Page 4 of Forgive Me Father: For I Have Sinned

“I’m fifteen,” Robert said between bites.

“I’m fourteen,” Jason added. “and you are?”

“I’m fifteen. My sixteenth birthday is next Wednesday. Do you think me, you and Robert can get jobs, so maybe we could get a place to share?” I asked, probably naively but there had to be something better out there for us. Right?

“Can’t get a job without an address and a shed in a field doesn’t have one,” Cole informed me. “but I do odds and ends work from time to time for some people around town. Maybe we could find the something for you guys to do, too. It’s not a bad idea but will take a bit of figuring out first.”

I nodded, having never worked a day in my life outside of chores around the farm I had no idea what would be needed here. Or if I’d even be able to help out at all since there are very few things I’m even good at.Stupid suggestion to make Jamie, you know you’re worthless.My fathers’ words echoed through my head. I had to fight back bile at hearing his voice again.

“Well,” Cole said, wadding up the bag and tossing it in the trash bin like a basketball. “There are enough of us now that can legally work. So, if we can figure out the address situation, and get clean clothes, we may be able to make this work. Unless we can find someone to pay us under the table instead.”

“Under the table?” Having never heard this term before, I didn’t want to assume what the meaning behind it was.

“Yeah, cash instead of a check. No banks involved, no records of us having worked there.”

We stayed at the park a while longer, watching the crowds come and go, asking the visitors who passed through from time to time if they had any extra change. Seemed most were reluctant to give it to us as a group, but when Tommy asked alone, they ponied it up without a second thought. By the end of the day, we had enough to share a pizza and buy a second bottle of water. But as the sun set over the sound, Cole warned we needed to get back to the shack before those we wanted to avoid came out to play.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about panhandling, but we really had no choice. Listening to them talk about the hellish nightmares they lived as wards of the state made me want to avoid those in charge of our fate. More so than my father. But at the same time, it seemed what happened to me was similar to most of their stories, minus the dancing around in women’s clothing bit. Only the abuse they endured came from those they lived with and not their parish predators.

When we got back to the shed, Cole filled me in on the hierarchy of those who lorded the streets of Seattle that he and Jason had crossed paths with. Areas to avoid, names of people to stay as far away from as possible. He made it clear that drugs and theft weren’t welcome in our group. Since I refused to do either, I assured him it wouldn’t happen. We thought the others were asleep, but it seemed Jason wasn’t as he joined our conversation.

“So,” Cole continued. “You need to avoid Andre. He was Jesus’s right-hand man before Jesus got killed.”

“Huh?” This was so foreign to me. People getting killed. “What do they do? Are they bullies?”

“You could say that,” Jason said as he sat up in bed. “Jesus was my mom’s pimp and drug dealer.”

I must’ve paled and had that deer in the headlights look on my face because Cole put his hand on my shoulder, attempting to calm me. “Dude, it’s okay. Jesus is dead, but Andre is trying to make a name for himself out there, and he’s recruiting, heavily.”

When I looked over at Jason, he had this faraway look in his eyes. “Jason, are you okay?” I asked him.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the weight of it. “Um, yeah. No good memories there, no love lost when he died.” He paused. Patiently we waited not wanting to push him, but I was eager to hear what he had to say. The look on his face told us these were painful memories he was reliving. “She wasn’t the greatest mom in the world, but he literally didn’t fucking care. She OD’d, and I found her cold body in bed the next morning. We were staying at a hotel that had a separate bedroom from the living and kitchen area. He used to bring Johns back there.”

I interrupted without meaning to. “Johns?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

“Yeah, that’s what they call guys who pay for sex. Jesus was her pimp, so he’d go out and solicit work for her. All of which she did willingly in order to score her next fix. She’d make me stay in the small living room outside of the bedroom while they went at it. She was too fucked up to even know what was going on. If Jesus had a heart, he wouldn’t have allowed it. One night, he brought a few guys back at the same time. They came with drugs in hand, and she got really messed up and overdosed.”

“Shit,” I muttered, slapping my hand over my own mouth having let the curse word slip. But given the fact that he’d just said fucking, I figured I wouldn’t be told to watch my mouth.

“Yeah, shit is right. But she owed Jesus money for the drugs she’d taken, so he kidnapped me and forced me to um, pay back her debt,” he told us, avoiding eye contact.

“Did you have a job? How did you pay him back? I heard drugs are expensive.” My filter-less naivete truly knew no boundaries.

“Well, not in a sense you would think of. He pimped me out to get his money back. I was in the park with him the night he was shot in a drive-by. Seemed he pissed off the wrong group of guys. They didn’t care that I was there and saw it all, they knew I wouldn’t go to the cops. When they opened fire, I ran behind the dumpster in the parking lot and hid. The sound of the bullets ricocheting off the metal will never go away.” His eyes took on that faraway look again. I desperately wanted him to explain how he paid the debt with no job, but I could tell these weren’t good memories for him, so I didn’t push.

“Come on,” Cole nudged my shoulder, “let’s call it a night.”

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