Save Me, I'm Lost

His life had always been simple.

Though he knew his name, he never wanted to use it, never wanted to accept it. To him, it was just a fragment of his imagination, and not worth mentioning. Bill. He could remember being little and being called that. But no one had said his name in over a decade.

Ever since he was little he'd lived in that tree in the rusty, old park. The tree had to be nearly two hundred years old. It was tall and sturdy and Bill always found shelter under its branches, even in the worst conditions.

Though he was naturally not much of an outdoors person, it was what he had to do to survive.

When he was five he ran away from the orphanage. It was a Catholic orphanage, so it was well off, but Bill didn't like the feeling of being held captive. He liked to be independent. Every month or so a nice couple would come in and look him over. He was a cute little kid, but he acted terribly around adults because he knew they could take him away.

So at five years old, he lived on the streets of Leipzig as a paper boy. He got the papers from an old man's house in the morning and when he came to the house around lunch time there would be a five dollar bill and a plate of food waiting for him.

At night he would wander around, not really tired, but would grab an hour or two of sleep in a park or an alley. Instinct taught him to go down to the river every once in awhile to wash himself.

He lived as a paper boy until he was ten. The old man died then. But Bill was still well off. Thanks to the daily five dollar bills, he had some money saved up. He also picked up odd jobs. He worked at the subway as a shoe shiner, a ticket seller, and sometimes when he was really desperate, he would sing for his money.

Though he had a big appetite, he never was really famished. He always had a dollar or two in his pocket to grab something at the subway station.

As for clothes, there was a Salvation Army in the area. He liked to go there at five in the morning, when it opened. He'd pick out a nice two dollar outfit and keep it for a week or two. Every other day he'd shower in the subway bathroom, no matter how gross it was. It still cleaned him up somewhat.

He always had a bag with him. In it he carried a subway ticket - which he rarely used, sample bottles of cologne and hair products, a comb, a dictionary - which made him feel smart to carry around, an extra pair of shoes, a sweater for winter, and various things he found around the street.

He found the huge tree when he was twelve. It was a safe haven when he was hungry for sleep or for shelter from the harsh winters.

From that tree, Bill people-watched. He wasn't jealous of the people that had more; he knew that he was fated to only have enough to get by. But people interested him. Their thoughts, their clothes, their hair.

He would smile at pretty girls from up in the trees as they walked by. They were either arguing with their overbearing mothers, playing with some fancy electronic, with their friends, or with a boy. Bill wanted to talk to them but partially, he was afraid of girls. They seemed so distant, so unattainable.

Bill was fifteen when he stood outside of a hair salon. It smelled heavily of hairspray even from where he stood on the sidewalk. It was a smell he instantly fell in love with. Since he'd been a teen, he'd kept a pair of scissors with him and cut his hair twice a year to get it the desired length. He kept his wavy brown locks to his ears.

He stood outside the shop for a whole hour, just watching what went on. He was mesmorized by all the tools and products they used on people's hair. He wanted to go in so bad, but he felt he wasn't dressed accordingly. He waited for awhile until someone finally came out of the shop.

"Excuse me, but how much does a haircut cost?" he asked a girl a few years older than himself.

She smiled. "Twenty dollars, if you want a good one."

His heart sunk. Twenty dollars was two week's wages.

But he had a plan. For a month he worked all jobs, day and night at the subway, so that by the end of the month he had an extra thirty dollars. He found his favorite pair or jeans, which clung to his legs like a second skin, and went down to Salvation Army to get a nice shirt. He found an old, tattered Ramones shirt for three dollars and slipped it on. He put on his sturdy, black boots and walked to the salon.

He hesitated before going in, but then strode in confidently. He was instantly blasted with the smells of hair dye, straighteners burning, and nail polish.

He walked up to the counter, twenty five dollars in his hand, and asked for a haircut.

"Put your name on the list," the unenthused girl at the desk said. He stared down at the clipboard before him and bit his lip. He could write, but not very well. Hating the fact he had to use his name, he put a fake name down on the list and went to sit down in the front.

He bit his nails and waited patiently, watching the people around him. They were all looking at magazines or playing with their cell phones. Most of the people were women with nice hair in all different colors.

After all the rest of the people in the waiting area had been called up, Bill was called.

He was ushered into a nice, cool seat and a cape was placed around his front. The hair stylist, a girl that couldn't have been more than twenty, asked how he wanted his hair.

Bill hesitated, not knowing what to say. "I want it shorter.." he looked at his hair. It was shoulder-length now, almost reminiscent of the girl's hair. But her hair was darker and choppy. "I want it like yours."

"So you want it dyed too?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "And layers?"

Bill nodded eagerly.

An hour and twenty five dollars later, and Bill was more content with his life than he ever had been. His hair was jet black, his favorite color, and it was smooth and un-tangled.

Though he didn't have any money left, he decided to flaunt his new look at the CD store. Though his hair had been based off of the girl's hair, he almost felt like he fit in with everyone else at the music store. All the guys had longer hair or mohawks. Though he didn't have money to listen to music, he fiddled with a few CDs. He went back to the tree that night with more self-esteem than he'd ever had.

Those next two years he worked as hard as he could for more, new things. He went to the salon nearly every other month and bought nice clothes that he kept up in the tree where no one else would be able to reach. He bought nail polish and eyeliner and every morning he went down to the subway and put it on in the bathroom.

He worked at a little magazine shop in the subway. He looked at all the magazines, all the new styles of clothes and hair and music, and listened intently to the music that was played on the radio. People were always drawn to his stand because of his energetic nature. Bill could make anyone smile and no one would have ever known his circumstances. Also, reading the magazines and little books at the stand helped him to read and write and understand all he could ever want to know in the world.

One spring morning, when he was sixteen, he stood in the bathroom applying his eyeliner and thought about a boy that had been hanging at the subway the day before. He felt a feeling he had never felt before. He ran into a stall and knew what was happening. This couldn't be. Sexual feelings about a boy? He naively took care of his problem and went to the magazine stand, where he frantically searched for something to help him understand.

That night, hidden in the tree, he looked at his stolen copy of Playboy. Nothing, he felt nothing with these naked women.

Thankfully, the little 'problems' didn't occur often, and when they did, it wasn't in public. But most of the time, they were brought on by boys.

Bill went to the library and read a book about sex and being gay and was instantly scared sick about what was happening to him. Was he gay? Or was he just confused? He loved women!

Not having any friends, he kept his troubles to himself and walked around town still as confident and loud as ever.

He would go to the shopping center and obnoxiously ask strangers any question that would pop into his head. He tried on pretty clothes at H&M and hoped that one day he'd make enough money to buy things like that.

He got white blonde highlights as a present to himself when he turned seventeen. His hair was now past his shoulders, but very pretty in his opinion. He didn't have money for a hair straightener, but he did have money for all the hairspray he needed. As always, he would apply his makeup and do his hair very early in the morning in the subway bathroom.

That winter brought about many changes to Bill's routine. It was probably the coldest winter he could remember.

He met Tom early that winter. He was instantly interested in this boy. He'd seem him maybe once or twice in the street or at the music store or the shopping center.

The night Bill met him, he couldn't sleep. He wanted a friend and he hoped to finally find one in this odd boy with baggy clothes and dreadlocks.