Homelessly In Love

Chapter One: Cameron

I huddle up next to the side door of the grocery store and breathe into the palms of my hands. It’s freezing out right now but right by the door I get just a little bit of heat coming from the crack underneath the door. I pull my hood up tighter around my head and pray to whatever God may be out there that someone would throw out a blanket soon. The dumpsters from the apartment complex behind the grocery store were in the alley and though I check them constantly there’s never anything in them that I could use besides a few scraps of inedible food from last week. I spend half my time going through them even though I know there is nothing there. I just like the warmth that comes from inside but I couldn’t sleep in there because when the trucks come to pick up the trash daily, they won’t bother to check for a body inside and I’d die like on a bad episode of Law & Order I’d seen once before I left home.

I look at my hands caked in dirt and blow another breath in them in an attempt to keep myself semi-warm. When the light underneath the grocery store door goes out I know it is midnight and I lie down on the ground outside the door and will myself to fall asleep quickly. I haven’t had a good nights sleep since I took residence in this alley and I doubt I’d start tonight, but that didn’t mean I didn’t try. Laying my head on the cold ground I whisper a short prayer for my little brother, my mother and my safety and fall into a dark cold sleep.

“Ugh” I grunt, as I am pulled awake by a kick in the stomach.

“Get up bitch” I hear come from a rough voice behind me and I force myself to be semi-alert despite the ever-apparent pain in my abdomen. My vision blurs as I open my eyes to the harsh sunrise only to be greeted by three figures spewing hateful words and painful blows all over my body.

“Stupid fucking faggot” I hear one of them mutter and I cough a little, grimacing when I taste the unmistakable copper taste of my own blood. I bite down on my bottom lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry out and I slam my eyes shut again as the assault continues. I don’t know these people, but then again, I never do. Apparently it’s fun nowadays to find homeless people on the ground sleeping and kick the crap out of them like it’s some kind of game people with money have made up to entertain themselves. My inner monologue continues for at least five minutes before my newest friends get bored and decide to leave before someone starts walking the street.

“Dumbass hobo” I hear my third attacker say as he gives me one last kick to the back before walking away. I groan out in pain and roll onto my side to try and ease the pain. I feel my whole body start to throb from the pain and for the millionth time since I left I wish I were at home, in my bed with a Tylenol and my little brother watching Spiderman.

I feel a tear slip from my eyes as I think of Andrew and my mother, and I quickly wipe it away. I try not to allow myself to think about them anymore than absolutely necessary but sometimes I can’t help it. I still live in the same city as them and sometimes when I’m sitting at the end of the alley begging I look up and my eyes make me believe that Andrew just passed by but when I look up its never him. Or sometimes I’ll turn my head and swear that my mother was right there, handing me money but when I look again, nobody’s there.

I sigh and painfully push myself off the ground pulling my tin cup off the ground and groaning again when I realize that those guys took the last 15 cents I had gotten yesterday. I hold back the sob that so desperately wants to rack through my body as I go and sit at the edge of the alley just like every other day and hold out my tin cup. I find a small pebble on the ground and put it inside so that even though it’s empty, when I shake it, it’ll make some noise and hopefully grab someone’s attention.

I sit on the ground shaking my tin cup for hours. Around eleven someone gives me two dimes and I say a quiet ‘thank you.’ Somewhere near 3 o’clock someone drops in a quarter and I silently rejoice realizing I may get enough for a small piece of candy inside the grocery store later. At 5 o’clock rush hour starts, more people are out and about, coming in and out of the big office building next-door in their fancy suits with their expensive cellphones and Starbucks coffee in hand. There are a lot of people on the sidewalk and I find that I’m very lucky today as people are stopping, looking at me and every once in a while putting a dime or two in my cup.

Somewhere near 6 o’clock a women and her daughter are walking by me and I shift so that I’m in a slightly more comfortable position that makes me groan. The little girl, no more than five, wearing a pink Dora The Explorer coat stops and looks at me curiously for a moment and then leaves her mother who’s on the phone and walks over to me.

“Are you okay?” she asks me in a small voice that reminds me of Andrews and I smile a little bit and nod, I’m not okay but for a couple of seconds, for this little girl, I can be. “It’s not okay to lie,” she says in a shame on you kind of voice and I hold back a chuckle at her scolding.

“I’m really okay,” I tell her but I know this little girl isn’t stupid just by the way she looks at me like she doesn’t believe me.

She reaches for her little coin purse hanging on her shoulder. I shake my head at her,

“You shouldn’t do that little girl,” I say in a slightly husky voice, “You keep your money.” I tell her and she stubbornly shakes her head,

“You need it,” she says softly dropping some money in my cup and running back to her mother. I sigh, feeling like a failure for having just received money from a little girl and look down at my cup in shock. There are at least three dollars’ worth of quarters in there! I look up to see the little girl smiling at me as she walks away with her mother. She waves her small hand and for the first time in a long time, I find myself smiling a little bit as I wave back.

After that incident I pick myself up, walk farther back into the alley and poor the money into a pile. There’s a pile of shiny quarters that I know are from the little girl along with a few extra dimes, nickels and a penny. I count the money three times to be sure I got it right and walk stuff it in my hoodie. I always count my money multiple times so that I know what I can and cannot order when I go to the McDonalds across the street. I made the mistake of not knowing how much I had and going over my limit once and was publicly humiliated in front of the whole store; I haven’t been back since. Mostly because I only ever round up about a dollar but also because I hate seeing the face of the man behind the counter that likes to announce my homelessness every time I enter the place.

I move my feet swiftly across the street and pull the door of the McDonalds open, embracing the warmth of the heaters they have. I ignore the pity, disgusted and shocked looks of the shops occupiers and walk up to the counter with my hood up and head down. I wait in line behind a man with what I would guess was at least a thousand dollar suit as he orders a salad. When he finishes he turns around, bumping into me and sending his change and receipt falling to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, dropping to my knees to help him retrieve his change only to be pushed back onto the ground when I tried to stand. I stare at the man in shock,

“You filthy piece of trash. Trying to steal from me?” he demands and I shake my head quickly wanting to explain that I was only helping him but I don’t get the chance as he sends his shiny shoe to my already aching stomach before walking out of the establishment muttering to himself. I look up from the ground to find that everyone in McDonalds is staring at me. I shake my head and gather the little amount of dignity that I have left and walk to the counter and clear my throat. The dull constant ache in my stomach and all over my body from the push is incredible and I can feel tears burn the back of my eyes as the woman behind the counter eyes me warily,

“Can I um, can I get a McDouble and a small fry?” I whisper quietly and she nods typing in the order. I see 3.24 light up in neon green on the register and reach into my hoodie to start counting but the woman reaches across the counter and put her hand on top of my own. I flinch slightly and look up at her questioningly to find her shaking her head and sneakily putting a five-dollar bill in the register for me.

She smiles at me and I feel my chest constrict again at the helpless feeling I get inside of me every time someone gives me something.

“One second sugar” she says in a mother like voice and I nod standing off to the side to wait for my meal. Everyone has gone back to what they were doing before I caused a commotion and I stare out the window at the alley I live in, from inside here it doesn’t look like it would be someone’s home but I know better. Two minutes later the woman hands me my bag and tells me, “Your change is in the bag” I look at her confused for a moment but she simply smiles and winks at me and I move to sit at a booth in the back of the restaurant.

Reaching in the bag I take out my food, eating slowly and savoring what I know will be my last meal for at least a few days. Right as I finish eating I drop ketchup on my jeans and though they are already stained I feel like I should at least try to clean myself when I can so I go into the bag for a napkin to wipe my pants off only to find a twenty dollar bill. I stare at it in shock and wonder for a moment before snapping out of it. I stuff the money in my pocket without the hole; throw away my trash and head to the bathroom.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I can see why that man thought I was stealing from him and why that nice woman took pity on me. I’m a mess. My hairs greasy and flopping in my face, I have blood and dirt on my face, there’s a cut on my lip and I have a black eye. If I saw myself bumping into me, I’d probably be afraid of being robbed too.

Sighing I wash my hands of the dirt that I probably should have gotten rid of before I ate. Shrugging I get dry paper towels and run them under the warm water of the faucet before scrubbing my face clean. Drying off my face and hands I lift my shirt to get a look at the damage todays beatings had given me and I grimace at the sight of the big purple splotches that lit up my stomach and back. It hurt like a bitch, but I suppose it could be worst so I don’t bother complaining or feeling sorry for myself. This was the life I’d gotten myself into.

Dropping my hoodie back in place I walk out McDonalds, waving to the nice lady before I leave and take my place back across the street in the dark of the alley. Lying on the ground I put my hand in my pocket to rub my fingers over the money there and smile a little bit, I won’t have to beg tomorrow.