Homeless Heart

Chapter 2

Phin

Unfortunately, the week in the hotel went by quickly, and although I had no real prospects, I moved out of the hotel. All I had was my backpack, and I bought myself a sleeping bag, which was now my new home. Today was my first day of living on the streets, and it was one of the worst days of my life. Sleeping in doorways or on the streets was considerably worse than it looked when you passed by people doing it. Lonely, sad, and depressing had been the feelings I'd been familiar with long before I lived on the streets.

For the first few months, I didn't know what I was doing, so I got high and drunk to cope with the loneliness and anger at my family. Living on the streets had depleted my savings quicker than I expected, and the alcohol didn't make me feel better. Luckily, I'd learned to keep my valuables and savings at the train station locker.

Of course, I got beaten up and robbed a few times, which threw me into a more profound depression. Often the men would try to start fights over a doorway or an area. I couldn't let that anger out; I'd been holding back for so long if I unleashed it on one of them, I might have killed them. Also, my fear of being shot or stabbed kept the anger under wraps, but it was always there, simmering away. I hadn't grown up on the streets, and my good looks made me an easy target to those seasoned veterans. Despite my privileged upbringing, I toughened up very quickly, so I wouldn't be a casualty like so many others out here.

I soon discovered when you're homeless; people avoid eye contact with you even if you aren't asking for money. Don't deny it; I did it too. The days became very lonely walking up and down the busy downtown streets, with the locals and new hipsters going about their business, ignoring their fellow citizens, the Invisibles. Moving up the sidewalk, you'd often be bombarded by the smell of urine, homeless asking for spare change, or street performers playing for a buck or two. I did my best not to become one of them. In the past, I'd always wondered why they didn't get a job or go home to their families who probably missed them. Having lived here now, I understood that this often wasn't a clear choice; sometimes, there was no other option. I'd found everyone here had their own unique stories and demons that kept them here. Like my own story, I realized it was complicated.

I hated being invisible; there were so many days that came and went when I never spoke a word to another human. Occasionally the other homeless people would come up to talk to me. Depending on the person, and the level of crazy or danger, I thought they might be dictated the length of our discussion. As you can imagine, many of them were mentally ill and couldn't help themselves. I discovered that many of them refused help from family or the government and chose to live this life. I heard about some homeless shelters and went to those from time to time when I could get in. If I couldn't stay the night, they at least provided refuge and food during the day. Staying at the shelters sometimes helped fight the desolation and loneliness, often finding a conversation or some work to do lifted my spirits for a short time.

During some of my early days on the streets, I'd usually sit and watch people while I got drunk in a doorway. Most days would go by in a blur of being buzzed with nothing positive or productive to do.

One day, an older black man ambled by me pushing his cart, which held all his belongings when he stopped. "Why the long face, young man? Why be sad on a day like today?"

I was sitting in a doorway minding my own business, but I was surprisingly sober for a change. The homeless man looked at me and smiled. I said nothing, as I wasn't sure if he was serious.

"You run away from home? You got to stay clean if you want to live out here." He motioned his arm around the neighborhood. "Can I sit and join you? My feet are killing me."

I nodded at him as I'd lost my ability to have any conversation with anyone. He was wearing an old pair of jeans, an oversized flannel shirt, and some well-worn work boots. His clothes were secondhand, but they looked clean enough, and I realized he didn't smell. I think most people would be put off by his shopping cart full of random possessions, which denoted a particular type of insanity in the city.

"You don't say much, kid? What's your name?" He held out his large, calloused, clean hand for me to shake it. "My name is Otis, but they call me the mayor." His arm moved away in a flourish over his domain. "As the mayor of this little spot in the world, I need to know its citizens. What's your name?"

I took his hand and cleared my throat, trying to find my voice. "My name is Phin."

"Well, that's an interesting name, Phin. How long have you been out here living in my kingdom?" The mayor's voice sounded like he'd eaten gravel cereal for breakfast, but the wisdom in his eyes told me I should listen to any knowledge he would impart to me.

"Phineas was a king in Greek mythology, but I’m named after my great-grandfather."

The mayor chuckled. "So, you are a king, that makes sense, kid. I can tell by looking at you; you don't look like you belong here. You look like royalty, kid."

I laughed at the mayor's assessment; he was correct. I was royalty in my old life; my father expected me to grow up and be a titan of industry. I never knew what I wanted to do, but I am sure I would have gone to an Ivy League college and tried to figure it out. To my father's frustration, I had no interest in his work or life. I think this only fueled the beatings and his hatred of me. "I've been living out here for a few months now. I left home, and I am not going back."

The mayor ran his hand over his face, scrubbing it in frustration, "Well, Prince Phin, there are rules you should know about living around here so you can survive in my crazy city. First, I always try to be clean. People respond better if you don't smell. As you can see, I might look crazy, but I don't smell." He chuckles at himself as he smells his armpits. I cracked a smile, which I hadn't done in a long time. There hadn't been much to laugh about on the streets.

"Second, if you want to make cash and work a little, go into some of these small coffee shops and flirt with the girls that work there and get them to give you some money or food for doing some work. Stay away from Starbucks and those chains. Go to the mom and pop shops; those places have souls. With your pretty face, you'll be able to get your way. You don't want to have to sell that face of yours for something else." He nudged me in the ribs, and I frowned, understanding his intentions. I hoped it would never come to selling my ass for money or food. A few people propositioned me, but I always politely declined their offers.

"Phin, do you stay at the shelters? If you need a place to stay, you gotta get to most of the shelters by two p.m. to be able to guarantee a bed for yourself. Offer to help at the shelters, and they will help you out even more. Most of these crazy fuckers out here want a free ride or are too nuts to help out. They love it when normal people want to help. If you get locked out of a shelter, there are some parking garages in town that you can stow yourself away in. Sleeping in stairwells is your best bet, but you often have to fight with regulars to stake them out. Watch out for those fuckers, they are often carrying knives. They'll do anything to protect their patch. During storms, those are good for protection. Don't let the pee smell put you off; it's better to be dry."

We both chuckled at his last bit of wisdom, then we sat in silence for a little while watching the people go about their lives. Other citizens of his city stopped to chat. He introduced me to a few, but others he just shooed along.

After some time, he stood up and dusted himself off. "Now be careful out here, Prince Phin, most people here are as crazy as they come, but there are people like yourself who have come on hard times. If you can stay off the booze and the drugs, you'll survive. Keep your eyes open and help out others that need it. I am helping you out; you should help someone else out when you can."

He held out his hand, so I stood up and gave him the respect he deserved and shook his hand and thanked him for his advice.

"I've got to go speak to the rest of my citizens and make my rounds. Others in my kingdom need my help, Prince Phin. Keep that pretty face safe, and I'll check on you to see how you're doing soon." Standing there, he looked up at the sky and looked at his wrist in an attempt to check an imaginary watch that wasn't there. "Looks like rain; it's getting late; you better find a place to stay." He walked away, singing an unrecognizable song, pushing his cart, looking up at the sky.

I shouted at him. "Thanks, Mayor." He didn't turn around, he just waved, pushing his cart through the streets of his kingdom, addressing his subjects.

Talking to the mayor that day changed my life on the streets. I got straight, tried to get a regular place to sleep and stay clean. Keeping clean was a challenge, but I worked hard to gain access to the shelter showers and gas station bathrooms. My valuables were stashed in a plastic bag in a locker at the train station, so I carried my backpack, which contained some clean clothes, my book, and some granola bars. The laundry I was able to do at the shelters. As the mayor suggested, I often flirted with the girls at the coffee shops, and they gave me work to do to make some cash. The work kept me busy and was a nice distraction from the loneliness. Once or twice I'd taken the girls up on a warm bed and some company, but I turned them down when they wanted to have more of a relationship. Feeling ashamed of my living situation and not wanting to explain why I was living on the streets. I never wanted to take the chance of getting too close to anyone. Staying clean, finding food and a place to sleep was a full-time job, so my days now passed in a flash. There would be time for love or relationships later.