A week later my doorbell rang and again there stood Marcos, ready to do whatever job I may have for him. And again, I had to tell him to come back the next day at 9:00 AM and I promised to have two hours worth of some kind of work for him.
The next day Marcos arrived right on time and I put him to work pulling weeds. I pulled weeds with him and we talked easily with one another as we worked bent over in the back yard. He talked about the fecal coliform count in the lake, the history of State of Colorado, about bicycles and about the Broncos. He was somewhat vague about where, exactly he lived. "Over there a couple of blocks," he'd say, pointing west. "On Wolff Street?" I asked. "Yeah. But closer to the lake." As one can't get much closer to the lake the Wolff street, I surmised Marcos didn't want me to know where he lived and I dropped the subject.Marcos is a large boy. Chunky. And he's very articulate. As he said he was saving for a car, I figured he was maybe 14 years old. At the end of our first day working together, however, I learned he was only twelve, leaving me more impressed than ever by his confidence, drive, work ethic and charm.
Marcos and I worked out an agreement that if he showed up on Saturdays at 9 AM, I promised to have two hours worth of work for him. Marcos showed up ever single Saturday on time, often early, and always eager to work. His was easy company. I began to look forward to my Saturday mornings with Marcos. He helped me lay flagstone, plant flowers, weed a garden, stain the back porch and have a two-day yard sale. I let him manage the cash box for the yard sale. He was a shrewd salesperson, and was able to accurately calculate the sum total of each sale and make change in his head without error.
During our second Saturday working together, Marcos revealed he hadn't eaten breakfast yet, so I started to provide him with a breakfast burrito along with the $20 he earned. A few weeks later he said he preferred chili rellenos, so I began leaving him to do the work on his own, while I drove to Santiago's to get him a chile relleno dinner. He always shook my hand and thanked me at the end of each of times together.
The Fourth of July weekend had us driving Marcos to a firework stand where he spent his hard earned money on fireworks he planned to light that night. On another Saturday he brought me a spoon rest from Mexico as a thank you gift. As the summer progressed, I learned a little bit more about his family life. His was an intact family with both his mom and his dad and a younger sister and an even younger brother. They were always moving, though, it seemed. From living "closer to the lake" he moved to a house that required he take a bus to get to my house. A week later he was asking if I could drop him off at a motel off West Colfax where his family moved to when there was a gas leak in the home they rented the week prior. Another week found him living with an uncle as the apartment they wanted to rent wasn't available yet. I began to think Marcos was homeless, but he didn't know it. He was so smart, and witty and he worked so hard, that I couldn't fathom how such a chaotic situation produced such a delightful young man. I never saw or met his parents. Marcos said his dad drove by my house to confirm where his son was going every Saturday morning. That made me feel a little better about his home situation.
I began enjoying Marcos' company so much, that I kept finding more projects he could help me with. I networked for him and he started working also for another neighbor. She, too, was equally impressed with his mature demeanor and with his obvious manners and intelligence.
But this all came to an end this past weekend. Saturday I waited for Marcos to appear, but he didn't arrive by 9. I texted Dan telling him Marcos was a no show. He shared my concern, as Marcos was punctual about everything. But several hours later, the doorbell rang and there stood Marcos. Unable to make eye contact he apologized for being late and hoped he could still do some work for me. He looked so troubled. I asked him if everything was okay. He shook his head "no" and burst into tears on my front porch.
After bringing him inside and getting him a glass of water he was able to finally explain his distraught state was because his dad had been arrested and, "deported again." He said as this was the third time he was caught, that he'd have to do fifteen years in jail. As with most of Marcos' stories about his home life, not everything added up. I knew what shame was like as a kid, so I never pressed him for details and allowed the dots to not connect, trying to accept him at face value. He was afraid that he'd never see his dad again. He said all of his dad's bank accounts were frozen and now they didn't have the money that they saved for the apartment. They were back to sleeping in run down motels along West Colfax.
Marcos was so very distraught as he told me his story in between snot-filled sobs. My heart broke a thousand times over hearing how much weight was on this precious boy's plate. He was trying to be the man of the house and come up with solutions. He wanted to get his brother and sister back-to-school-clothes but his mom was too sad to even get out of bed.
I listened and consoled and wondered silently in my head what I might be able to do. I resolved to help by getting Marcos a gift card so he could get himself and his siblings those back to school clothes. He and I drove to the store to get the gift card, and then stopped to get him some food and I dropped him off at his uncle's where they were staying for now, promising that I'd be thinking of ways to help his situation during this next week
Four hours later Marcos calls my on my phone excited because they know where his dad is and all they need is someone with ID to sign him out of jail.
"Whaaaat?" I asked. He put his reluctant mother on the phone to explain. In this first ever conversation with his mom I learn his dad was arrested because he was supposed to go to court for a J-walking ticket he got. He didn't go to court and the police arrested him because he had an outstanding warrant for failure to appear. As something similar happened months before to a friend of mine, so the story seemed almost plausible to me. The mom explained she had all the money to geth im out, but she didn't have ID to sign for him.
Whaaaat?
She said I if I called this other woman, Alma, that Alma could explain what I needed to do to get the dad out of jail. So I called Alma.
Alma, as it turns out, is a bail bondman and Marcos' mom was wanting me to post bond for her husband, Marcos' dad, a man I never met. After talking with Alma, I learned the bail had been set at $5500, and I needed to sign a promissory note for $5500 saying I'd pay that amount if Marcos' dad did not appear in court for this violation.
$5500. Wow. That was a serious chunk of change for me to put at risk on someone I never met.
I texted the mom what I learned and my reasons for hesitating. She sent a series of texts begging me to please help them. The dad had never been in any trouble before, she texted. He didn't party and he didn't drink. Said that she didn't even own a car so they weren't a flight risk. She said they had no family, only his 92 year old mother in Mexico. She pleaded with me, "for the sake of the children," that I sign the promissory note. I promised her I would think about it.
And I did. All evening long.
I considered how Marcos' good manners and work ethic had to come from somewhere. I considered how Marcos said they were staying with an uncle, how he talked about going to aunt's birthday party and how the mom said they had no family. I considered how I was on the precipice of selling my house for a $150K profit and how this was one of those very rare moments in my own life in which I did have, in theory, $5500 available to put at risk.
Then I considered how little I really knew about this man, this family and their situation. I considered how I might explain to my friends and family why I decided to risk $5500 on a stranger. The bit of good karma I stood to gain was outweighed by all the chump potential this request reeked of. I resolved I would bail out Marcos in heartbeat for $5500 - - but that I couldn't get comfortable doing this for his dad I never met.
At ten o'clock that night I texted the mom my decision to not help. She text a simple "thank you." And that was that.
I am sick inside. Sick, sick, sick.
I hope as I put some distance between me and this difficult decision, that I will be able to confirm I am being prudent...and not paranoid.
