Chapter 2 Beggar - What you do in the dark will bite you
It was the same day, November 8th, that the system swallowed me in. I had no choice. Forced into it and for 2 weeks like any other 12-year-old faced with shit luck I stuck it out for a peanut butter sandwich in the morning and stale crackers at night.
But when your foster dad rapes you, you get the fuck out of dodge.
I did. But only after I took a tin opener to his throat.
I left the other kids in that shit hole and took my chances alone on the streets. I was bleeding and violated. My private places ached, but I didn't seek a hospital or anyone's help.
Instead I made my way to the train station that night and cleaned myself up in the public bathroom that smelled like shit and puke. But to me, it was just another day of surviving; just another day in this fucked up-ness we call life.
The tissue paper I used to wipe the evidence away as the tear leaked silently down my cheek, was the one thing I made sure of, to never let happen again.
9 years have passed since then. Not much has changed in my life. No magical happenings or great jobs.
I didn't even finish school.
I’m still living on Washington streets. Still begging for scraps, because no one wants to hire a homeless 21-year-old with no I.D. I tried, many, many times.
I even tried stripping; apparently you need a ‘P H D’ to do that too.
Only now the cold is making it fucking hard to even breathe. But nothing is making me come out of my spot in-between the dumpsters. This is like a fucking luxury hotel in my world. I could get a good 3 or 4 hours sleep here.
The owner of Lazers saw me around a few times, he said he wanted to talk to me tonight when the place closed. I only agreed because he offered me a hot meal, something I’ve never had before. And I'm sure I can take him if he tries anything. I haven't lived this long being nice.
To survive years on the streets, you need rules. The first one is never trust anyone. You do that and you’d have no one to identify your body. You’d be lucky it even made it to the morgue. Or worse, you could end up sold as a fucking prostitute for small pocket change. There’s no way out of that one. Those pimps get you hooked on any crap they feel like sticking up your veins and it isn't always drugs.
The second rule- if you're a female, always stink, even if you manage to get to the river or a tap. You never clean up too nicely. Smelling bad keeps fuckers away.
The third rule- don't think someone is your friend, there's no fucking friends in this place, everybody wants something. I made that mistake a few times and almost got shot by a street gang last year, when this girl Tally told them I stole her drugs, the same drugs she shot up her veins.
And the fourth, and this is an important one, never steal. Many of us do, well most. I did it one time, just once, to a kid 2 years ago. I was fucking cold and hadn't eaten for days. I saw him stash a ten in the front pocket of his hoody and thought fuck it. I got the hoody, but only after he beat the fuck out of me. It turned out he was only short and was actually 17.
After he beat me, he took pity on me and gave me a hundred, it was sick, but I took the cash and it kept me fed for months. Since then, I hadn't had any problems. No run ins with trouble, well at least not anything worth adding to my nightmares. I never said I'm innocent.
You'd think I went through hell to survive on the street. Truth is, us homeless folks are all trying to survive. We spend more time fighting against nature and saving our strength until our next meal than we do fighting each other. Not to say that I have a clean slate or it's all peachy.
The back door next to the red dumpsters I'm resting between bangs open,
“I'm fine Zero!” A sweet female voice says.
“Den and Spades with us,” Her heels click so close to me. I still.
“I didn't want you to worry. I wanted to come.” There’s a pause, no footsteps.
“You know I will.” Her voice softens.
I roll my eyes, it's obviously a guy.
I liked a boy once, blue eyes, red Curly hair. He worked by the supermarket down town, he was cute, around my age now. I think I was fourteen or fifteen.
I used to beg three blocks away from the supermarket and instead of saving for a loaf of bread, the moment I had enough cash I went to the store to buy a lollipop. This happened on average- twice a day.
I’d wash my face and tidy myself up before I got there and I’d smile. I hated smiling, but he was cute.
The first few times I went, he scowled, looking at me like I'm gonna steal, as if.
About a week later a sign was posted on the display window, ‘no homeless folks allowed’.
I didn't think it meant me, I made sure to clean up before I entered the place. I didn't have my always stink rule at that time, so I didn't think I looked homeless.
So, I was surprised when a few steps into the supermarket, he came storming up to me with a security guy trailing behind him screaming,
“Didn't you see the sign. No beggars, get your dirty ass outa here.”
People stopped and watched but nobody said anything. I never liked a boy again, in fact when I see them, I look the other way except one time. One other time I liked a man. One other time I thought I loved him with all my heart. One other time and it was the last.