A Place on My Pillow

Pollyanna had been homeless for over a year and a half. She hadn’t had a haircut since before she left. She had once been flawless, with a perfect smile and perfect make-up every day. Her blonde hair had been straightened every morning and shined in the sun from all the perfecting products she applied. She’d cared a lot about her looks. She didn’t know what mattered. She loved the attention her looks got her. The only thing that she knew mattered was, well, she doesn’t talk about that.

She’d changed. That Polly was long gone.

Now, her hair was more split ends than healthy strands. Her nails were chipped and cracked, chewed down to nothing more than stubs. She wore the same three outfits every day. She only showered once every week. She slept on park benches, in homeless shelters and women’s homes. She bummed off kind strangers, using their homes for a night before leaving them to feel good about themselves.

This was her life now. If Young Polly could see Current Polly, Young Polly would die of embarrassment. But Current Polly would never change Young Polly. If Young Polly was any different, Current Polly wouldn’t be who she is now.

“Hey pretty girl,” a large man with big hands and even bigger hair purred. Pollyanna rolled her eyes and tugged Otto closer to her by his blue leash.

“I’m not interested,” Polly assured him.

“I was just being friendly,” the large man replied.

“Still not interested.”

She kept walking down the hall towards the office of the homeless shelter. The man wore a clean button-up shirt and pressed black slacks. He was clean-shaven and his hair was newly cut. Either he was an attendant at the shelter or someone that was on his way out of belonging in the shelter. He had beady black eyes, a large nose, and even larger pores. He was utterly repulsive, with his twisted smile and crooked yellow teeth.

“Where ya goin’, sweet?” he tried to purr. Polly wheeled around and stopped in his path.

“Listen, I. Am. Not. Interested. You need to stop. I’m normally a really polite person but I’m exhausted. I just walked here from Garden View, buddy. I am NOT in the mood for your macho bull. Do you understand me? Back. Off.”

He took a stumble backwards and stared, caught off guard. Otto growled uselessly at the man while Pollyanna turned back and started on her way again. She found her way to registration and looked around. They were all the same, with motivational posters and pamphlets on alcoholism and abusive relationships. There were flyers for workshops, teaching things like “How To Get A Job” and “Building a Resume.” What they should’ve added on, Polly always thought, was “How To Get A Job, Without A Home” and “Building a Resume, When You Have Nothing.”

“No dogs,” someone droned from the corner, behind the large desk.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Polly replied.

“Fine,” the same voice droned. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.