Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Fuck. I frowned as I stood and headed for the door, preoccupied by the damaged book. In the hallway, I turned to look back, maybe to check that my being there last night had been real, then let the door close behind me.
When I was back on the sidewalk, the world felt familiar again and my brain reverted to survival mode. I walked in the direction of the coffee shop until Foster and Oscar came into view. He was holding a carrier with our coffees and a bag of muffins.
He slowed when he saw me. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just…” I looked away. “I…overstayed my welcome.”
His eyebrows drew together. “No, you didn’t.”
“I just need…to get back to my life, my routine.” I didn’t want to see whatever emotion was in his eyes, so I bent to scratch Oscar behind the ears. “But thanks for helping me out last night.”
“You’re welcome.” He made a frustrated sound, and I could tell he wanted to say more but held his tongue. “Well, here’s your coffee and muffin.”
I nearly refused the offer since I hadn’t done anything to earn it, but then thought better of it. Why delay the inevitable? “Thank you. And I’m sorry about your book. If I can think of a way to repay you—”
“Don’t give it another thought.”
This time I held my tongue and just nodded.
I glanced at the debris on the sidewalk from fallen branches. The storm still felt unreal.
Foster tilted his head to the sky. “I think the weather’s supposed to hold up for a few days.”
“Glad to hear that.”
“Me too,” he replied. “Well…take care.”
“You too.”
Feeling strangely out of sorts, I watched as he and Oscar walked toward the apartment. But staying any longer would’ve only prolonged that achy feeling in my chest whenever I was around them. I couldn’t easily explain it. Was it a longing for what they had or for their companionship? Regardless, I couldn’t come to rely on it. Life had a way of punching you in the gut and then kicking you when you were down.
I found a park bench and then rearranged my cart so I could travel to the shelter today. Despite what the public believed, most houseless people took care of their stuff, even cherished it. Satisfied, I headed in that direction. When I saw the Main Avenue Bridge in the distance, I changed my route, curiosity about the storm getting the best of me.
When I inquired how they all held up, a woman said, “The flooding got really bad.” Though you’d never know it now, outside of spotting random things that had washed in from the street—a hubcap, branches, candy wrappers, and other debris.
I finished the rest of my coffee as I made my way to the shelter, my thoughts constantly returning to last night. To the three of us on the couch and how comfortable it felt just talking to Foster and cuddling with his dog.
While eating my breakfast, I glanced up at The Weather Channel, noting that Foster was correct about the upcoming forecast. It would even get warmer in the afternoons, which would be a welcome change. Maybe spring had finally shaken winter’s claws.
After I finished eating, I went to Tessa’s office to see if she was free.
“Can I put my name on the waiting list?” I asked when she motioned me in.
She glanced at her computer screen. “Which list?”
“For the halfway house. You talked to me about it a few months ago.”
“That’s right.” At the time, I was a mess, and the conversation was a blur. Besides, getting a bed was always a struggle, so I learned to make do on my own.
I sighed. “I know the list is long.”
“It is.” She scrutinized me. “Why the change of heart?”
“Last night’s storm, for one.”
“Are you okay?” Her tone was one of concern.
“I almost got washed away, but a kind stranger helped me.” I screwed my eyes shut. “And it just made me…” I trailed off, unsure what I was trying to say.
“I think I understand.” Her voice was soft and sympathetic. “Any way this kind stranger would be helpful in other ways?”
“No, I couldn’t. I don’t want to impose or rely on…”
“I’ve heard that sentiment before.” She smiled sadly. “The longer you’re out there, the harder it is to transition out of survival mode. You’re early in your journey, so maybe the halfway house can help set you on the right path.”
“Appreciate it.” Why it felt better to seek help from the shelter than from a stranger, I couldn’t unpack right then. Maybe it was a pride thing.
As I traveled back over the bridge, the guardian statues coming into view, I thought about what she’d said. There was a certain freedom in not being beholden to anyone, but you also felt adrift and disconnected from the world. And that made you the underbelly of society whether you liked it or not. Some who experienced homelessness liked the idea of disappearing from society and moving about unnoticed, but many didn’t. I could see it in their eyes. And I wondered if they could see it in mine too.