Homeless

Chapter 1

Homeless and hopeless. That’s what I am. I’ve been that ever since I was a little girl. For Christmas, I once got a dollar to buy food. For my birthday, I got nothing. My father used to say that “God is your birthday gift.” And I believed him. I still think of that phrase. It’s my phrase, my saying, and my life. It describes me as bark describes a tree. It’s a part of me that I can never get rid of.

Life isn’t fair. It never has been. It’s not like you can pick up a phone and call and say, “Hey, can I have a new life? This one isn’t fair. I don’t want it.” But you can’t do that. You just have to deal with all the crappy things life gives you.  I see all these people here in Los Angeles who are wealthy and still complain. I listen to their murmurings on their cell phones as they walk by. They talk of being too fat when they’re skinnier than I am, and I barely ever eat. Then I see these people who gorge themselves on food and throw away leftovers. I’m tempted to walk over to the trashcans and take out the leftover food and race back to my corner. When people see me, they look away and act as if I’m not there. They walk in their designer skinny jeans, high heels, and tight tank tops that probably cost more than all the money I’ve ever had. When people do look at me it’s not with eyes of pity, but with eyes of disgust. But I’m not surprised. I’m dressed in rags and jeans that are way too big for me. I must smell bad too. Even rats run away from me when I come near.

When I’m lucky a shelter opens up and allows me to eat and shower. But that hasn’t happened in a year and a half. Sometimes people give me money but it’s never enough for a full meal. My family abandoned me when I was ten, leaving me on the streets of this living nightmare. Now at the age of eighteen my heart still throbs. I think of the way that my mom used to laugh and the way my dad snorted. It’s the only nice memories I have of them.

Today, I collected thirty-two dollars. My best ever. Then, I’m in the checkout line of a gas station waiting to buy chips, sandwiches, and water, when a masked guy walks in, puts a gun to my head and tells me to give him all my money. So what am I suppose to do? I’m terrified. So I quickly pull out all thirty-two dollars and hand it to him. He then races up to the counter and makes the owner give him his money, too. He sprints out of the gas station before the police can get there. When they finally do arrive, moments later, I run toward the back of the gas station looking for an exit. I don’t need the police to see me and take away my rights. I have never stolen anything in my life but then by the back door, I see a black leather wallet lying on the ground. I turn around and see no one watching me so I open the wallet carefully, as if I was about to defuse a bomb and quickly take out forty dollars. I was only going to take thirty-two dollars but the wallet doesn’t have any ones. I look back once more and see a man walking towards me with a police badge on his chest so I race out the back faster than he can probably blink.

“Hey! Miss! Come back here! I only have a few questions!” the police officer yells. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t have stopped. My legs feel like they can carry me all the way to Texas if I need to. I am running so fast I crash into a scrawny teenager talking on his phone probably to his girlfriend. “I love you morrre… Owww! Hey! Watch where you’re going!” he retorts. I would have apologized but everyone is starting to look at me with eyes as sharp as daggers, each dagger taking its own precious time to pierce through me. I probably look like a mental person when I burst into tears. I start to hear whispers in my head telling me to get the heck out of there so I run. And run. And run. Behind me I hear the guy yell, “Freak!” I don’t stop running until I find myself splashing in the ocean. I throw myself onto the sand and cry until the sun is gone and the moon is full and at its brightest. I want to stay there all night but a lifeguard comes up to me and tells me I have to leave and go home. “Home?” I answer with a confused look on my face.