Having never experienced being out on the streets myself, I thought I'd try to see if I could write it from my perspective, the perspective of someone not being homeless. I think I did an alright job, but that's just my opinion. What do you think homelessness is like?
:)
Everyday the same thing: sit on bustling streets asking for change, for anything to get by on. Most people are mean with the present recession and won't give much of anything but there are those few kind souls who spare just a little in order to get us by.
I'm a part of a family of four, the oldest aside from my mom. We had a hard time making ends meet, so we were kicked out. Our dad and her husband, lucky man, had a place to stay but it was too small to hold the four of us, him, and the friend he was staying with. Walked right out of our lives. We were--and still are--unable to fend against the muggers that come and harass us every night, the children who stare, wide-eyed, probably wondering how these people ended up here, the mothers chastising them for staring too long and then, like hypocrites, do the same thing. It's all very upsetting to be looked at, scrutinized, like dogs. That's how the mean, heartless ones regard us as. I know the looks they give.
This is going to sound so petty, but I have not had my iPod in about a month and I'm extremely lost without it. We had to put everything we owned in storage and that just had to be my iPod along with it. I miss my iPod; I love it like I love my family, minus my dad.
I'm startled out of my thoughts when a man wearing an Armani suit and Rolex watch came and dropped a wad of money wrapped in a rubber band into our cup.
"For your daughters; they have such pretty faces," he said warmly and smiled.
"Thank you," my mother said kindly.
He walked away and the four of us greedily dove into the Dixie cup to see how much money he had left us. It was my job to count it up because I was the quickest even though in high school I failed Math.
"1,00o dollars even," I reported a few minutes later.
My brother's eyes widened. "1,000 dollars?"
"Yeah, 1,000 dollars," I said.
"Do you know what we could do with 1,000 dollars?," my mom asked us seriously.
"Pizza!," my little sister cried.
"Yeah, we could buy pizza for a change instead of eating out of the garbage," she said. "But, I was thinking we donate it to the pizza people as a way of saying thank you for the free food we sometimes get."
My brother groaned. "Mom, you're kidding right? We could have a feast off this kind of money!"
"Alan, please. We're donating this money, no matter what," my mom made to stand up but Alan pulled her back down.
"No! We're going to eat with this money!," he proclaimed and snatched it out of her hand. My mom wanted to backhand him but couldn't; there were too many people around. Any one of them could call child services on her and have us all separated.
"Alan, please. Let me just donate this money. Stop thinking of yourself."
"I'm not thinking of myself, Mom. I'm thinking of all of us."
"How about we donate half?," my sister chimed in.
"You know what, Savanah? I'll do just that."
Savanah smiled at Alan and I, two front teeth missing. My mom got up from her spot an walked into the pizza shop across the street.
We never saw her again.
Sometimes I think she disappeared because she couldn't handle being homeless anymore. People say that it's not our fault, and to never think that it is. I think she couldn't take being alone without a man to support her. Other times I think she was weak and other times... I don't really know.
We still live on the same street, in front of the same pizza shop Mom disappeared into. I hate the man who gave us that money now because he took the one thing we can't really function without. Our mom.
(c) Aden Recreated 24 June 2009
