Homelessness and Houselessness
Near the grounds of a travel plaza made to refuel and purchase a burger and coke, in a restaurant that’s half the plaza and the rest being a huge gift shop, I’ve taken shelter down a dirt slope that runs on the edge of the parking lot that grants exits, both to the highway and a small bridge. One directs to roadways to arrive at nearby towns, the other to stop and rest without getting off the main road. The first hour I arrived I begged families and couples, who arrived and exited the plaza, for loose change. Of course, they gave small responses to quickly continue their journey. Some even attested to my begging. Exiting the plaza they scorned me before stepping within their clean vehicles, driving off to or away from the city that was 20 miles out, as the next city wasn’t for another hundred miles. I was, then, less motivated to ask. Until, finally, a fat man with three sons following behind, showed in front of his kids handing me a ten dollar bill. Pathetically I then thanked the man, who wore basketball shorts and a hoodie. And walking in the restaurant that served burgers, including sandwiches on the menu, I was able to purchase a good cheeseburger and a drink to satisfy me until morning. Though, thinking about it, perhaps I’m attempting to make it till morning, at least.
Since I walked from the city park to the outside emptiness of the country, I’ve busied myself of an on-going thought that my life ended at 24. A mark that has attested me - now 56 - since the early stages of adolescence, at least since middle school. Encompassing this lazy observation I couldn’t shake the image of an older face of me, sitting alone beneath a starry night, among a desert of shadowed hills. This fills me with a nostalgic edge, as this premonition is set in dead youth; a past with such viscous speed to get on with things. And taking a bite of my burger, leveled within was a tasteless mourn that sometimes, I had to take a breath before continuing to finish.
I tried resisting its substantial nature. Now embracing its grieving, lingering activity, inside this image and encompassing it now, I beg for it not to take me down another horrendous spiral. I barely have any energy left to rage; among witnesses whose own images awaited at home, with family, and a nice, cozy bedroom I’ve become admirably numb from the mental pains. Usually what most try to suppress with daily distractions like work, family, or going to school. All, I admit greatly, failed - my progress to abandonment was complete. Thus sitting on the edge of these lights, protecting visitors to the plaza and the long, tall sign that beamed in the night sky, I am fulfilling this dream-like prophecy full force, without any backup plan.
Did I mention my birthday was tomorrow? I’ve already forgotten; not a fan of this age, of course. I can still grasp blurred memories of my childhood, especially how little of the image that is left that is. The only faces I think of are my mother and father - and the rest? - well, my only guesses are my siblings, uncles, or aunts. And you can see what remains is the outline itself: any context that brings it alive remains dead, like the windows of fashion shops with white, blank mannequins. Like static faces, I think playfully, soon to disappear underneath a starry night, out in shadowy hills.
Was it simply an accident I am here without any lasting forces from home up to being an adult? Do I, in any part of this life, have a way to prevent what came once this prophecy fully embraced my daily thought process? Having glanced at a clock within the restaurant, before coming back to the dirt slope carrying my dinner, the time must be nine-thirty. In a few hours it will be my birthday. And, in about a few minutes, I’ll be rolling out my jacket to sleep since surprisingly the weather has remained warm. This is much more comfortable than a park bench, I thought plainly; at the park, every now and then parents and teens, observing me from a distance from the slides, chased me out by alerting the security asking me to never be seen again. By all means I understand, seeing me would send chills down anybody's spine. But nothing, and I mean nothing, can distract me from the madness I gain from the oncoming fear I distill in people. That is, my symptom, trying to distract myself from the reality I’m in. I mean constantly finding newer ways to avoid it to make life endurable to pass the day, something has to occur to end my life permanently. This is the only process I can gain from, and I tend to keep it that way until those stars I see above me are right near my sight, welcoming me for all of what I am.
After a few moments of rest, I thought it might’ve been between ten to ten-thirty that I opened my eyes. I remembered what I ate and, coming clearly, I was outside the city near a gas station. Many times, it seems, my mind tries to let me forget the minutes that have gone past; and I begin to wonder what happened. Maybe I’m getting old, I thought humorously. Though time moves differently when not hooked on a specific course, leaving it what it truly is - insubstantial when not observed.
Suddenly a pressure to look over the slope, while the peering moon outlines the sands and rocks I lay upon, came to me as I stretched my legs. Proceeding to climb up to the top, still able to see the beaming sign, high enough for those on the highway to spot it, I reached a good point to rest, laying on my stomach. A truck though, its high beams flashing out my sight, drove onto the lot from the direction of the highway. Looking after the headlights powered off, it had a silver front with gray all around. In the moment it parked I spotted a little boy hopping out from the back seat, and, what I assume is his mom, a woman steps out with a white, puff jacket: blonde hair, wearing black spandex and a black t-shirt under; while the dad, with a usual gray sweater and jeans with a brown belt, came around to shove in his card in the pump.
Nothing unusual about them, I thought lightly, they seemed good. The little boy wore thick overalls, camouflaged by a forestry pattern; and looked about nine or twelve. They walked into the plaza while the father stood pumping gas; ‘go wait inside, I’ll be there in a bit’ he probably said to them. Based on those jackets, I somehow slept pretty warm than usual in the last moment or so; they definitely are either coming home, or stopping by from a place with white snow, or a windy forest. I’m gonna wait until they walk back out, I thought.
They reached the next exit and entered a lot of a travel plaza with a good price for gas. What easily could’ve been a fight to occur, while Ivan’s dad drove, started becoming a dire risk to glance at one another. Racheal, his mother, and Ben, his father, both wanted to keep their eyes clear of each other. Once the truck was in park, Ivan jumped out first from the backseat wearing his overalls, having left it on to reflect some part of his father’s attributes after they left the motel.
His dad, choosing carefully what to do, walked stiffly around the truck to pump the gas. His mother then chose to walk the opposite to the entrance of the plaza. However, Ivan knew he needed to choose as well (he’s their son, after all), besides knowing no other options were available. Sitting in the truck wouldn’t dissipate the fear around his mother abandoning them for reasons clear to him already, or his father, overpowering him with suppressed annoyance. So, picking his mother he thought he should ask to get a bite, his mother would then have more time to cool off. Besides it was only ten-forty, and Ivan was aware they had dozens of miles left to go - he couldn’t let the situation escalate.
They walked through the two doors as his mother complained that she needed to use the restroom since they left the last station. Unsure how to reply to this, that was the first place Ivan began following her to. Then thinking, not wanting to sound spoiled, he asked if he could wait outside; only nine-years-old, the thought of stepping into a women's restroom felt awkward. His mother, surprisingly, asked him to wait beside the garbage can that stood between the men’s and women’s entrance. She walked inside. Only a few minutes later his father walks in, spotting Ivan standing alone by the women’s restroom. “Is mom in there?” he asked flatly. Ivan didn’t want to offend nor interpret his stale tone, aware of the blaming game his parents issued after a fight. He learned the best action was to nod and point to ensure he understood what was being asked of him, without showing he was affected by their passivity to one another. “‘Ight” his dad said, and added, “if she asks, just tell mom I'm in the restroom.” Again Ivan nodded, watched as his father strolled around the corner. Still feeling awkward to walk in, but now glad they’ll both be separate from each other for the next few minutes, he can relax his mind.
In waiting for them, Ivan gets confused with different women that exited the restrooms - a few men, with gray or dark jeans, walking out the men’s side he could’ve sworn was his dad. Some were too round, some too tall, and some too sharp. His parents can sometimes be matched too closely to daily, passing strangers. Ivan was taught not to talk to them, he made sure to show this as much to himself as he could, yet each person was a unique sight to see. Some even had their own sons’ and daughters’ walking out with them - one boy even waved, smiled at him. Ivan then felt better about himself standing alone. When his mother walked out, Ivan didn’t spot her until she spoke and asked, “Do you think we should get something? Are you sure you’re hungry?” Her sentence trailed off and he barely heard what she asked. Ivan, again just nodded, then pointed over at the burger place opposite of them. “Okay,” his mother said excitedly, which sounded forced. “Let’s see what we can get.”
I’ve waited about who knows how long. I checked the lit, warm windows located where the restaurant sat around the half side of the plaza. Instantly from there, I strolled and reached a good patch of shadow under a tree in the lot, and there, the mother and the little boy were sitting down, cups of water and menus handed by the host, who gave me my meal. They didn’t seem relieved though from this angle to be there; the warm lamp hovering above both of them outlined their faces. But looking at the little boy, he seemed focused on the kids menu, and used the three, small crayons the waitress handed to him. This view made me ponder, as I could semi remember what those moments of life felt like as I reached far back into my mind, only to find that one image waiting there - still, blurring the faces of my own.
Snapped from this, I see another vehicle pulling up, exposing me under the tree and getting ready to park. I know whoever sees me will impulsively report to the plaza, instructing whoever was the boss tonight to remove me again. So I must wait in my slope until they're done eating.
Ivan happened to look over at one of the trees in the lot when a vehicle passed by. Outlined by the headlights was a strange figure, wearing a rough jacket over the knees. It began to speed walking across the lot and onto the edge where the lights of the plaza can’t reach. Ivan humbled himself it was only some homeless man like the ones at the park in the cities, and tried going back to coloring in his menu. Though the skinny figure, its presence on how it stood suddenly fled to hide, he deeply felt pressure to know who or what he got ready to look again. “What are you looking at?” his mother said, obviously trying to lessen the intensity. Ivan didn’t know she stopped looking at her menu, he darted back to his menu.
“At a tree,” he said aimlessly. He then got courage to be brave, just because, and asked, “Why?”
His mother was surprised, and said quickly, “nothing, just making sure you were okay.” Ivan then felt bad and said “oh” in a small soft tone.
Not sure what to say now, whether something that sounded cute and off-beat. Ivan glanced away and began coloring again but couldn’t focus, and instead made sure he did this with his mother watching, and laid the crayons in a row beside his menu, straight and neat, and looked outside again to see if he could see the strange figure.
He wanted his best and tried to seem busy, but his mother suddenly leaned over and held his small hand. Now he had to pay attention to her, and nerving fear began crawling back; the softness of his mother’s hand he never could get used to, especially with the amount of irritation that came from her. It's as though the skin should be rough, sharp perhaps. “I just want you to know I love you,” she said softly, and patted his fingers. “You know that, right?”
When Ivan looked at his mom, what surprised him was the deep way his mother asked the question; it wasn’t the usual rhetoricalness when she asked this. It was an actual, almost desperate tone that needed confirmation from him. He could only provide such small answers, impossible for him to make anything sound dedicated to what came from his mouth only an adult can replicate. “Of course,” he said strongly, attempting to sound at least offended by it.
“That’s good, sweetie,” she said and kissed his hand precisely before the waitress arrived again and asked, “Hello, are ya’ll ready to order?”
“Go ahead, sweetie,” his mother said, letting go of his hand to look at the menu.
“Um. Can I get a hamburger with a large drink of coke,” Ivan said, and forgot about the strange figure outside completely.
When the drinks came Ivan managed to drink most of his anxiety while his mother sipped her wine. Time passed slowly. Looking over to the window Ivan composed a strong sublime of thoughts, about the amount of darkness that covered most of the land outside. Its distance between him and the outer spaces of night had covered so much detail, so many hills, bushes and country houses, it framed his mind with overwhelming fright that he was glad to be somewhere with light and people. With much gratitude he remembers the amount of times they passed this exact plaza he watched from the passenger window of his dad’s truck. Wondering then, in time he anticipated they would one day choose to enter here. Looking out the window again, the wonder now was if he ever will see himself standing out there looking back in, again remembering when he used to look out the window, wonder if he ever will be exposed to the moon alone. The vast darkness; he’ll one day blend within - much like the figure he thought he saw. Looking away because he saw in the reflection of the restaurant his father walking up to them.
Awkwardly, his dad kept his eyes on Ivan, avoiding whatever judgment he had, to keep his eyes away from his mother’s face. “Did you guys order anything yet?”
“Yeah, I got a hamburger with fries,” Ivan said and looked at his mother. He knew she was irritated by his sight, and kept her face hidden with her hair dangling on the side his dad stood.
She only quickly glanced at his father and back, saying, “Yeah. I just got wine” and turned her body to completely face the window. Ivan then grabbed one of his crayons, not caring which, and began scribbling on his menu to seem unbothered. His father tried nodding objectively and looked at his phone to check the time. He was choosing, as Ivan had seen before on his face, whether to yell or walk away from the situation.
“Just text me when you're ready - I’ll be in the truck resting,” he said, and wonderfully he adjusted his pants, leaving them to enjoy their meal. Ivan however couldn’t escape the miserable nerve that lingered once acknowledged by himself. Looking up from his menu though, Ivan can already spot his mother getting ready to tear up, her breathing becoming more squeaky. So to pass the time, painlessly before their food arrives, he asks, “can I go use the restroom?” She didn’t say anything but he scooted out and went anyway.
When the boy came back the food was there. In the last hour the boy attempted to take a few bites. It was thirty minutes at most before midnight, and the mother finished her last wine for tonight, and with her hands, asked for the check. The boy, I could see, was able to finish his meal - so I should suspect he was pretty full. In the next minute the waitress returns with the check, and, a few moments later, it took the mother to reach in her purse and check her eyes in a small oval mirror, after, she lays a few bills on the table and asks her son to deliver a tip to the waitress. The boy seemed to happily oblige. While he was away, the mother took out her phone and texted someone, most likely the husband, I thought, and saw her take one last sip before getting up and walking out of sight of the window - she seemed not over whatever tagged along. Finally, I could see them getting ready to exit the plaza; and the gray truck, its bright headlights shining, started making its way around to pick them up. “This is my chance. If I don’t do it now I’ll be here another month.”
I shoveled my way out of the slope and let my jacket dangle, dragging on to the front doors of the plaza, behind me the dark hills and the moon still surrounding the paths that took to nearby towns.
By the time I was near they exited, the mother holding the door for her little boy as he walked out eating a chocolate bar she must’ve gotten him at the gift shop. Then attempted “Excuse me” vigorously. They half ignored me as the truck pulled up behind me, so I said again, "Excuse me, my dear. Do you perhaps have some change I could borrow?” The mother then looks up, clearly in a hurry. She stares at me for a moment before looking at her son, holding his hand. She begins digging in her purse and finds some change, most likely from getting the candy bar, and hands it to me. “Thank you so much,” I say. And, as the mother then asks her son to walk closer to her as the husband waits in the truck, I was close enough to pat the boy’s shoulder, and ask, “What’s your name, young man?”
The boy looked at me with a mere surprise, realizing something. He glanced at his mom and glanced back and said, “Ivan - Ivan Star.”
Taking a bite of his chocolate bar I respond with, “That’s wonderful - I like stars,” before the mother then pulls him away and asks him to get in the truck, with haste annoyance now ready to explode. Once they closed their doors the truck then began speeding away, and automatically, darkness around the plaza closed in on my vision, and the warping, tall sign in the night all swallowed me into a strong migraine before I collapsed on the concrete lot.
As he wakes up, he then hears in front of him two adults, one with blonde hair and the other with a gray sweater, sitting up front. He was in the truck sitting in the backseat. “I wish you would just listen to me, Ben,” the mom said harshly. And the dad, Ben, responded with, “I try, Racheal. I am trying my best here.” Ivan - or, what looks like Ivan - turns to look at the Plaza, getting farther and farther away. He sees the homeless man they just gave change to screaming, “Wait! Mom, Dad! Come back, I’m still here! STOP!” By the time they got on the highway though, Racheal and Ben no longer heard the homeless man scream. “Crazy man,” the dad said. Fortunately, he felt he was in the clear and laid down to enjoy this new, fresh body of Ivan. Wondering how long they had to get home - where is home, he thought, beginning to dream of starry nights and shadowy, dark hills surrounding him.
