Page 47 of Kayden: The Past
16
Saints & Sinners - New Orleans
I spentmy days working in the store, my evenings in group meetings, and my nights making phone calls trying to find work. I needed to make money and get the hell out of this place. Once I got my shit together after my trial, I was issued a new ID card and went immediately to the bank. I had some money saved and could at least get out of the shelter for a night and go somewhere else to make a home, but there was a problem.
Lisa used the time I stayed in the shelter, without any way to get my money, to drain my account. She left about fifty dollars out of the kindness of her heart. She had all my passwords, and I should’ve known better than to think she wouldn’t rip me off. I had no way to prove it was her because my account was used to pay bills, but it was her. I had enough money for a single bus ticket. I needed to make the right choice, one that would take my life on a different path.
Derek, the guy who brought me home after my release from jail in St. Louis, called me after weeks of waiting to hear back about possible work. I saw his name flash on my phone, and I hit the talk button as quickly as I could. “Hello.”
“Hey, bud, how you been?”
“I’ve been better. Still haven’t heard anything back on work. I’m starting to go out of my fucking mind.”
“Well, I have some good news for you.”
“What?”
“A company is hiring in New Orleans. They need workers ASAP, if you’re looking to work. I hear they’re even offering a signing bonus.”
“Do they have company housing? I don’t have a fucking thing to my name, Derek. The bitch stripped my bank account. I have just enough for a bus ticket.”
“They do, and they’ll supply the tools and the truck. Worth a shot. Better than sitting in that hellhole. Are you still there?”
“Where else would I be? Text me the info, so I can jump on that shit and get things rolling.”
“Will do. You okay?”
“I’ll be better as soon as I get out of here. I need my life back.”
“And Kayden?”
“What?”
“Stay away from women. You don’t seem to have the best pussy picker.”
“No fucking shit. I’m done, out, finished. Relationships aren’t for me.”
“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it. Some of the guys from St. Louis went down to NOLA, so you’ll be in good company.” The thought of staying in the South for the winter gave me a sense of relief. I couldn’t deal with another winter in the cold and snow.
Derek and I talked a few more minutes, and then I waited for his text. I felt hopeful for the first time in weeks and slept through the night without the help of a beer. I called Human Resources the next morning and started the application process. It would take about two days for everything to process, and I could start immediately. I decided to get the fuck out of Dodge as quickly as possible and bought my ticket that evening. I’d catch the nine p.m. bus to New Orleans and start over…again.
I wanted a fresh start away from the bullshit and chaos I always seemed to create and the waves of misfortune that pulled me in like an unending tide.
New Orleans isa place for new beginnings, a place one could go and get lost and leave old baggage behind, but it’s not the right city for someone who craves alcohol. The party atmosphere’s infectious and all-consuming. It pulled me in and wrapped me in its Southern Créole charm, making it feel like home to me more than anywhere else in the world. I could be anything I wanted here. I could live lifeon my own terms.
Déjà vu hit me as I walked through the door of the apartment. It wasn’t the large home that eight of us shared in St. Louis but a small space with three bedrooms. It was common in the cable and satellite industry for the employees to live in company housing. The workers were transient and moved with the work and money.
It was evening, and the apartment was buzzing with activity. I’d already stopped by HR and had all my paperwork cleared earlier than expected and got my housing key. I had to sign a million forms, signing away my life and most of my money for a while—I had to pay for the truck, tools, and rent out of each check.
“Kayden,” a voice yelled. Tom sat at the table in his work clothes, eating a sandwich with pieces falling on his plate. Tom and I worked together in St. Louis, and we’d kept in contact after I left. At least I knew one person walking through the door.
“Hey, man, I didn’t know you’d be here.” I walked toward him and set my bags down on the floor. I held out my hand to him.
“I just got here a couple of weeks ago.” He wiped his hands on his T-shirt. Tom wasn’t always known for his class, but I still liked him.
“Where’s my room?”
“Right there,” he said, pointing to the first room in the hallway. “When ya start?” He turned his attention back to the sandwich.
