Growing up in New York can be something out of a fairytale: beautiful scenery and more opportunities than you could possibly ask for. But growing up on your own here is no fairytale; it's a cold, unforgiving place, and if you're not careful, those same lights that dazzle thousands of people every day, can swallow you whole. This city makes you conform to a lifestyle most would deem "odd". That is, if they are being considerate.
Some people remember their first home-run, or their first dollar they ever made, as the moment they knew what they were born to do. I remember my first lift. Strange, I know, but it was easily the most important moment of my life. I realized that for once I no longer needed to wish for things; I could simply take them. I know what you guys are thinking: CRIMINAL! And maybe you're right, but when it's the only road you have, I'll take stealing over starving any day.
*Loud morning in the city*
Fewf, that was close. It's the third time today I've almost got squished by a cab. I have no idea how I got stuck so far on this side of town, I hate it here. It stinks; people say it's from all the car exhaust fumes, but I think it's the people. I need to find somewhere to sleep this weekend; the guy at McDonalds told me the weather's supposed to get bad and my tarp isn't gonna cut it.
Luckily the guards that lock up at my favorite hideout left the gate unlocked; I'm too tired to climb that stupid fence. Not to mention it's too late, and honestly, I would rather take on the full brunt of this storm than go back to Amy's again. Don't get me wrong, she's a nice old lady and a great cook, but why does she need four cats? I left last time looking like a giant lint roller. I'll never understand old people.
From what I could tell by asking around, this building is under a one year hold on construction. Meaning for me, at least right now, this is home. It looks to be about ten stories high and for now there is no real guess as to what it's going to be for. Most likely just another place for rich dudes in suits to meet up and talk about how much they like the smell of a new leather interior they just had installed in their BMW. Personally I like walking; even when I was little I always hated driving in cars. The area that I sleep looks to be where a security office will be in the loading dock. I haven't had the guts to actually go in and explore the building yet; it's still too risky. I have kept a close eye on the four guards that work on the building and for some reason they never choose to look back here. Most likely due to laziness, of which I'm grateful for.
My setup is pretty basic; the only thing I leave here is the mattress... well, pad, that I sleep on. It's not really a mattress, even though it says it on the label. It's more of a thin cushion than anything, just big enough for me to sleep on and yet small enough to hide easily. I also keep my water jug in here too, but it looks like one that you would bring to a construction site so I figure no one would think anything of it. I hide all my stuff behind a piece of plywood that doubles as a handy cover if I need something to hide behind.
Everything else I keep in my bag. It's an old military issued one that I found in Amy's basement; she told me I could have it since it reminded her too much of her late husband. From a change of underwear to a toothbrush, everything I need fits just right. After a few weeks of walking around with it, I didn't even notice the extra weight. Other than the basics. I have my book that I'm reading for the week and my pictures. Luckily I was able to leave with one of my family, one of my old dog and a picture of my dream house. It's really a cut-out from a flyer for a hotel in Alaska, but I always thought that one day I would live there. Somewhere away from this place; at least there when you're cold you can light a fire, wrap yourself in a fluffy warm blanket and there is all the hot chocolate you can drink.
I get myself set up for the night, put the chair in front of the door, lay down and with my pillow under my head, I drift off to sleep. Using the faint beam of light coming through the office window to illuminate the picture of my home away from home until my eyes finally shut. Goodnight Nome Alaska.
**********
"THE KEYS!" I say as the thought rips me from a deep sleep.
I remember seeing the keys hanging in the empty valet booth the guards use to take their regular naps in. I get up almost too quickly, forgetting I was just sound asleep fifteen seconds ago. As I catch myself from falling over, I pull the chair away from the door and run out into the loading dock.
Luckily it's a full moon out so I can find my way around without the almost too bright flashlight I found last week under a milk crate on the dock. I sneak my way to the valet booth and I'm excited to see that the guards are still nowhere to be found. But the door is locked... Think... think... "That's it," I whisper to myself calmly, I remember watching my cousin break into his own house one day with a credit card. I just need my knife, which is back in my bag. My exhausted mind hates the thought of running back to my office, but this may be my only chance to get some peace of mind, and hopefully, thanks to those keys, I'll never have to climb that stupid fence again.
I find my way back, this time with all the gear I could ever need. After inspecting the lock, I shimmy the knife blade into the tight opening right next to the door handle. Now, since my cousin never explained how he got the door open with the card, I have a feeling I'm going to be here for a while. In fact, the longer it's taking the more I begin to realize just how vulnerable I am right now, the very same moon that helped guide me to the valet booth is now a spotlight for the world to see my first real crime. Wait... that can't be. I mean, obviously at this point, I've trespassed many times. But that was just to find a warm place to sleep. Come to think of it, if they did see me sleeping in an abandoned office they may take pity on me and let me be. This is different, but yet somehow it doesn't feel wrong.
After a good ten minutes of poking and prodding around, I figure out that I can get the latch to budge, but not enough. In one big frustrated movement I thrust the knife though and the door swings open. In the excitement and with all the adrenaline pumping though my body, I notice a small pool of blood forming on the ground in front of me.
YOU ARE READING
Growing up a Thief
AventuraJames is a young boy who finds himself homeless on the streets of New York City. He teams up with Richie, a boy his age that's in a similar predicament and together they fine-tune their skills, in order to survive and escape their troubled past. Fol...
