The Love of Charles

"Do you need to get in?" the large black man asked me from inside of the courtyard at Grace House last night. It's been painted since I built it all of those years ago. Savannah's big on private courtyards in the historic district and I thought homeless people deserved their own so got a $30,000 grant and had it built. I remember someone wrote a letter to the editor wanting to know if I would be using tax payer dollars to build homeless people a swimming pool next ... I always meant to do that.

"That would be helpful," I replied.

"I'll have to get the manager," he said as though he could care less.

A tall, handsome black man with glasses came swinging keys. I used to call them "Night Nazis" back in the early days because the power of being in charge went to their heads and they often took advantage of people.

"We're full," he said still swinging the keys.

"Really?," I replied. Tell me something that I don't know. Grace House has been full since we built it in 1987.

"What's your name?" I asked and he seemed startled.

"Keith Black," he said loudly.

"Hey Keith, I'm Micheal Elliott," and this obviously meant nothing to him.

"I'm actually here to see Charles," I told him.

He looked me over more carefully. Wearing black running shorts, a "St. Martin Drinking Team" tee shirt, flip flops and a UGA baseball cap, I could have passed for homeless ... but I wasn't acting homeless. I was acting like I owned the place.

"I'll get him for you Mr. Elliott," he said disappearing inside leaving me outside of the locked gate.

I looked over my shoulder at Dedra who was driving my convertible. We'd taken Jim Withers to the airport and on the spur of the moment driving back I decided to show her some of Union Mission which she's heard about but never seen. She gave me a thumbs up. I shrugged my shoulders.

Then I made another spur of the moment decision. I needed to see Charles, my former bank robbing, African-American, mentally ill adopted son. For ten years we'd taken care of one another. We love one another dearly and I've only seen him a few times in the past year though he sends me messages through other people. They are all formal but they end the same ... "I miss you," he says ... like I miss him.

Then he stumbled out of the glass doors that I had put in because the last thing homeless people need is more darkness in their lives. He looked like shit! He always looks bad but I was not prepared for what I saw.

He duct tapes his pants but has now discovered safety pins and there must have been a thousand of them in the same dirty green pants that he wore when I left. His hair hasn't been cut in months. Every three months we would send him to get a haircut, meaning it got shaved. Every quarter I would also give him $100 and send him shopping for new clothes. He didn't always wear them but he had them and always showed me the receipts.

He walked out with his eyes half-closed like he always does with his hand on top of his head. Someone wanted to see him. When he got to the gate his eyes opened wide.

"Hello Sir," he said in his deep voice and I though I would cry.

"Hey Charles," said. "Open the goddamn gate," I told Keith.

He fumbled for keys and did. Charles came out and we hugged one another. I introduced him to Dedra.

"Hello Mam," he said. "Is this your fiancee Sir?" he asked.

"No Charles, she's my friend," and I reached up to put my arm around his shoulders and we walked down the sidewalk that I'd demanded the city put in because homeless deserve sidewalks too.

"What's up with your hair Charles?," I asked rubbing my fingers through the puffy soft black curls.

"I'm growing an Afro Sir," he said.

"Seriously?" I said now with his hair grease on my hand. "They don't send you for haircuts anymore?"

"Ms. Andrea Holmes handles my money," he said as way of explanation."Do you know her?"

"Joy doesn't," I asked. "I know Andrea."

His eyes half closed again and his hand went to the top of his head and he shook his head from side to side.

He reached down and hugged me. "I love you Sir," he said loudly.

I cried.

"I love you too Charles," I said on my tiptoes trying to hug him back.

Then the visit was over. He went back inside and Keith locked the gate. Dedra drove me back to Tybee. I was quiet and emotional. On the beloved back deck I talked on the phone but was having a tough time with it. My friend was too. She told me that I needed a hug and she was right but there were no hugs last night.

I said on the phone last night that he may have been a mistake to see him but in the light of today ... it wasn't. I told someone who I love dearly that I love him. And he told me too.

And none of us do that enough.