Books

Squeegee Kid

a novel by

S.E. Tomas

Copyright © 2017 by S.E. Tomas

All rights reserved.

1

It was October ’96. The carnival season was over and I was stranded in Mobile, Alabama, where I’d been working for Conklin Shows.

I looked at the tire tracks in the gravel, where the show had been set up and started to panic. Shit, I thought. What the hell am I going to do?

All I had were the clothes on my back and a few bucks on me. The rest of my money was under my mattress, in the bunkhouse I’d been staying in all season.

Seeing as how I was totally screwed, the first thing I did was walk to the nearest payphone and call my mom in Edmonton, Alberta.

I hadn’t talked to my mom in over four years. I figured that since I was in a jam, though, she’d be willing to wire me some money so that I could get to Florida and get my stuff out of my bunk.

There were payphones near the entrance to the fairgrounds. I went over there, picked up the phone and called my mom collect.

Luckily, my mom still had the same phone number. She agreed to accept the charges, which I took to be a good sign.

I knew that there was no sense in dancing around the issue, so I just straight-up asked my mom if she could send me some money.

‘‘Oh, you need money,” my mom said. ‘‘I should have known that’s why you were calling, Jim.”

‘‘Mom, I’m sorry,” I said, ‘‘but I’m stranded in Alabama. I didn’t know who else to call. I’ve got no money on me. I’m here at the lot, in Mobile, and the show’s gone. They left early today for some reason. I just need some money so that I can get to West Palm Beach, where they took the bunkhouses. I promise I’ll pay you back.”

Some of the bunkhouses actually weren’t going to West Palm; they were going to Dothan, Alabama. That spot, which ran through Halloween, was technically the show’s last spot of the season. My boss, though, Greg Melnik, never played Dothan. It was a smaller lot than the one in Mobile, so the entire show couldn’t play it. After Mobile, Greg always hauled all of his shit down to Conklin’s winter quarters in Florida, so that’s where my bunk was going.

All I was asking was for my mom to send me enough money so that I could buy a bus ticket. My mom wouldn’t do it, though. ‘‘No way,” she said. ‘‘I’m not sending you money. You can’t just call me up out of the blue like this, just because you’re stuck somewhere, and think I’m going to jump in my car and drive to Western Union. Anyway, why did you leave the lot? Why weren’t you there when the show was leaving this morning?”

‘‘Because I went to a hotel last night,” I said. ‘‘We’d just torn down and the show had turned off the power and the water. I wanted to take a shower.”

‘‘Hmpf.”

‘‘So, you’re not going to help me, then? You want me to hitchhike, I guess.”

‘‘I don’t care what you do.”

The next thing I knew, I was hearing dial tone. My mom had hung up.

‘‘Bitch,” I muttered.

I hung up the phone, and then immediately picked it up again and dialed a cab company—the same one that had just let me off. There was no point in sticking around the fairgrounds. There wasn’t much around there. It was a rural area.

In a few minutes, the cab showed up.

I got into the backseat. ‘‘Take me downtown,” I said.

In about twenty minutes, we were downtown.

‘‘Where do you want me to let you off?” the cabbie said.

We were driving down what looked like the main drag.

‘‘I don’t know,” I said. ‘‘Here’s good.”

The cabbie pulled over. I paid the fare, got out, and then started to walk down the street.

I had no idea where the hell I was going. I didn’t even know where I was, other than that I was in downtown Mobile. I didn’t know Mobile at all. I’d come into town with the show. The night before, when I’d gone to the hotel, I’d told the cab driver, ‘‘Take me to the nearest hotel.” I had no idea where the hotel was relative to the fairgrounds. It was dark. Everything we drove past in the car looked the same.

As I walked down the street, I told myself that I was going to have to look for a homeless shelter or a hostel. I was going to need a place to sleep for the night, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to be staying in a hotel.

As I walked, I heard someone calling my name all of a sudden. I turned and looked over my shoulder. ‘‘Oh, hey, Leon,” I said.

Leon was a guy who worked on the show. Like me, he worked in one of Greg Melnik’s games. I honestly didn’t like the guy. He was a fighter-type; a bully. Of all the people on the show that I could have run into, Leon was probably the last person that I wanted to see.

‘‘Hey,” Leon said. ‘‘What are you doing downtown?”

‘‘I’m looking for a shelter,” I said.

‘‘Huh?”

‘‘The show took off, bud. We’re stuck here.”

Leon looked like he didn’t believe me. He looked at his watch. ‘‘But it’s not even eleven o’clock,” he said.

‘‘I know,” I said. ‘‘Trust me, though. I was just at the lot. Everyone from the show was gone.”

Leon sighed, and then looked at the ground. ‘‘I thought we’d leave at noon, like usual,” he said. ‘‘I never heard Greg say that we were leaving early today.”

‘‘Neither did I,” I said. ‘‘And he left really early, too. I got to the lot at ten. He’d already taken off.”

In the harsh morning sun, Leon looked rough. He looked like he’d stayed up all night on a crack binge. In Mobile, crack wasn’t hard to find. The dealers literally hung out right outside the fairgrounds. If you had any money on you, they’d force you to buy it. They’d rush at you, all at once, saying, “How much do you want?”

‘‘So, what happened to you last night?” I said to Leon.

‘‘I fell in,” Leon said. “I went to leave the lot and those niggers rushed me at the gate. Shit, I wish I hadn’t spent all my money. Do you got any money on you, Jim?”

‘‘A few bucks. It’s like I said, I’m looking for a shelter.”

‘‘I guess we better do that, eh?”

‘‘Yeah. We’ll need a place to stay until we can figure out how we’re going to get the fuck out of here.”

Leon and I started to walk down the street. The street had those trees that you saw in Mobile with the creepy-looking branches that seemed to grow sideways, rather than upwards, over the streets.

As we walked, we asked random people we passed in the street if they knew where we could find a shelter. We had no luck at first, but we eventually ran into someone who could help us—this old black broad.

This broad was a total Jesus freak, which, in the South, wasn’t too hard to come by. She had this huge cross around her neck. Clutched to her chest was a bible.

The broad told us where the shelter was, and then gave us directions on how to get there. ‘‘My husband volunteers there once a week,” she told us. ‘‘I bring his old clothes over there sometimes.”

Yeah, I bet, I thought.

‘‘All right,” Leon said.

‘‘Yeah, thanks,” I said.

‘‘Take care,” the broad said. ‘‘And God bless.”

Leon and I found the shelter. It was a brown brick building that looked almost like a community centre.  It was located in sort of a remote area. It felt like we were on the outskirts of the downtown.

In front of the shelter, a bunch of old bums were sitting around, hanging out. Leon and I found out from the bums that we couldn’t go into the shelter until later in the day.

Rather than hang around with these bums all day, or with Leon, I told Leon that I’d see him later, and then I just walked around downtown all day by myself.

In the early evening I went back to the shelter. The bums were all lining up to get in. I ran into Leon and joined him in the line.

As we were standing in line, I suddenly got an idea. I turned to Leon. ‘‘Hey,” I said. ‘‘I just thought of something, man. We’re Canadian citizens and we’re stranded in a foreign country.”

‘‘Yeah,” Leon said.

‘‘Well, we should call the Canadian embassy.”

I figured the Canadian embassy would have to get us back to Canadian soil. I had no problem calling them. I was in the United States legally. I had a work visa. Leon didn’t need one because he was Native.

At first, Leon didn’t want to call the embassy.

‘‘Why not?” I said.

‘‘I think we should just wait until Greg’s in West Palm, and then try to call him.”

‘‘Do you know his number there?”

‘‘No, but we can look it up.”

‘‘OK. Assuming we get his number, do you really think he’s going to help us? He didn’t seem to care too much when he took off on us today. I’d rather call the embassy right now and just get the ball rolling.”

Leon still didn’t want to call.

‘‘Well, I’m going to call,” I said. ‘‘I’ll just call on my own behalf, then.”

Leon and I were now at the front of the line. We went into the shelter. I looked around. Everyone in the entire place was black. I was the only white guy there. Even the staff there were black.

The shelter had a phone that I could use. I picked up the phone, and then dialed the operator. ‘‘I want to talk to the Canadian embassy,” I said.

‘‘One moment, please,” the operator said. Then she transferred the line.

Once I got through to the embassy, I was transferred a bunch of times. I finally got through to someone who could help me.

At first, the person wanted to know if I had any friends or relatives who could wire me money, so that I could get home on my own.

I almost laughed at the question. ‘‘No,” I said. ‘‘I wouldn’t be calling you guys if that was the case.”

‘‘Are you able to get any work in Mobile?”

‘‘No. My work visa expired. I can’t work. I’ve got no money. My employer took off on me and left me stranded here with only the clothes on my back. I’m in a homeless shelter right now. That’s where I’m calling you from, by the way.”

‘‘OK. Well, have you tried contacting your employer?”

‘‘No, he’s on the road. There’s no way I can get a hold of him right now.”

‘‘What’s the name of your employer?”

‘‘I’d rather not say.”

Even though I was pissed off at Greg, I wasn’t going to rat the guy out. That’s all I needed—to get blacklisted on the carnival. I’d never work on a fucking show again.

I heard some typing.

‘‘Please hold the line, sir,” the broad said.

‘‘Yeah, OK,” I said.

After holding for about fifteen minutes, the broad came back on the line. She had me confirm my name, date of birth, and social insurance number.

‘‘OK, so what happens now?” I said.

‘‘We’re going to process your case,” the broad said. “You’ll need to call us back in three days.”

Great, I thought, as I hung up the phone. What the fuck am I going to do here for the next three days?

I was already so sick of Mobile. The only reason I’d even played the spot was so that I could get a ride with the show afterwards to Florida. I was planning on going to Santa’s Enchanted Forest, which was a seventy-two day spot in Miami that started in October and closed right after New Year’s. There had been no other reason for me to play Mobile. The spot had always been a blank. I’d never made any money there. Mobile wasn’t that big of a town. And the people who came to the fairgrounds, the majority of whom were black, didn’t spend much on the games. It was an extremely poor town.

Leon came over to me, as I was hanging up the phone. ‘‘What happened with the embassy?” he said.

‘‘They’re going to process my case,” I said. ‘‘I’ve got to call them back in three days.”

‘‘All right. I think I’ll call.”

Leon called the embassy. The person he spoke to told him to call back in three days, too, apparently.

Shortly after we made our phone calls, the shelter served everyone some free food. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten anything all day.

Leon and I got in the food line with all the other bums. We each took a tray and when it was our turn, we got served by the person behind the counter. The set-up was like in a high school cafeteria—there was somebody behind the counter serving the food and they just put whatever you wanted onto your tray.

That night I slept on a thin plastic mattress on a very hard floor.

As I stared up at the ceiling of the crowded, smelly room, I thought to myself, “Greg, you motherfucker.”

End of Chapter 1

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