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We've been homeless for quite a while now. Noah and I barely think about it anymore though. We kind of have this silent agreement between us that if we were meant to get out of this, it would've happened already.
Noah was smart passed his years; especially since he's only an eight and a half year old. I try what I can in teaching him things like morals, and how to do things; but I've found that he easily figures things out on his own. I find myself jealous of him sometimes in how he views the world.
He views it as this blank canvas; empty, but filled with potential. I view it as this fire breathing monster that desires nothing more but to swallow us whole, regurgitate us, and devour us a second time to make us feel the pain again. He has always been hopeful of this life, even though everything he's been through. That was something I always admired of him.
Even though I am further along life than he is, I feel he can read in between the lines of people's hearts better than a 40 year old with life experience, even though he can't even read. This kid's wisdom trumps mine. I don't know where the hell he got it from but he sure didn't get it from me.
I try to teach him how to read and write sometimes but I try to refrain from it because due to his poor eyesight and dyslexia, it easily gives him migraines. I remember them trying to teach him back at the orphanage, where they branded "dyslexic" into his side; whispering it quietly to one another behind their black robes as if it were a curse word.
They'd hit his hands with rulers and make him kneel on bottle caps for long periods of time every time he swapped his P's and Q's. He still carries the scars like battle wounds on his knees in remembrance of that god forsaken place.
They never treated us well there, not once. So we escaped, together. We left the place that I've come to realize was just a waiting room; a waiting room with bars on its windows and no magazines to pass time. We planned our escape the second we found that children were disappearing and they weren't being adopted. We never got to find out the truth hidden behind those closed doors. Being a vagabond is so much better than that life; only problem is, finding food is an issue sometimes.
The sound of a beached whale shook me once again from my thoughts. Looking over to Noah, he clutched his stomach in hunger. "Hungry, buddy?" he shook his head in immediate response. Without second thought, I got up from my place against the cold brick wall and exited our alley; Noah followed quickly behind.
Walking through the streets, a homeless person was always in sight. It was a normal thing. But oddly enough, the fortunate people despised us so and because of that, handouts are hard to come by.
We steal to get what we need. Whether it is from the fortunate folk or from each other, stealing made this community not trust each other. The spine of this community is built upon rage, greed, and a stench of overbearing narcissism. Vanity was also an accessory that seemingly went well with every outfit and every occasion.
The well off people and us unfortunate never really got along and I doubt we ever will. They see us dirty and greedy, we see them gluttonous pigs. In my opinion it sounds the same. We are the same. Both sides of this west side story are stubborn fools that have the inability to hate on themselves, so they despise one another. Around here, a man that begs for his meal for the day normally suffices from unwanted scraps and criticism. We are frowned upon. Because of that, we eat or be eaten.
As we walked the pavement, Noah held my hand for me to guide him. I've always been concerned for Noah and his eyes but I can't do anything about it. I have no money to offer and the civilians would rather be beaten than help a helpless.
At the corner of my eye I notice Noah playing with something. He held a bare, cardboard, paper towel roll near his eye looked around through it. "What you got there?" I asked him. "A telescope. It helps me see." I grinned at his idea.
He was always doing things like this. He came up with ideas to help make our situation easier and I was happy for that. Even though most of the things he makes aren't much, they mean the world to me. "Clever." I commented, looking to him, his eyes glistened with accomplishment while mine with delight. I love this little boy so much.
I remember the night Noah hurt his eyes.
We used to live on the "better" side of town at the time, down in the forest. We managed to make a small tent style shelter out of sticks and logs. We liked it there. In the morning we'd wake to birds and fresh morning breezes, now, all we wake to is garbage and exhaust fumes.
We'd go down to the lake, following the path id created, to swim and shower ourselves. Noah had actually built a swing from the highest tree there and we'd scream and dive from the highest rocks, dodging the jagged ones from down below.
Until one night, I remember it clearly, unlike the smoke that clouded the air. It was the fourth of July and Noah and I had our feet in the lake as we watched the beautiful explosions in the sky. It looked as if the constellations were having a celebration among themselves.
When the night was coming to a close, and the eruptions died down almost completely, we decided to go to bed. Noah crawled into the tent first and I followed. He laid his small body beside me and I threw the one old ragged sheet we stole from the orphanage over his him. I tucked in the sheet under his back and peppered kisses on his forehead.
"Scar?" he asked just as my eyes were closing, heavy with sleep. "Yes?" "Thank you for everything. I love you."
And with that he rolled over and went to sleep. I was awake now, shaking as silent sobs left my body. I ended up crying myself to sleep.
I am not worthy enough to have Noah as a brother. He was kind, mature, and undoubtably loving. I know one day he will meet a girl and he will treat her with the uttmost respect. i am not worried about him finding the right girl because even though he cant really see, he knows if someone is pure. He will be able to know if the girl is right for him or not. I hope he doesnt find a girl like me. Girls like me dont deserve any kind of hapinees.
Later that night, in my dreams, it felt so warm to my frostbitten toes as I swam through fire. It sent electricity through every nerve in my body for the lick of the flame did not harm me. I didn't have to hold my breath as I watched the bright oranges and yellows dance in my eyesight.
I suddenly looked down to see Noah drowning. I was so excited and happy that I had forgotten he couldn't swim. I jumped awake from my sleep and didn't hear fireworks but I heard the crinkle of fire and the smell of smoke coated thick in the air. Fire. I poked me head out to see fire. Our beautiful surroundings were being sacrificed to the flames. I looked around to see Noah not beside me. Noah had a habit of sneaking out of the tent at night to explore.
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Hope y'all enjoyed.
stay alive |-/
»b.r.l.«
