It's 5:46 PM on a frigid Sunday evening; I brace myself to leave the sanctuary and warmth of my car to find this address.
I feel apprehensive about parking here, yet more so, about carrying my purse with me. Clutching only the address, and my wool coat in front of me, I walk rapidly to my destination.
I came upon an old grey building surrounded like a maximum security prison by an iron gate. There was no intercom to make my presence known, so I was direct, and to the point.
-“MANUEL!” I yelled out his name over and over again, as an incantation accompanied by the wind.
After about five minutes of no results, a couple came out, I thanked them, and ran upstairs to number 203.
I knocked on the door insistently without response. Crestfallen, I asked a neighbor if he would lend me a pen, in order to leave a note. Just then, several locks are turned, and out comes Manuel’s wife.
-“Hi, do you remember me? I used to work with Manuel. I need to find him please; I found a job for him.” I said with urgency, worried about my car.
-“Yes, I remember you. Come in, Manuel is not here.”
A little girl of about three appears; a mini replica of Manuel she seems.
-“Sit down. I have not seen Manuel in two weeks. He’s taken to drinking and hanging out with other drunks, and looking for work.”
Her eldest daughter from a previous relationship chimes in. “He can’t handle the stress and the accusations from my mother. They fight all the time. So he simply has stopped coming here. I hope he does to pay the rent next month.”
-“I need to find him. I got him a job in a company where my cousin is in charge of production. He’s mostly all the time in China now, yet he just arrived for the holidays to see his family. It’s crucial that I take Manuel there tomorrow morning at eight.” I explained my urgency – still worried about my car.
-“You can find him early morning in Home Depot where he says he looks for day labor. He also hangs in Mc Arthur Park with other drunks. I don’t know which Home Depot, he does not tell us anything.”
I drove about eight blocks, and parked a block away from Mc Arthur Park. It's 6:40 PM.
The area was still bustling with the activity of the holiday shopping. I was glad to find parking in front of a well lit 99 cent store.
An old man sitting on the window sill of this establishment eats a Salvadorian tamale. The informal business’ here, thrive more so than the formal ones; the latter are guarded by uniformed security guards.
-“Excuse me, do you know a Manuel? He is tall, late thirties? He’s not come home in two weeks, and I’ve been told he hangs around the drunks in this area.” I ventured to inquire.
-“No, I don’t know of a Manuel. But the drunks hang out in clusters around the corner here, or next block in that shopping center, or in the park."
After inquiring where he specified, I walk to the shopping center where a man with blood shot eyes, tells me that he will help me. He offers to drive my car around so that we may find Manuel.
I roll my eyes and walk away lured by the elaborate sanctuary of "La Santisima Muerte" (Blessed Holy Death), inside of the shopping center. A life size skeleton elaborately dressed representing death sits upon a shrine. Chairs are situated in front, just like in a little chapel.
With null results, the last place to look is Mc Arthur Park. I amble there acutely aware of my surroundings, drinking in the people, sights, and of course, looking out for Manuel in all the desperate faces I encounter on my route.
Again I stop and inquire at the park if they know of a Manuel. I am intercepted by a young man about twenty-three who tells me that he does not know a Manuel, but asks me not to go. Do I want to make love? To which I said no.
-“Let’s make a deal, I’ll pay you. Just follow me to the bathroom.” He said.
I explained that I’m busy as I walk away towards a couple of older men. I inquire again, and tell them that Manuel might be sleeping at the park, since he has not come home in two weeks.
-“There are a lot of people sleeping here now. Just last week the papers took a picture of a white woman sleeping on that bus stop bench during the rains. She was front page news, yet she is still around here sleeping.” The old man said.
I walk away, again intercepted by the young man who tells me, “Look there’s an underground tunnel which connects both parks. Come with me there; I have a hard on.”
Just then, my cell phone rings. It is Manuel’s stepdaughter telling me that Manuel has finally come home. I thank her and rush the two blocks to my car, lost in the crowd of Christmas shoppers.
As I insert the ignition key, I quickly lock my door. My heart jumps when I see the same horny guy appear in front of the hood of my car. He motions with his hands "What's up?"
To be continued…
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