Compassion (2 page)

The homeless man lingers for a moment, checks his surroundings and then places the box down on top of the trashcan. Suddenly his entire face irradiates. His expression reminds me of the one children get during the holidays every time they see a present wrapped in shiny paper for them. He has a large bite of a slice and tosses his head back, the gratulation of the bite so prevalent, I find myself grinning widely, genuine delight falling over me. Rudely, I continue to invade his moment of satisfaction, watching his face intently as it cycles through numerous emotions, all of them revolving around pure joy.

Craziest thing? Giving him that pizza has brought a bigger smile and happiness to my world than any date since Chris' death has. Geez...What the hell does that say about me?

Archer

Pizza. People take this shit for granted. All of it. The bread. The sauce. The cheese. Oh and if you're lucky the meat. The sheer combination of ingredients, hot or cold is like sex for your tongue. It's something when you're getting it on a regular, you can't fucking be bothered to care about the effort that's really required to be put out for it or how easy it is to get. No...it's not until it's gone you even think about appreciating it. No...it's not until it's rare like the Holy fucking Grail that you stop and begin to really want to pay tribute to the creation. You're probably wondering if I'm referring to sex or pizza now huh? This time it's pizza.

Still in slight disbelief, I give the door guarding the gorgeous woman who gifted this to me a glance.

Did you see her? She was fucking beautiful. Her creamy coffee shaded skin. That curly bouncy hair. And her eyes...did you see those toffee colored eyes filled with warmth? Not an ounce of disgust in them. Believe it or not, that's not the emotion most people offer me.

Finishing the slightly hardened crust of the last slice, I stroll away towards the hiking trail just on the other side of her home. The drop in temperature causes a sharp pain to rip through my right leg, my slightly noticeable limp more apparent.

Most of the time I forget it's even there. Only time it bothers me is when it starts to get too cold. Or when the memories start to strangle me. Hurts like a motherfucker then.

The winter wind kicks up and I slip my hands back into the jacket someone tossed out right before Christmas last year.

I assume his wife got him a new one. This was left in the box but didn't match the picture. Grabbed the box too. Made for an all right place to store food. Well it did until someone ratted me out to the cops and I was forced to move without my belongings that weren't on me. After that I guess I learned it's best to keep everything I need in my backpack. People think the only battlefield worth talking about in this world is the one we fight with assault rifles over bullshit politics, false ideologies, and greed. Trust me. The one you face when every person you counter is just as desperate to live another day as you, you see the real war we should be fighting. The real soldiers.

Quickly, I hustle across the park, dodging windows and street lights to best of my ability.

Neighborhoods like this loathe people like me in it. Even if we're just passing through. Apparently the sight alone of our ugly mugs decreases the value of their million dollar homes.

After checking both directions, insuring I'm alone, I climb the fence on the side of the pool that the camera doesn't monitor. Once I'm on the other side, I take a minute, dip my hands in the heated pool water, and scrub away the crumbs that may have gotten into my beard.

I'll bathe in the morning. Don't worry about me. No one else does. I'm not worth the effort.

Patting my hands dry on the outside of my coat, I sneak over to the storage room that the new hire forgets to check.

As long as everything is generally back where it belongs and nothing is missing, there's no reason anyone knows the difference if the door was locked or not. Besides, his inability to give a fuck about his job has allowed me somewhere warm to sleep every other day for the last few weeks.

Inside the small room, I rearrange some empty buckets and slide around to the other side of them.

If anyone comes in before I have a chance to sneak out I won't be the first thing they see.

I dig the fleece blanket out of my backpack, the sound of my tags clinking against something inside mocking me.

Do you know how much easier it would be to just end all this? Stop the memories from pounding around in my skull, from whispering that no one would even fucking notice if I was gone. Do you know fucking depressing that is? To know I could disappear right now and no one would even mourn me?

Smothering out the banal thoughts of despair that I use as my indication I need some rest, I arrange my backpack to double as a pillow and curl into a ball.

At least I have a warm place to sleep for another night. Hell, I even have breakfast with real substance for tomorrow. Maybe even lunch if I make it stretch. I've been making that shit stretch too far lately. People haven't thrown out their damn Christmas leftovers yet.

My eyes shut and a vision of the kind brown eyed female clutching the pizza immediately appears.

Alright. So today was a better day than normal. Today was the kind of day almost worth living for. Almost...

Jaye

The vision of the homeless man blissful over cold pizza, two days ago, has continuously been replaying in my mind.

I mean the entire thing. From the first time I looked at him to the point where I backed away slowly with our eyes still glued on one another. Those green eyes were so beguiling yet so broken. Then there was the look of pure pleasure on his face, which sent my mind whirling in the absolute last route it had any business going. What is wrong with me? If you saw some dude in your trashcan he would probably be the last thing you'd be thinking about. Am I right? You probably would've called the police or chased him away with a broom, not walked defenselessly over to him with leftovers. For the record, I wasn't completely defenseless. My dad is a cop, almost retired, but I learned self-defense tactics at a very young age.

“Jaye,” a voice calls over my shoulder. “You alright?”

I turn to see Merrick McCoy, the preschool's personal painter, leaning in the doorway of the library.

Down ladies. Yes, he's extremely dreamy with those bright blue eyes, but he's also extremely taken. His girlfriend is a doll. Met her when she brought him dinner one night a few weeks ago.

I grab my work bag. “I'm fine.” 

“You sure?” He asks again cautiously. “You look like something is on your mind.”

Someone is more like it.

Offering him a warm smile, I simply cradle my shoulder bag closer. “Nope.” Without letting him pressure me for more information, I inquire, “I haven't seen you much since the holidays. Did you enjoy your break?”

He carefully tugs his painters cart into the room. “Yeah.”

“Do anything special?”

“Went home and visited my brothers. Hadn't seen them in a few months.”

Moving out of his way I innocently question, “Not close?”

“We're really close,” his reply comes with a crooked smile. “Just...had a small hiccup.”

Wonder what kind of hiccup would make you stop talking to your family for months?

My mouth opens to ask, when he cuts me off. “What about you? Did you enjoy your holiday break?”

Spending Christmas dinner for the third year in a row with my dead fiancé's parents who also happen to be my parent's best friends is how every twenty nine year old woman wants to spend her time off from work. Not hard to find the holiday spirit when you're staring into the eyes that gave birth to the person you had planned to spend the rest of your life with. Oh? Too much sarcasm?

“It was nice,” I lie. “Thanks for asking.”

He nods and pulls out the protective paint covers.

“Need anything before I go?”

Merrick gives me a wide grin. “Not to kill me if paint drops on your books?”

“Oh...” A sweet coo comes from me. “That's a murderous offense.”

He chuckles, turns his black baseball cap around, and reaches for his supplies. “Have a good night, Jaye.”

“You too, Merrick.”

Exiting my sanctuary, I keep a polite smile plastered on my face for the final parents picking up their children so late in the evening. I give kind waves and nods during my route to the parking lot only stopping once to tell my boss where Merrick is located.

From the slight panic on her face I have a feeling it's going to be a late night for one of them.

On the drive home, the mundane routine of being stuck in traffic gives my mind more time to carelessly drift the direction it can't seem to refrain from going.

How did he become homeless? Is he a drug addict? What kind of drugs? He didn't seem like one. I didn't see any of the signs I would expect to see. And why is that the only reason I assume he can be homeless? Why I do care? It's not like he's the first homeless person I've ever come across. He's definitely the first to ever be on my doorstep. The first I've ever actually spoken too. The first I've ever even gave a second thought about. Does that make me emotionally callous?

A horn behind me blares and I slam my foot on the accelerator. Dying to get him off my mind, I reach to turn up the radio just seconds before the Bluetooth in my car starts to ring.

With a push of a button my mother's voice is in full surround sound. “Tell me he called.”

Taken off guard by her demand, I question, “Who?”

“Calvin.”

“Who?”

“The doctor I was telling you about at dinner, remember?”

Ah. Prince Charming with a stethoscope.

“Why would he call?”

“I gave him your number.”

A heavy sigh slips out as I change lanes. “Mom...”

“Jaye,” she begins in such a familiar way I can practically recite what's coming next. “I showed him your picture at work-”

Sarcastically I mumble, “That's not weird-”

“-and he thought you were attractive. Actually he thought you were stunning. Yes I'm quoting him. Stunning. I simply offered him your number afterward and was just curious if he used it. Nothing to get upset about.”

Tell me. How much of that is worth getting upset about? She means well. I know this. I know this like every line of ‘If You Give a Mouse a Cookie’, but it doesn't change the fact it bothers me. Severely.

“I'm not upset.”

“You sound upset.”

Hitting my head against the headrest I argue, “I do not.”

“You do,” she insists. “But that's alright. I know it was a little pushy-”

“A little mo-”

“But you should have someone in your life to come home to. Someone to build a family with. It's been three years.”

Instead of screaming that I can count, that it's me who has to wake up every morning
alone
and deal with the realization life continues on after death, I quietly say, “I'm working on it. Look mom, the other line is ringing. I'll talk to you soon.”

“I love you.”

Reluctantly I reply, “I love you too.”

Hitting the end button feels like I'm allowed to breathe again.

I'm convinced she's the reason my wine intake has increased over the past year.

At the next stop sign I look both ways, preparing to go forward, which is when the shadow of a figure catches my attention. I lean forward anxiously trying to get a better look at the person slipping back into the gathering of trees. Without being able to identify if that was the man from the other night, I continue the drive home.

You think he's hungry again? How long can a person go without eating? Well, yeah I did feed him just a couple days ago and he did take some stuff out of my trash, but I wonder if he's eaten that food already. Hell, how long had it been
before
that moment he had previously eaten?

I take one final turn into the cul-de-sac, my house the first one beside the walking path that leads to the park. As soon as my car is in park, I call for chinese take-out knowing the conversation with my mother was the final blow in the never ending Cooking Wars.

Cooking for one isn't something I love to do, but take-out every night isn't exactly healthy. Don't even pitch the idea of those frozen single meals. They're disgusting. See my dilemma. Take-out wins this round of self-feuding as does a hot shower, a glass of wine, and Netflix. Hey...there are worse routines out there.