René

It was about three years ago that I first met René. I had just moved into this house, and one Saturday there was a knock at the door. A thin latin man introduced himself as René from down the street, told me he used to do handyman jobs for the owner of the house, "Mister Al," and asked if I had any work for him. I declined, but told him I would ask Al the next time I saw him. He thanked me for my time and left.

About a year later he came back, looking a little worse for the wear. He told me he'd been evicted, and could he borrow a few bucks, just for a few days until he could get paid. Did I believe him? No, not really, but I have been down before, so I figured I could help pay back the karmic debt. I gave him a few dollars, and after thanking me profusely and promising he would pay me back some day, he left.

And this became a pattern. After the next couple of visits it became obvious that René had a problem, and it wasn't getting any better. I knew the right thing to do was to stop giving him money, but it's hard to do when the poor guy's shivering on your doorstep, in July. We had some long talks, and he admitted he had a problem but was trying to get straight. Then he disappeared again.

The next time I saw him he was looking a lot better. He had a room, and said he'd been clean since he got out of jail a month earlier. He told me he had just turned fifty, and said he was getting way too old for this shit, but he still needed a little money to pay for his room. He showed me the receipt for his cash from the painting job he'd worked, and it had the right date, but was only for $40. Could I find it in my heart to loan him $20 so he could pay the $50 he owed for his room, and still get some dinner? As always he assured me he'd stop by Friday night to pay me back, all of the money he owed me. I asked him not to come back until he could tell me he'd been straight for a month. He told me that wouldn't be a problem, and reiterated that he would be back Friday with the money. I decided to take him up on it, and told him not to come back until he could give me $1. When he could bring me one dollar, we would be square.

Of course I didn't see him again for a couple of months. Then, earlier this week, I was awakened by an insistant knocking on my door. 12:40 AM. It scared the hell out of me, especially since I've been burglarized twice before. I went to the window and saw René on my porch, looking alert, but worried. I opened the window and told him to leave, that I would not put up with him coming around this time of the night. But something was different—he looked worried, and started crying and begging me to just talk to him.

It seems that some dealers had found out where he lived, and had decided that he owed them some money. When he didn't have it, they took his old TV, kicked him around some, and then dropped him off a mile or so from me, telling him he'd better be back at the gas station with $50 by 2:00 am, or else. He came to me, wretched and bleeding, because he didn't know who else to ask for help.

Now it was my turn to panic. I was certain that he had just lead these guys to my house, and that any minute they would stroll onto my porch. But no, he assured me they were too busy conducting their business at the gas station to follow an old junky around. If I would just give him to money, he would never come back again.

But I didn't have $50. Hell, I seldom do, really. We spoke of other options, going to the police, him just running away, the usual, but he just couldn't wrap his brain around the idea. These guys owned him, and no matter what, they would find him. If he couldn't find the money he would just go back and give up, and hope the pain didn't last too long.

Was I being scammed? Maybe, but honestly he didn't seem smart enough to pull off that kind of con. Besides, where do you draw the line, when it comes to a cash value for someone else's life? I found a $20 and a roll of quarters and gave it to him. His expression was a mixture of gratitude and defeat. He thanked me for the money, and said he would try to convince them to take that for now. He didn't look optimistic about his odds.

Before he left, I asked him if I could take his picture. He was a little uncertain about it, and kept insisting that I didn't have to worry about him. Finally I just told him I figured that with all the money I'd given him I might as well adopt him and put his picture in my wallet. He laughed at that idea, laughed more than I'd heard him laugh before.

I haven't seen him since. Maybe he got lucky, or maybe he didn't. Maybe I was ripped off one last time, or maybe he'll come back one night looking for another handout. If so, will I feel stupid? I've thought about it a lot, and no, I don't think so. If there's a chance that I helped him out, then it was worth the money. I just can't see it any other way.