“I’ll sleep on the floor by the ottoman,” I said without looking up, “How’s that?”
Ethan shook his head and lowered his fork to his plate, “Wouldn’t even think of letting you do that.”
“The upstairs bedroom is full of junk and doesn’t even have furniture, so it’s not an option,” Cade sighed as he glanced upward toward the second floor.
I cut a perfect sized bite of enchilada and held the fork to my mouth as I glanced toward Ethan, “Well, I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”
“Sleep with me then,” he shrugged.
Oh dear God.
I attempted unsuccessfully to swallow the enchiladas. After the second attempt, I searched the table for my water as I began to cough. After choking on the food, and later choking on the water, I glanced at him with watering eyes and continued to cough between the words as I tried to speak.
This was difficult for me to say, but I needed to know one way or the other.
“Okay…” I said in a low scratchy tone.
After clearing my throat, I continued, “As long as it’s understood. No sex.”
He shook his head and reached for his fork, “Hadn’t even crossed my mind.”
I raised my glass of water to my lips and gazed at the ceiling over his head.
Thank you.
ETHAN
I stared up at the ceiling and studied the shadows. Because I refused to pull the blinds, the blue-white glow from the street lights never really allowed it to be totally dark in my bedroom. I preferred the dimly lit room much more than the darkness, it reminded me of moonlight. My choosing to let the light from the fifteen foot long, ten foot tall windows seep in allowed me to feel less confined; almost as if I were sleeping outside. I raised my hands to my chest, crossed my arms, and broke the awkward silence.
I rolled my head to the side and stared at the silhouette of her face against the almost spiritual glow the streetlights cast around her, “Describe yourself in one word.”
She tilted her head to face me, “What do you mean?”
“In one word, describe yourself,” I repeated.
“Short,” she laughed.
“That’s not a good description. Describe everything about you in one word. Not your height, but everything about you. Sum it up in one word,” I said under my breath as I continued to study her.
“Okay, hold on. Uhhm, I’d say…I’d have to say I was…Yeah, let’s go with this,” she hesitated and appeared to close her eyes.
As she opened her eyes, she continued, “Transparent.”
I uncrossed my arms, pressed my elbows into the mattress, and sat up, “What? Not at all. Try again.”
She rolled her head back and forth on the pillow, “You want accuracy? That’s my description. Now, it’s your turn.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll go with determined,” I responded.
“Nice to know,” she said as she gazed up at the ceiling.
Still sitting up in the bed, I crossed my arms and gazed down at her, “Now, back to what you said. Why would you describe yourself as transparent?”
She shrugged as she began to sit up, “I don’t know, maybe because for my entire life, no one paid any attention to me. It’s been kind of like I don’t exist. I think transparent is accurate. It’s like I’m invisible.”
I swallowed heavily as I thought of the difficult time she must have had as a child, “I’m sorry your feel that way.”
She turned her head and gazed out the window, “I don’t feel this way. It’s just how my life has been. My mother was beautiful, but eventually became addicted to morphine and pills. And I’d guess you’d have to call her an alcoholic; that is if you were going to call her anything. My stepfather was a monster. She wouldn’t protect me from him so I left.”
Although I wondered and felt compelled to ask, Cade and I had agreed not to ask her anything about her homelessness, and I intended to keep my promise. If she offered, I decided I’d listen, but I wasn’t going to push the subject. Now that she brought it up, I wanted to know more.
“When did you…or how old were you when you left?” I asked.
She turned to face me and stared with an expressionless face. I gazed at her, wishing I could see the blue in her eyes.
“Fifteen,” she responded flatly.
“You’ve been homeless ever since?” I asked.
“No, I moved out at fifteen. I lived with a girlfriend. She was going to go to the Community College in El Dorado after we graduated, so I moved out when high school was over. After about six months on my own, I lost my job and…well…I couldn’t make it with bills and stuff. I just…I don’t know, being homeless seemed easier. There’s very little pressure,” she shrugged.
“So this might sound weird, but do you like it? Being homeless?” I asked.
“I’ve been telling myself so for four years. I started out east, and eventually moved south. I’d been living on the south side for a little more than a year. It got pretty rough. I uhhm. Well…yeah…glad that’s over. So, finally, I’d had enough of it and moved downtown. Probably about the time you saw me the first time. You said you saw me a month ago, right?” she asked as she ran her hands through her hair.
I swallowed a lump which had developed in my throat and nodded my head.
“Yeah,” I responded dryly.
“Well, that’s when I moved here. I decided I needed a change. I’ve been sleeping wherever I can find a place; it’s easy in the summer, but winter’s a real bitch. I just didn’t really want to go to that park or the bridge at Kellogg. I kept telling myself things were going to change for me, but coming down here made me realize things weren’t going to change for me because I moved,” she paused and sighed deeply.
“If I wanted to see change, I was going to have to make it. I just haven’t come up with a plan yet,” she said.
“You said the south side was pretty rough. What was, well, what was different about it?” I asked.
She turned toward the window and stared for a long moment before she responded. Eventually, the words came in a quiet, almost monotone voice, “There were these guys. They forced me to do things. Bad things. This one, he was the uhhm, kind of like the leader. He kept finding me, over and over. So he took me to this old building, and he uhhm. He said…he told me it was where I had to stay…for the uhhm, well, at night. If I left, he’d find me. That’s what he said. He’d find me. And then, one day it wasn’t one of them. It was just…” she paused and swallowed audibly.
I was beginning to feel almost sick. The thought of what she must have been through began to sink in. Before I could arrange words to express my feelings, she continued.
“It was a blur. Like just over and over. I thought it wasn’t going to end. Then I woke up, and there was no one there. I laid there for a long time. I slept a lot. It was like it sucked life out of me. I couldn’t even stand up for a long time. I don’t know. Maybe three or four days or so I was in there, wondering if they were going to come back the whole time. I drank uhhm. They uhhm, they left some of their beers and stuff. I don’t know. So, finally I got up and…yeah. So that’s when I came here.”
I pressed my biceps into the backs of my hands and squeezed my chest with my forearms as I glanced beyond her and toward the building across the street. Comprehending being homeless, and attempting to understand magnitude of her life and what she had lost - once I started to think about it seriously - was extremely difficult if not completely impossible. Attempting to do so caused me to feel selfish for thinking I had any problems at all.
“It goes without saying, but I’m uhhm. I’m sorry,” I hesitated and cleared my throat, “If you got to pick, you know, if you could snap your fingers and change things, would you choose to be homeless?” I asked.