family together.<\/p>\n

Although I found the house to be a treasure trove of recyclable building materials, the most valuable contents were the people who created a loving family despite the bleakest of conditions. I would never forget them. I threw my can of red spray paint in the trash. I left the mansion with the potted Christmas tree which I would plant in the City Park as Samuel wanted. The evening sky was turning to daybreak and I gazed upward finding the lonely little star shining brightly. <\/p>\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Playing the Music of Dead Men<\/strong>
\nHow did I get entangled with someone who couldn\u2019t say my name correctly? Brenda came to me from the place where the word awkward was first mentioned. I\u2019ve tried to convince myself that what I feel towards her isn\u2019t exactly love. Not lust either. Maybe something in-between.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":3654,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1762","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1762","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1762"}],"version-history":[{"count":16,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1762\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4014,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1762\/revisions\/4014"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3654"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1762"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1762"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1762"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}