Chapter 12

I worked out alone on Sunday. I found out that MaryAnn was away for the weekend. I really missed her. I had an empty feeling inside of me. Was it the guilt over what I had done or was it the fact that having done it, I craved the companionship that we had developed? I went into the combat room and pounded the bag until my arms felt like lead. The sweat was pouring off me, I was exhausted but I felt great. I spent the rest of the day hanging out at the pool and soaking up the sunshine.

Joe and I had a quiet dinner together. Sometime around 9:00, I saw MaryAnn coming up the stairs from the direction of the garage. She was carrying an old gym bag and wearing sweats. I was disappointed when she passed by the family room and headed directly upstairs to her room. Later, when I went upstairs to my room, I stood by her door debating on whether to check to see if there was anything wrong. But I decided that I would respect her privacy, turned and went to my room.

At six the next morning, I was back in the gym, running on the treadmill. MaryAnn entered a short time later,

"Sorry I'm late, I guess I overslept. How was your weekend?"

"It was OK. How was yours?"

"It was OK."

There was an awkward silence. We each knew that there was more to the other's story, but didn't want to press the issue. I did notice that she was wearing makeup this morning, which was unusual for her. MaryAnn never wore make up in the morning, she really didn't any, she had a natural beauty that didn't need enhancement.

After the treadmill, she pushed me hard on the weight bench. I was up to 100 lbs on the bench press and 30 lbs on my curls. I was no Atlas, but for my size I thought I was doing pretty well. My body had gone from slim and soft, with no visible sign of muscle, to sleek and toned, with the beginnings of set of six-pack abs and well-shaped arms and legs. I had put on about ten pounds, but my pants were getting loose.

I had breakfast alone that morning. Afterwards, I went to my desk in the study and found an envelope taped to the monitor of my computer. In it was the usual sheet of paper with the next task: Number 5 - Work for a week in a Homeless Shelter.

I sat back in my chair; this was going to be interesting.

I talked to Joe that night at dinner.

"Joe, do you want me to set something up?"

"No, I've already arranged everything. We start tomorrow morning at seven."

"What's going on, what are you starting tomorrow?" MaryAnn asked.

"John and I are going to be volunteers at The Sisters of Mercy Mission in LA. We start tomorrow and will be gone for a week."

"I think that is a very noble gesture. Is there anything you want me to do?"

"Yes, there is as a matter of fact. I'll talk to you about it later; I still have to think about it a little more."

Joe got up from the table,

"John, be ready at 5:30AM. Wear a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, pack a bag with another pair of jeans and several t-shirts. We can do our laundry there."

MaryAnn and I talked after dinner. The events of the weekend, whatever they were, were in the past, and there was an ease to our conversation. She told me that she had worked at SMM a couple of years ago and that it was a real eye-opening experience for her. She told me that the Mission was not only a soup kitchen, feeding homeless and near homeless people in the area, but was also a shelter for women with children, some who are homeless, some who were battered and abused.

I excused myself and went upstairs to pack, while MaryAnn turned towards the library.

I awoke before the alarm, grabbed a quick shower and dressed as Joe had suggested. I was walking downstairs, my bag in hand, when the doorbell rang. Joe ran across the foyer and opened the door.

"We'll be out in two minutes."

Outside, I could see a cab, engine running and lights on, and the trunk open. Joe went back to the kitchen and returned moments later with two containers of coffee. He handed me one, picked up his bag, which was by the door, and headed outside with me hot on his heels.

As we traveled towards LA, Joe, in between sips of his coffee said,

"MaryAnn told me last night that she filled you in on what SMM does. We are going to be volunteer workers, primarily in the soup kitchen, but will be available for anything that the sisters need done."

The sun was just making its first appearance of the day as we turned off the freeway and headed down the nearly deserted streets of an obviously poor section of the city. There was graffiti on buildings on both sides of the street, small, rundown cottages, abandoned houses, empty lots -- all the signs of a neighborhood in decay. The cab turned the corner and stopped in front of what at first glance appeared to be an abandoned grocery store. Above the door, a sign proclaimed: Sisters of Mercy Mission - All Welcome. Below that was the same message in what I assumed was Spanish. There was already a line of people standing near the front door.

The cab dropped us off at the curb, we retrieved our bags from the trunk, and walked across the parking lot to the side door. We banged on the door and soon a pleasant face appeared in the small wire mesh re-enforced window in the door.

"Hello, welcome. You must be Joe and John our new volunteers. Come in, I'm Sister Ann."

We followed her into the kitchen; all around us the atmosphere was that of controlled chaos. People shouting to be heard, needing supplies, asking for help, cooking food on a well worn but functional commercial stove.

"You'll have to excuse us; it's always this hectic just before we open the doors. You can put your bags over here. I'll show you to your serving station and introduce you to the others."

We walked out of the kitchen and into a large room, three-quarters of which was filled with long tables and chairs. In the front of the room, closest to the kitchen, was a single row of tables with chafing dishes ready to accept trays of food.

"Joe and John, I'd like you to meet Anna and Juanita. Ladies, these are the two gentlemen I was telling you about."

We all exchanged greetings.

"Joe, you'll be handing out the toast and butter packets; John, you've got the apples and the cartons of milk. The ladies will answer any questions that come up. Good luck and, once again, thank you for coming."

At 7AM sharp, Sr. Ann opened the door and stepped aside. A steady stream of people of people filed through the door, took a tray, and made their way down the row. Scrambled eggs, hash brown potatoes, toast and butter, an apple and a container of milk were provided. Once they were through the line, they headed to an empty seat and ate their breakfast.

There were homeless men and women who looked like they hadn't had a decent night's sleep or a bath in weeks, single mothers with two or more kids, elderly men and women who were once self-sufficient and had believed that social security was going to provide them with a decent retirement, and even some relatively young men and women who appeared to be capable of supporting themselves, but for one reason or another couldn't. They were all here accepting graciously the help that the mission made available. The line seemed endless, but by 9:00 we were standing idle, only a few people were left in the room.