The Box Has Twelve Sides: Thirteen Curious Tales to Delight and Disturb

PROLOGUE: THE FIRST SIDE

I LIVE ON THE streets, but I don't come from them.

Once, I was like you. At home, warm in front of the fire, with children and a loving wife by my side, pets pawing at the door to be let in from the cold. The cold which I now endure regularly.

Once, I lived life instead of avoiding it.

If in reading this you feel a twinge of concern, a pang of remorse, a twitch of embarrassment at my situation as opposed to yours, hats off. You're human. You feel.

The toughest things I've had to get used to are the looks I get when people finally recognize me.

I ran into an old pal of mine who used to play basketball with me at the Y on Thursday nights. I was loitering at the Hardees fast food joint downtown, sneaking packs of ketchup to mix with hot water to make tomato soup. You never know what you'll try until all the options are gone.

His first reaction, before he realized he knew this bum sitting at the table next to him, was of disgust. I'd seen it before. How could someone let themselves go, get into that type of condition? What has to happen to a person for them to sink to those depths, to run out of hope and dreams and desire? He glanced my way and immediately averted his eyes.

Then... something made him take another look. Maybe it was recognition. Most likely it was just plain curiosity. We homeless do tend to be the urban sideshow for the well-to-do masses.

He caught my eye and turned away even quicker than before. But this time I saw a recollection in his eye.

"Hello, James," I said, casually. "How's your life?"

You've got to realize what a shock it was to this guy's system. In a matter of seconds, his empathy toward me went from abhorrence to pity to recollection and remembrance. He probably hadn't had that kind of emotional swing in weeks. To say it overloaded his system was an understatement.

"Kevin? Kevin Brigman?" He was barely able to breathe the words, to exhale them from his throat. "Jesus. What...?" His breath finally exhausted.

"What happened to me? Is that what you're wondering?" I asked.

"No, no. I just... You took me by surprise. I didn't expect to run into somebody I knew downtown... down here. I don't usually..." Again, his words trailed off into nothing.

"Hey, Jimmy. It's all right. Trust me." I tried to flash him a smile, but that only succeeded in maiming his already wounded psyche. You see, I've lost most of my teeth since I've been on the streets.  The dental plan out here ain't all it's cracked up to be.

"Damn, Kev. Where've you been? The last I heard, after the separation, was that you moved into Donny Jackson's garage apartment on the other side of town...?" Still, his eyes betrayed the raw emotions running through his core. It was all he could do to sit there and not bolt for the door.

"Yeah, well, things went south, that's for sure." By this point, we both just wanted the conversation to be over as soon as possible. It was useless for both parties to drag it out. "Jim, that life is gone. I'm not the same guy I was back then. Let's just leave it at that, OK?"

"OK, Kevin. Whatever you say, man," Jim said. He started to get up and then sat back down. "You need some..."

"Money? Not a chance. Not from you. Not from anybody." Tears were starting to sting my eyes. I didn't want this conversation, the first I'd had with anybody who knew me from before, to end like this, with me breaking down, crying like a baby.

"OK. It's OK, Kev. I'm just trying to help." Jim reached out and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Just trying to make things a little better."

"Then just leave, Jim. And for God's sake, please don't tell anybody you ran into me, OK?"