Destitute

Preface

The leaves on the trees glistened of a pumpkin orange, deepen through a wine red, and fell into a golden pile of breathless leaves mixed with tender poison ivy. It seems we all transform in colors through out seasons, and fall right into poison ivy--better known as our weakness. The fall of man, creation has failed us all. Adam and Eve specifically, but we can only breathe and see now, not then. Original sin is everywhere, we are born through and into it. There is no way around it, so we face it day, by day.

Andre had been sitting near a metal green and black garbage can for hours now. The concrete served his legs a cold surface and his bed throughout the night. He contemplated whether or not anyone would see him intrigue through the trash for left over food. The night was falling and so was his confidence, his stomach gargled. Andre slid his back up the brick wall and stood onto his two feet. Reaching his hand in the garbage, his fingers grasped empty plastic bags and empt bottles. Nothing seemed to nurture his stomach, not tonight.

Cari peered her big hazel eyes over the edge of the window and watched Andre pick through the garbage. "Ew mommy, that man is picking in the trash. And he looks dirty." Her four year old tone was soft and disgusted. Her twenty-three year old mother dialed her ex-boyfriend's number a numerous amount of times and ignored her daughter's comment.

The rain trolled over the windshield and windows, blinding Cari of her view from watching Andre. He finished looking for the second time and gave up. His heart was wrenching and stomach starving. He picked up his sling bag and peered out into the rain that had just began. He could come back to his spot under the bench after he salvaged something to eat. The hospital where he slept every night did not bother him, mostly because he kept himself well hidden. On his way towards the closest restaurant, he could not even look up before a car plunged right into the side of his abdomen and he is shot down to the pavement. An excruciating groan escapes his dry, salmon lips as he holds his face towards he ground. He listens as a car door slams and heels approach his peripheral.

Cari closely watches her mother walk up to Andre on the ground and is eager to get out of her carseat.

"My God! I'm so, so sorry!" Stephanie kneels towards the man and flicks her heels off to the side. She needed to give this man her utmost attention as she is too guilty not to. She was paying attention to her phone and not what was in front of her. Sounds like today's society. "Are you alright?" Her voice waivers and she gulps watching the man wince.

"I've been through worse ma'am." His voice was a depth she wasn't expecting as she watched his biceps flex, he sat up to rub the side of his cheek. It bled of a rough patch of skin removed.

"Can I help you? Do you need some rubbing alcohol? I can run inside and get you some!" Her offers were loud and abrupt. Her voice pitched loudly from her anxiousness, she wanted to assure the man was okay.

"No, I am okay. I promise." But Andre was not okay. He had been homeless for two years last week. Couldn't find a job, afford a home, car, or insurance. His family resided in Washington state, on the other side of the country. He was certainly not okay, but had to pretend. What time did he have to allow people to help him? He did not desire to burden them of his issues or down and out situations. "Have a nice one." He murmurs.

Stephanie then realizes how she ignored her daughter's comment from earlier, she realized she was talking about a man but not what he had been doing. She pursed her lips and stood to pleat her skirt. Stepping back into her black heels, she extends out her thin hand to help the man up. She figured if she saw his disposition or appearance she could determine more about him. His hand touched hers with a slight eagerness. He hadn't touched anyone in what felt like years. When he was given money from strangers they were too afraid to touch him. As if he was some devil sent disease, like he was poison ivy. She watched as his sweatpants swung below his waist, his dirty white T-shirt ripped and teared, along with his beaten up shoes. His hair was a head full of blonde curls, face unshaved with a full beard and mustache. His eyes were a dozen roses red and the tattoos over his yellow skin made him paler underneath the roofed drop of section in front of the hospital doors. Stephanie realized, he was homeless. It was evident, wasn't it?

She was a loss of words as he stood with his hands plunged in his pockets. He was beyond nervous, Andre did not have a sense of human interaction but twice a week-- if that.

"Thanks for seeing if I was alright-"

"My name is Stephanie." She abruptly says, the weight in her throat was heavy as she didn't know how to go about this. She wanted to do something to assist him, but she also needed to get her daughter into bed soon. It was getting late and she had not even fed her dinner.

"Hi." His voice was quiet and scared, he was an awkward blunder because of her uniqueness. She was not like all the other people he had met along his two years of being homeless. The others would barely slide open the window to hand him a dollar, or hesitate to hand him anything, even call out that he was faking. But at least he was acknowledged, most of the time he was purely ignored. Like he didn't even exist. Could you even begin to imagine what it feels like to be invisible?

Stephanie chuckled before looking down at her soaking tights and let out a breath. "W-what's yours? Your name?"

"Andre, it was nice meeting you." He turns with ease and expects her to do the same, but something told him to turn around. There she was, in the same spot. He wanted to turn his head again and continue walking, but he did not.

"Oh, well goodnight Andre." She says with a beautiful smile. He sees the joy in her eyes as she heads back to the drivers side of her car. Andre knew he shouldn't have turned around again, she was not going to help him like he second-thought she would. He should've known nobody wanted to help him. And into the night he went, another night starving under the subtle rain and stars. It's okay, he's gotten used to it now. He is used to being the outcast, poison ivy at that. One touch of him and you're infected right? He is a destitute, not sickly.

•••
This is inspired by one afternoon where I was at the hospital for my dad. We were waiting for my mom to pull through the pick up/ drop off so we could go home. I watched a homeless man dig into trash and eat whatever he could. However I did not do anything to help him. Next time you see a homeless person, be a helping hand, I am sure they will appreciate it. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the kingdom of heavens is theirs.