The Wilderness
The sun woke him up. A harsh yellow brightness struck his closed eyelids and he was immediately awake. The blue interior of his tent was lit up. He looked around. Small camping stove. Some socks. An almost empty cup of water to his right, cold to the touch by the overnight chill. His old alarm clock to his left. He slept in his pants from last night and his puffy jacket felt immediately too hot. He sat straight up and felt ready to start his day. A day in the wilderness.
He stepped out of his tent and was assaulted by the sound of the 38 Geary pulling up to his concrete real estate. He saw finely dressed people with earbuds step into the bus, after awkwardly avoiding the homeless’ request for spare change. The bus slugged away and his neighbors just went back to meandering around. No one had anything to do except for just surviving the day. Maybe someone would find a cigarette butt and smoke it to its end. Maybe someone would get a dollar. Maybe someone would score some rock.
He stood still outside of his tent and looked at his world. Random puddles of smelly street water, a brightness that was deafening, and the stench of weed and body odor. The intense morning brightness was matched by the harsh cold breeze. Men and women sat in wheelchairs, slowly rolling them backwards with their feet. There were crushed empty cans of Steel Reserve and cheap vodka lying in the sidewalk gutters. People were slumped over in seemingly impossible sleeping positions. Their bodies were contorted and cramped, pipes in the hands as they slept off the thing that the pipes gave them.
Broken people walked around, but just barely; their bodies bent at the waist. Bent backs were everywhere. The crippled rattled around at speeds that were slightly faster than standing still. They struggled around like poorly constructed tables. He could never figure out how someone could allow their body to become so misshapen and yet still mobile. But he went to sleep last night on the sidewalk at the age of 31 so he had no idea how anything made sense. People stood while sleeping, their subtle and slow swaying the only indication they’re still alive.
Lisa shambled up to him and asked for a dollar. She did this almost every day. They were both living on the street. Where was he gong to get a dollar? He preferred to not beg for temporary monetary salvation but getting a dollar from a stranger was like finding gold. In this life, having a dollar wasn’t like a game of Hot Potato; if you got one you weren’t just going to pass it along. If he were to get a dollar, there was no way he was going to give it to Lisa.
The sidewalk was a row of tents. Like a neighborhood of campers. But camping is temporary; living on the street is almost always permanent. No one was doing anything and probably never would. Their lives moved almost as slowly as their tattered bodies. It seemed like no one picked their feet up when they walked. The denizens of this little neighborhood just shuffled around with no urgency. Except for the people who walked around way too fast due to the chemicals they just put into their bloodstreams with their twitchy, erratic arm movements. Compared to all of these other people, Sam was a wild success.
He’d been living on this street for 5 months now. His life unraveled quickly after he was fired for masturbating at work. He couldn’t talk his way out of that one. He was fired immediately when his boss walked in on him. The fact that he was masturbating at his boss’s desk was kind of the nail in the coffin.
The savings quickly eroded, as did the friends’ couches he bounced to and from. This sleeping on the street situation was only supposed to be temporary, just a little dip in the story of his life. But with no address it was almost impossible to find a job. He had hope for an ascension but it seemed so far away. Sam watched Lisa stumble across the street toward the corner store, wondering how she was going to pay for her AM booze, as Teddy stepped up from his right.
“Got any?”
“No.”
“Worthless asshole.” And Teddy shambled away.
Sam didn’t drink or do drugs, which made getting through his days excruciating. The street was littered with not only litter, but people slumped against walls who might not wake up. And if they did it would be to score the same substance that would put them back in the same stupor they just woke from. Overnight, someone had set a recycling bin on fire. The melted plastic was still smoking a bit, which filled the putrid air with more stench.
The brightness of the morning sun was overwhelming. Everything was bright. Cars drove by and he could feel the drivers’ eyes judging him and his plight. He was embarrassed and ashamed of what he had let his life become. He didn’t know what to do or how to do it.
Leonard was walking his dog across the street. As painful as it was to be homeless, seeing a homeless pet is far worse. A homeless pet has homelessness thrust upon them. Leonard had been living out here for years and his face and posture exuded it. His dirty coat seemed ten times as dirty as it did yesterday. Leonard’s desperate and desolate years had transformed him into something subhuman. His dog, Muffins, actually walked depressed, her head slouched down as he barely kept up with Leonard. Muffins was a Golden Retriever, one of the most upbeat breeds of dog, and this lady dog dragged her paws across the filthy sidewalk. For some bizarre reason, Leonard had put little dog shoes on Muffins’ paws. Probably for protection from old needles and broken window glass that seemed to define the neighborhood. Leonard cared about his dog’s feet more than he cared about himself. Still, Muffins trudged along with a desolation that seemed almost human. And those red spots on Leonard’s dirty coat wasn’t ketchup.
He decided to walk around a bit. He walked down Geary and took a left at the Thai place. Packs of people clogged sidewalks, forcing the brave pedestrians to weave their way through and the fearful to cross the street to avoid the horde. Baby strollers filled with belongings. Blankets were laid out on the gray pavement, random items carefully laid out items for sale. Socks. Batteries. 90s DVDs. Diapers. Rows of deodorant, seldomly purchased based on almost visible smell in the air, sat in the middle of a blanket.
“Hey Jerry. How much for the Speedstick?” It was the closest he’d get to a shower today.
“How much you got on you?”
Sam dug his hand into his left hip pocket, searching for money. It was mainly filled with coins so it took a while to pull everything out and count them. Jerry seemed annoyed at the length of the transaction.
Rolling coins and very crumbled dollar bills in his hands, he came up with, “Seven thirty-one.”
Jerry, eyes stone-cold, “Eight.”
“Seriously?”
Jerry stared at Sam, his face unreadable but calculations were happening behind those eyes.
“Seven fifty.”
Sam checked every pocket he had. Jacket pockets, inside pocket, back pockets, front shirt pocket of his button down, hoodie pocket. He scrounged around, not too quickly so he wouldn’t look desperate. He found some extra change and handed everything over to Jerry.
Jerry handed Sam the deodorant with no eye contact. “Enjoy.”
Sam stuck his right hand up his left armpit and wiped the Speedstick up and down a few times, then switched hands to work the right pit. He put the stick in his back pocket as he entered the café he frequented.
He saw his favorite barista, May. She was gorgeous and sweet. He could never tell if her sweetness was sincere or placating but he knew her beauty was for sure sincere.
“Hi Sam, how are you this morning, sweetie? The usual?”
The “usual” was ice water and a banana.
“Hi May. Umm, I ran out of money a few minutes ago but I don’t want charity. I’d be happy to wash plates or carry the coffee bags around to pay for the water and banana.”
The sadness in May’s eyes almost made Sam openly weep. He knew those sad eyes were for him and he felt cut. “I got you on this one.” She gave him a large plastic cup of ice water and 3 bananas. And a wink.
Sam smiled as best he could but he could feel his head tilt downward, his shame acting as gravity as he turned to exit. It seemed like the day was even brighter outside. Shade was impossible to find. The brightness was overwhelming. The harsh breeze coupled with the brash sunlight was very frustrating. He had no where to go so he just walked around, viewing every denizen as the cautionary tale he was terrified of becoming.
He wanted to ask May out on a date. But where would he take her? Back to his street tent? Not all that romantic. What would they talk about? The issue with his boss’s desk? The camping stove? Her dynamic future compared to his rapid decline? She deserved better. He wasn’t sure he did, but he was positive she did.
He had no money now. The deodorant felt like a healthy purchase but who was he trying to smell good for? That beggar, Lisa? He worked hard to retain some sense of humanity and hygiene but with each day, it seemed increasingly pointless. As he walked on the littered sidewalk, he could feel the ball of his left foot briefly touch the ground. A hole. A hole was developing in his left shoe. This was bad. As the shoe would eventually erode, the next victim would be his sock. Sock death was the main thing to avoid. But it seemed inevitable.
He walked up the street, slowly eating one of the bananas. He needed to make May’s generosity last the day. Within 4 blocks he was in another world. Soft piles of fly ridden feces on the street were replaced with beautiful trees, casting restful shade on the clean sidewalk. Beautiful homes with beautiful people living within. He doubted many of the people of these houses had ever jerked off at their boss’s desk. He reached a peak and felt winded. He sat down on a bench. The bench felt good. The closest thing to a bench in his neighborhood were graffitied bus stops. The bench felt like he was back in a normal world. He sat and pretended he was waiting for his normal bus line to take him to work. He pretended very hard. But he knew his truth. He was going nowhere.
He glanced diagonally across the street and suddenly realized he was in Kelly’s neighborhood. He stared at her building, her bay window charmingly jutting out towards the sun. He wasn’t bothering her anymore. She had made it loud and clear that they were done. Her loudness made it the clearest. He accidentally walked up this way and just happened to find himself catty corner from her apartment. He missed her but he knew he didn’t deserve her. Somehow that made it easier to be let go of. He stared through the window, hoping yet dreading to catch a glance of Kelly. The lobby door opened and he suddenly saw her. She looked glorious. The loveliest woman in the world by a large margin. She looked happy as she pulled her handbag over her shoulder, black sunglasses holding her short hair back. She seemed to be in a rush. Sam began to stand to maybe approach her and maybe reconnect. And apologize again. She took a few steps and then a man followed her out of the building. Shit. Sam sat back down. The new guy. He looked familiar but couldn’t be placed. He was handsome but in a very basic way. He wore a blue shirt and khakis. The uniform of a finance guy. He was tall, of course, and he quickly matched her pace. He put his arm around her and leaned his head gently into hers. She beamed. Sam took a banana bite and his shame felt like lava.
They walked up the small incline, arms around each other’s waists in an annoyingly blissful way. At the peak, they turned right and strode down the hill. They disappeared beneath the top of the street. Sam noticed a new stain on his jacket.
“Hey Sam”
Startled, he looked to his right and saw May standing above him.
“Hi May.”
“May I sit down? That’s my little joke.”
“Mi bench su bench” Sam scooted over. “What are you doing up here?”
“I’m on a little break right now so I took a little walk. How’s the banana?”, she said as she crossed her leg.
“Potassiumy. Thanks again. Where do you live?”
“The Panhandle. Big, silly Victorian. Me and, nine of my girlfriends. It’s quite the existence.”
“That must be nice.”
“It’s fine. Lauren is a slob. It’s like she was raised by messy bears. She doesn’t know how to work a sponge and she’s gigantic.”
“She sounds lovely. And furry.”
“She does love salmon.” May took a bite from her breakfast sandwich.“What do you have going on today?” Another bite. A little bit of fried egg dribbled down her chin. She wiped it off with the heel of her hand.
“Less than nothing. I’m trying to figure it out.”
“What’s ‘it’?”
“Absolutely everything.” Banana bite.
A heavy silence hung in the air. They could both hear each other chew.
“It’s a rough city, this place.”, May said.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes and this is my punishment. I deserve this but I don’t know how to get out of it.”
“I live with nine people, 4 who bathe regularly, and I work 3 jobs just to survive. But things will get better”
“Three jobs? You have three jobs?! I can’t even get one!” A harsh, cold wind struck from the west, blowing Sam’s banana out of his hand. He and May watched it tumble down the street.
“Things just keep getting better.” He took out another banana and took a bite.
A bus pulled up the hill slowly and lurched to a sloppy stop. The doors flashed open. People lazily descended outwards.
“I should go.” He had nowhere to go but he needed to go somewhere. He felt bad taking up May’s time.
In between sandwich bites, May said, “Maybe four bananas tomorrow.” She took another bite and with her mouth full, another dribble of fried egg on the corner of her mouth, said, “Just in case.” Sam tried to smile.
He stepped up in the back door and found a seat on the upper level, facing forward. He immediately noticed the woman seated in front of him, her bare feet placed on the small, square metal barrier. Disgusting. He didn’t understand how he was on the same bus with a person who would do this. And she was dressed nicely, professionally. A public bus isn’t your living room, lady, it doesn’t matter if you’re a lawyer or CPA. Given this neighborhood, those were two likely professions.
There was a man further away from him, seated and slumped over, eating a loaf of white bread. He devoured each slice within seconds. His cane fell over and it took work for him to retrieve it. He went back to the bread. His cane didn’t divulge his age; he was clearly in his twenties. His poorly maintained beard was dotted with crumbs of cheap bread. The loaf was eaten quickly and with eager desperation.
Busy people stood around, necks bent at their phones. Sam remembered when he had a phone and committed the same addiction to the device. He had no phone anymore; he had a tent and an alarm clock. These people were on their way to their jobs. They stood around, absent of one another, backpacks in full flourish. They stood on the bus with bulging backpacks, no one caring about the space they were taking up. They stood like selfish, benign turtles, the backpacks making the bus much more compacted than it would be had anyone given a shit.
A man sat to Sam’s right, across the aisle. He had several bags. Backpacks, Wholefoods tote bags. Bags of random but necessary items. This man was rummaging through the bags, resetting and reorganizing. He wouldn’t stop moving. It wasn’t fidgety, it was determined and focused but it looked meaningless. Sam was infuriated. “Stop moving!”, his mind screamed. Just stay still for 2 minutes and settle yourself. The constant hand movements and idiotic adjustments to his belongings made Sam crave for his destruction.
He had no idea where he was going. He just needed to be on the move. The guy behind him was watching a very loud show on his phone. Everyone could hear the show from his phone. Even being in the homeless situation in which he currently resided, Sam felt more evolved than this guy. No one wants to listen to your awful show and the fact that he didn’t understand this was infuriating. The selfishness with which people behaved was unpalatable. Sam was homeless because he jerked off at his boss’s desk. Who hasn’t done that at least twice? But this guy was listening at full volume to some stupid show on his phone on the bus. Who would punish him? Nothing seemed fair. On the bus, a man came on, physically stunted emotional distraught. He held a long walking stick, like a tall Yoda. At one point he bent over in his seat, ducked his head and seemed to be on the verge of horrible tears. This happened 3 times, his weathered face wrinkled like a decaying pumpkin. Then he popped in a Lifesaver, green. Then his phone came out. We all have ways of dealing with torn up lives. The young guy bent over, staring at his hid 2 cellphones. The top of his back stuck out due to how low his head was pointed down at his phones, neck at a completely horizontal angle. He was joined by a worthless woman in a camo SF Giants cap, also bent, she at the waist and he at the neck.
Sam got off at the next stop with disgust and with nowhere to go.
He sat on the bus stop bench and just stared. Was this going to be it? Was this going to be his life? He felt dirty, a sheen of filth from not being able to shower. He looked down and saw a small tear in his jeans. Like hopelessness, the tear would quickly expand. First the socks and now his pants. Things were falling apart at a faster rate than he had anticipated. Sam walked down the street aimlessly. The trees gave him intermittent shade. He relished.
He crossed the street and saw a small brown box sitting on a small brick ledge, belonging to a large, beige Victorian house. It looked like a take-out box from a restaurant. Would he? He felt a precipice. This felt like this would determine his current status. He looked down at the box like he was looking into a definition. May’s generous bananas wouldn’t last all day so he at least needed to take a peek. Sam peeled apart the tabs. A half-eaten burrito, warm to the touch, which meant it was fresh, left recently. There was a slice of lime accompanying. He looked down at the burrito like judgement. He took a huge, shameful bite and the flavors bounced around in his mouth. His eyes closed in relish, he tried to chew slowly, to enjoy the tasty respite. The carne asada, the rice, the onions, the cilantro, the beans all collaborated in a way that maybe Sam had never valued before. Each bite was greedy and needy. He tried to slow down his eating so he could savor but it was difficult. A burrito was much different than a banana and he felt the difference hard. Once devoured, he continued down the street.
His feet clomped down the steep street decline. It was 10:37 am and he had nothing to do. The harsh breeze pushed him forward, the trees harshly swaying in the cold wind. Was there a storm on the way? It seemed like every day was waiting for the next storm, whether it be weather or the encroaching feelings of hopelessness. His steps grew heavier, wearing out his shoes and, subsequently, his socks. Across the street, he saw a man punching a trashcan. Vigorously, pure anger and passion and hate. Sam felt like he was looking into his own future and turned away quickly.
Walking up the incline to his right, He saw a young woman walking on the other side of the street, in the opposite direction. He paused to gaze. He thought of Kelly, as they looked similar. Cute, pretty, short hair, an obvious ambition in a rush to accomplish goals for the day aside from he just killing time until when he went back to his tent. She wore a nice sundress and an adorable sweater. She walked with rapid gate, purposefully. His head turned to watch her as she strode. He admired her. The man behind him kept punching the trashcan. It was audible, even across the street, loud, strong blasts against metal. But then he stopped punching. Sam turned around at the new silence and noticed the punching man also looking at the young woman as she walked closer to his location. She seemed unaware of possible danger, not out of naivety but out of drive to go where she was going. Sam slowly began to walk back down the street. The punching man’s head froze, like a predator viewing prey. The young woman crossed the street and Sam walked quickly towards where they would meet. Her head was down, focused, earbuds implanted, so any threat was falsely blocked out.
The punching man slowly walked towards this woman, her head still perched downward, looking at either at her phone or her old school, red and white checkered Vans. By the time she looked up, he was on her. Sam began to run towards. He didn’t know what he would do but he needed to do something. A small, deeply shameful part of his brain thought, “Finally, something to do today.” He acknowledged that thought and felt desperate filth but picked up his pace as the punching man increased his grip around the woman’s arms. He was shaking her violently. Her purse dropped. She was powerless. As Sam ran, he could feel the tear in his jeans expanding as the erosion in his left shoe created pain. He reached the altercation and saw the man’s eyes snap towards him. A quick turn of his head like he was taken over by something unworldly.
Right before Sam got close enough to intervene, the punching man pulled something out of his pocket. Sam leapt at the punching man and immediately felt his own eyes widen, born from what he knew was a puncture. The punching man stood nose to nose with Sam, his eyes blazing careless rage. The punching man twisted and turned his hand into Sam’s gut with sadistic glee. He actually smiled. He then screamed as loudly as humanly possible and pulled out his knife from Sam’s gut. Sam looked down and saw a rapid expansion of his own blood on his clothing. He saw himself bleeding, which is always troubling. He felt weak in the anger and strength of this punching man. The woman screamed and Sam stumbled. The punching man ran away far faster than Sam would think he could. Sam slowly fell to the sidewalk. He felt his hot, dark, thick blood streaming quickly out of his stomach. She ran to him and helped him lay down. He wasn’t so much in pain as he was just confused. By everything. The young lady was freaking out but Sam wasn’t really bothered. He felt calm, even relaxed.
The young woman typed her phone frantically and yelled something panicked and quickly put it down, one of her hands pressed on his gash. “An ambulance is on the way! Just keep going!”, she practically screamed down at him. She pressed her sweater on the wound. There seemed to be gushing from Sam’s stomach so while he really appreciated the effort, it felt like holding back a flood with a napkin. She was crying. One of her tears landed on his left cheek. She seemed like a nice girl. Nice like May; concerned for a situation that is unfixable. His hands were hot as he also tried to stem the bleeding. His body felt cold. He looked up at this kind, young woman as his own tears rolled down. He coughed.
“I’m not crying. I’m just sleepy. Getting stabbed is exhausting.”, he said in an effort to make her feel better. He coughed again. She giggled behind heavy tears. He heard approaching sirens. The whirring noise quickly grew louder. Someone was on the way. He was losing his vision, his grasp, his focus. This young lady was so sweet to let him bleed into her pretty sweater.
While crying, she said, “What’s your name? Keep talking, buddy.”
His mind was racing but he knew that when a woman called you “buddy”, there was no chance of a relationship. He knew that observation shouldn’t be a priority but he was very in the moment.
He looked straight up at the cloudless sky. “Sam.”
“Sam, cool, you’re gonna be okay. Please keep talking to me! Don’t give up.”
“Seems to be a theme”, Sam said as he felt hot blood soak his jeans. It wouldn’t stop flowing. Foolishly, he thought, “First the tear in my jeans and now the blood. How am I gonna get new jeans? I could barely buy deodorant.” He sort of giggled at the thought. Hard, breathless cough, his lungs inflamed. He wondered if he’d be able to salvage the last banana.
She held his left hand, gripping tightly. He felt the hot stickiness of his own blood on both of their hands. He felt her continued compression on the cut but she allowed her other hand to hold his. Their hand hold was red glue.
“Talk to me. Tell me a story.”
“I jerked off at my boss’s desk one time.” Harder cough.
“Wow, okay, ummm….”
“Maybe twice.”
“Just keep talking.”
“It was a sexy desk.” Harder cough.
The sirens were right next to his fading hearing. He heard lots of commotion, lots of hard footsteps and yelling. The flashing lights were harsh, despite his weighty eyelids. Something was happening to him. Lots of people were around and he felt many hands on him with rapid movement. There was a harsh, very direct question asked from a new, determined and measured voice. He heard the young woman answer, “Carmen! This is Sam! Help him!” He felt sleepier. He’d have to thank Carmen someday. Maybe a nice tent dinner on Geary.
