No Place Like Home

(3 of 3)

Both teachers hope the Cochrans find permanent housing in the neighborhood so the kids can remain at the school. And Moriah's new friend Bryanna Roop, 9, is hoping she will stay too. "I really like Moriah. She gives me good advice when I'm having a problem. I'd like to invite her over to my house to play games." Moriah would be unlikely to return the invitation. "I'd be embarrassed for them to come over," she says. "Other people might laugh at me, so I don't tell them."

The parents feel the stigma more poignantly. "The place is comfortable," says Phenom. "But I really wish I didn't have to be here." At times the Cochrans betray a subtle self-consciousness about their homelessness. "There's a regular family living right next door," says De-Shawto, excitedly explaining the unobtrusive nature of the shelter. "Hey, we're a regular family," Phenom cuts in. "What I mean is, the family next door isn't in the program," explains De-Shawto, a bit awkwardly.

While the kids are at school, De-Shawto is busy applying for jobs in the area, hoping the family can stay in this new suburban neighborhood just west of the city limits. Shelter staff members scout out local restaurants and retail stores and then ferry him around by van (his license was suspended in 1995 after he was stopped for speeding and driving without insurance; he still owes $850 in fines) to fill out applications. With several years of experience as a cook, De-Shawto felt confident at first that he would get something quickly. But more than two months of diligent canvassing and follow-up have yielded nothing. "Before now, it never took me more than two weeks to find a job," he says dejectedly.

Some leads De-Shawto finds himself. He responded to a TV news report on the shortage of poll workers for Election Day by pursuing and landing a job. Three days after Debraysha was born, he was helping voters sign in and seeing that the polling ran smoothly. The day's pay: $85, which was set aside for the following month's storage fee. He also voted for the first time the straight Democratic ticket.

Phenom is even busier, not just tending the baby but also meeting with service providers, from the Catholic Social Services caseworker to the Parents Anonymous family-support rep. Phenom intently listens to all the advice yet admits that the unending parade of support workers can be wearying. "Sometimes all I need to do is be by myself, get some rest and take care of my baby," she says.

In her few spare moments, Phenom occasionally finds her thoughts slipping to the past. This time last year, De-Shawto was employed in housekeeping at a motel; she had her full-time pizza job. On her way to work, she would often stop for a cappuccino to go, a little indulgence that she sorely misses. "The ones at the Exxon station are the best," she says wistfully. She has not had one in months.

A year ago, the parents together were frequently taking home $500 or more a week, more than they had ever earned in their lives. "Life was good. We could get anything we wanted." That's when they bought their first Christmas tree, an artificial one that would be fresh each year. Three weeks ago, the Cochran Christmas was more like Ash Wednesday. De-Shawto and Phenom had no cash for the kids' presents. (The shelter helped out there: people donated gifts from the residents' wish lists.) But they did succumb to the kids' begging and pulled the six-foot faux evergreen tree out of storage: it's still lighted up in the living room because there aren't enough lamps to go around and the kids can huddle around it in the evenings to do their homework.

Phenom is still waiting for her New Year's wish to come true: to have a real place of their own, paid for by them, with earnings from the full-time job De-Shawto has yet to find. "I was really hoping we wouldn't be spending the holidays here," Phenom says, and sighs. "I didn't want to be here that long." The bright lights in the kids' eyes can't bring a sparkle to Mom's. She knows that a family doesn't have to be houseless to be homeless.