So how did you get here? the man behind the rickety, metal desk asked, looking at the young man who sat in front of it. The young man stared at the floor and did not answer. Well, how did you get here? Bill Carter asked again, and waited. You need a place to stay dont you? The young man finally raised his head, and nodded.

Whats your name?

Jamie Boyer.

Bill Carter wrote the name at the top of a poorly duplicated form. The scratches on the old desktop made the name appear skewed on the paper. He looked back at the guy who had just come in off the street, and squinted.

How old are you?

Jamie dropped his head again. Hed waited so long to be eighteen, and here he was, in Columbus, the states capital. Springville seemed like a lifetime ago.

Hey kid, are you all right?

Jamie flinched and said, Im eighteen.

The manager of the Faith Mission homeless shelter filled out the form as if he did it every day, which he did; Jamie Boyer felt like he was being signed in to Hell. He wanted to run away and hide, but he had no place to hide. Thats why he was here.

Where are your folks?

I dont know, Jamie lied.

You have no other place to stay?

No.

How long have you been away from home?

Jamie searched back through the skittish fog in his head for a few moments. About six months.

Carter hesitated. He knew he was supposed to take the guys at their word, but he hated to see young ones like Jamie Boyer come into the shelter. The homeless shelters could be both refuge and quicksand, and this guy looked like he was about sixteen years old.

Well youre lucky kid, we have four open beds right now. Sometimes guys have to sleep on the benches downstairs, or go to another shelter, Carter said. Then he looked closely at Jamie again. He showed all the symptoms.

Youre not on something are you?

No, Jamie said quickly, and held his breath.

Let me tell you Mr., you dont want to be here. Do you have any relatives that you can stay with? You can use my phoneI can even give you a couple of bus tokens.

I have nobody, Jamie said. He looked glumly at the stained white walls of the small office and the bare metal pipe that went up the wall beside him, certain that he had ruined his life forever.

Carter lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. The forty-four-year old had graduated in the sixties with a college degree in social services and fresh ideas about changing society. The zeal of the sixties was long gone now, as he had learned the hard way that there was only so much you could do for someone else. He didnt let it bother him like it used to.

Last grade of school completed? Carter asked, looking back at the form on his desk.

High school.

You graduate?

Yeah.

Carter wrote the number twelve in a faded blank. Id like to see some form of ID.

Jamie thought for a moment. He really wasnt running from anybody, not now anyway, but he didnt want any traces back to Springville. Hed rather die than be known there as he was now. His hands trembled as he opened his wallet. He ignored the drivers license and pulled out his student ID from Diprie. He handed the plastic card to Carter.

When did you leave school?

Jamie sighed softly. He was tired, and his mind was burnt out and jittery. His stomach panged with hunger. When did he leave school? Did he ever really start? He knew that one set of grade cards had been mailed home to his parents. A couple weeks ago, he said.

Carter looked at the embarrassed college freshman getting his picture taken. Jamies hair was much shorter then, and he wasnt wearing glasses. Then Carter looked at the side of the face that again stared at the floor.

This is dated last Octoberis that when you started?

Yeah.

Well what happened?

There was that question again. Jamie gazed dumbly into the air as he thought about it. His life had unraveled so quickly, and so completely. He couldnt understand how. I just dont know, he said finally.



Shabbily-dressed men sat in folding chairs throughout the shelter lobby and watched dully as Jamie walked into their midst and took a seat. The stark room was silent, and depression hung in the air like a stagnant cloud. There was cigarette smoke everywhere though the front door had been propped open all morning. A pop machine sat by the door with an Out of Order sign taped to it; a coffee maker sat on a small table beneath a jagged crack in the masonry wall. There was the sound of a television in another room, and the distant sound of car horns outside.

Fifteen men with no home in normal society sat throughout the room. They wore torn, filthy jeans and dress pants with the grime of many months ground in, never to be clean again. There were tee-shirts permanently stained with sweat, and moldy flannel button-ups that could have just been pulled from the bottom of a heap in an attic corner.

Jamie gripped the metal chair and clenched his toes in his tennis shoes. This cant be happening. Please God, this cant really be happening. The terror and confusion of being alone on the street, stoned and afraid of being arrested, had kept him awake most of the night. Now a dull feeling of dread was settling around him. I cant call Dad. What would he say?

He had to somehow figure out where to go from here. He just wasnt sure where here was. It didnt even look like Columbus, but from his walk this morning he knew that the shelter was downtown, only a couple of turns off of High Street.