Thrown Away Read online

  “Amen brother. God knew what he was talking about. Like I said, it don’t matter. It has nothing to do with right or wrong. The police view as weak, and they’re strong. They want us gone, and they know they can kick us around. What can we do? Go hire an attorney and sue those bastards. No one cares about us. They know they can do anything to us, and we’ve got no choice in the matter. We’ll just have to get when they come.”

  “Do you want some soup?” Bob asks.

  “No man. I ‘ve got my lunch right here.”

  I open the lunch sack and pull out the first sandwich and bite into it. Don’t get me wrong – the soup smells wonderful, but I don’t want to abuse Bob’s hospitality. We consider Bob the wise elder in our camp.

  I take another bite of the sandwich. Then I feel my throat tighten as the food becomes lodged there. I pull the can of soda out of the bag, pop the top, and swallow a gulp clearing the roadway to my stomach.

  “Do you have any ideas where we can move?“ Bob asks.

  “We can follow this river and see where it goes. I think it leads to some old factory buildings. Then residential neighborhoods after that.”

  “Fuck the po-pos. We’re staying right here,” Nathan threatens as he leans against a tree and smokes a cigarette.

  “They’ll throw your ass in jail. We’ve got no defense against them,” I reply.

  Nathan chuckles, takes another puff from his cigarette, and adds, “Shit. You thinks I’m afraid of jail.” Then Nathan starts punching the air in front of him, pummeling an invisible enemy.

  “Okay. We’ll see.” I pull the second sandwich out the bag and continue eating.

  “I think you’re right. There’s a bunch of abandoned factories about a half mile away. We probably can squat in one of the buildings during winter,” Bob says.

  “Yeah, I think that’ll work. We’ll set up a new camp. Besides, I don’t think the police are following us around, or at least I hope they’re not.”

  “What ya talking about? If I sat on a street corner asking for donations, the police would be there in 10 minutes to arrest me.”

  “Maybe they do follow us around a little. But we should try to squat in the factory for winter and come back here in spring. It took the police some time to find us. We’ve been here at least two years.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. It took those dumb motherfuckers two years to find us out here,” Nathan adds.

  ***

  On Friday, I awaken early as darkness still covers the landscape in a blanket of blackness. I mumble, “Today’s the day.”

  I lie on my back and close my eyes, thinking about high school – wishing I could return there and start over. Everything could’ve been different. I wouldn’t have hung out with that group of losers – drinking and smoking at every chance we could get, even coming to class high half the time. I could’ve studied harder and hit the books. I could’ve asked Cheryl out – a nice girl who occasionally glanced in my direction during algebra.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been with several women in high school – if you can call the sluts hanging out at the pool hall women. With the pool hall girls, I just needed a couple of wine coolers and the backseat of a car. But things have changed! I’m sure the pool hall girls would never look at me now, unless they fantasize about doing it with some homeless guy. I think I will be waiting for that to happen for a long time.

  I open my eyes and mumble, “It doesn’t matter. That was a long time ago; Now, I’m a different person. I’m on the bottom rung on society’s ladder and still struggling to hold on.”

  I peel the sleeping bags from my body. Several joints in my legs pop as I roll over and get on all my hands and legs. I unzip the tent and pull out the sleeping bags. Then I pull out my hiking backpack that served at my sleeping partner. I roll each sleeping bag tightly and fasten it to the bottom of the backpack. Then I pull out my clothes and stuff them in the backpack, one by one.

  Then I spot a half-bottle of Wild Turkey. Probably got too drunk one night and the bottle slipped deep under my sleeping bags. I grab the bottle, hold it to eye level, and study the amber liquid for chunks. The contents look pristine and clear.

  “Are you saving that, Jason?” Bob calls out.

  “I sure am. Tonight, we’ll celebrate tonight at our new place. “

  “That sounds like a plan. I can get another bottle.”

  “Cool. We’ll celebrate at our new place tonight.” I shove the bottle into a side pocket on the backpack. Then I pull the stakes up and pull the rods out, and neatly fold the tent. Then I stuff the tent carefully into the backpack. I fasten the tent poles to the side of the backpack and slip the tent stakes into a side pouch.

  I shake my head back and forth and feel depressed because I packed all my belongings into a backpack. Then I hoist the backpack onto my back slipping the straps over my shoulders.

  “Do you think you can help me?”

  I turn to Bob while he’s still packing, stuffing everything into a large chest.

  I unsling the backpack and start helping Bob pack. After 20 minutes, we have packed everything tightly into the chest.

  “Where’re we carrying this to?” I ask.

  “If you can help me get this to down to the utility road. Then I’ll get my car.”

  I re-shoulder my backpack, grab a lawn chair and tucked it between my arm and body, and grab one handle of the chest.

  Bob grabs the other lawn chair with one hand and uses the other hand to grab the other chest handle.

  We heave up the chest and begin making our way to the utility road. As one of us hits a bump in the forest, the chest tries to wiggle free, but we finally make it to the utility road without dropping it.

  “Could you wait here, while I’ll go get the car?”

  “No problem, man.” Of course, I’ll miss this morning’s breakfast at the center, but I respect and trust Bob unlike the other unsavory homeless in our camp.

  Bob hikes down the road to the city while I unsling the backpack and sit on the chest and wait.

  After an hour, I spot a red Honda Civic making its way along the bumpy road. The suspension moans and squeaks every time Bob hits a bump or pothole in the road.

  Bob shuts the car off and hops out, “Sorry for the delay. I hit some bad traffic on the road.

  “No problem. I didn’t have much to do.”

  “I tell you what – breakfast is on me. Nothing fancy of course.”

  My pride wants me to refuse, but I know breakfast will be spectacular. Besides, I already missed breakfast at the center.

  We pack everything into the trunk including my backpack. Bob drives farther up the road to a small clearing. Then he turns the car around and heads to the city, to his favorite diner.

  After fifteen minutes, he slows down in front of this small diner and turns into the parking lot filled with cars. He parks the car behind the diner, and we head inside.

  As we sit in a booth near the entrance, a waitress heads over and passes out the menus, “What’ll you have?”

  Bob hands the menu back and says, “I’ll have a Western omelet, hash browns, and coffee, please.

  I return the menu and reply, “I’ll have the same, please.”

  “It’ll be a 20 minutes for the omelets and hash browns, guys.”

  Then the waitress walks to the window of the kitchen and clips the order on a small turning wheel.

  Then she grabs a pot of coffee and rushes to our table. She flips the coffee cups and fills them to the brim. Then she walks around the diner filling everyone’s coffee cup, or at least the ones who are drinking regular coffee.

  “Today’s the big day,” Bob says as he pours cream into his coffee and stirs it.

  “I know. I plan to go back and watch it.”

  “Why? They are a bunch of dirty, corrupt bastards. They’ll arrest you and throw you into a jail cell.”

  “So! They can’t take anything from me. They can’t squeeze money out of me because I don’t have anything. If th
ey want to cram me into a cell, then at least they’ll have to feed me, but it’ll cost them.”

  “I see your point.”

  I dump a lot of cream into my coffee and add about four packets of sugar.

  Bob jokes, “Well buddy, you’ll have diabetes in no time.”

  I chuckle and reply, “Diabetes is the least of my worries. It’s not that I like sweet coffee, but I try to pack on the calories whenever I can. I never know where I’ll get my next meal.”

  After a few minutes of silence while we sip our coffees, Bob blurts out, “So what’s your story?”

  “My story? Why?”

  “We’ve got time to kill, and everyone has a story.”

  “Well, my story is pretty simple. I worked for a company that went under. I thought I could find another job, and look where I am today. What about you?”

  Bob chuckles and replies, “That is a long story.”

  “We have nothing but time, so what’s your story?”

  “My story’s different. I was helping my friend paint the outside of his house. I knew I should have known better, but I climbed a ladder on unsteady ground. After I reached the top, the ladder fell over with me on it, and I landed square on my back.”

  “But I thought you were hurt at work? That’s why you collect disability.”

  “My friend gave me a bottle of pain killers. I plopped two or three while heading to work the next morning. The pain was excruciating, but I made it in without anyone noticing. Then I slipped and fell on my back in the break room near the water dispenser with a dozen people watching. This time, I didn’t get up. My boss had to call an ambulance.”

  “Where did ya work?”

  “I worked in an office for the city government. I processed claims for the city.”

  “So you had a good job?”

  “It was a great job, but that wasn’t the problem.”

  “It sounds like you could’ve returned to work?”

  “Yeah, but it was my woman. During the first week at home, I lied on the couch in front of the TV. My wife served my meals and drinks whenever I asked, but she always gave me these cold looks, as if I were no longer a man. Then after a week, she packed her suitcases and returned to her mother’s in California.”

  “What? I thought the wedding vow was until death does the couple apart.”

  “Apparently, she forgot that part of the vow. Well, at least I didn’t kill the bitch, even after she sicced her attorney on me. I never talked to her again. She always had her attorney talk for her.”

  “What happened in divorce court?”

  “I never went. She realized the divorce would be messy, so we settled out of court. I gave her everything she wanted if she would leave the disability check alone. She sold the house and took the bank accounts, or at least the ones she knew about, and I signed the divorce papers.”

  “Damn, she cleaned you out.”

  “That’s okay. We’re done now. She’s someone else’s problem now.”

  The waitress hurries over carrying a tray with our breakfast on it.

  I pick up a fork and begin cutting and eating the omelet – a taste of heaven compared to the meals at the homeless center. Then I tear a corner off the hash browns and plop it into my mouth using the fork. I close my eyes and slowly chew the food, savoring every little bite.

  “The breakfast is really good here.”

  I swallow, sigh, and add, “Damn good.”

  “What happened to your wife, or ex-wife I mean?”

  “She found some sucker to marry her. Well at least we didn’t have kids.”

  “Well at least being homeless has an upside - no women.”

  “Says you, but I did learn my lesson. If that urge strikes me, I just rent the woman by the hour. It’s definitely a lot cheaper than marrying one.”

  “Didn’t you ever want to return to work?”

  “Why? After I lost the house, I thought why go back. I just wanted to enjoy the rest of my life. So I went camping, permanently. That way, I could stretch that disability check.”

  “Camping, is that what you call it?”

  “Hell yeah! I fish when I want to. I read books, play video games, watch tv. I don’t ever have to work again. I can enjoy the rest of my life. I’m done with work.”

  I take another sip from my coffee and study Bob while he’s eating his food. He’s happy and actually content with life – definitely an odd bird among the homeless.

  “Maybe you should have bought an RV or a bigger car to sleep in than the woods.”

  “I could’ve, but the damn city passed an ordinance. If a cop catches you sleeping in a vehicle, he’ll impound the vehicle. Then you must pay the city a fortune to get the vehicle back.”

  “It’s like the city has criminalized homelessness.”

  Then he looks up at me, smiles, and adds, “They sure have. Isn’t it great to be outlaws.”

  “It’s really fantastic. Why didn’t I choose this life sooner.”

  ***

  I leave my stuff at the new camp at the abandoned factory and walk to the homeless camp. I see half the residents are leaving the camp as they carry and drag their stuff to the abandoned factory.

  I sit leaning my back against a pine tree near the spot where I pitched my tent. Now that spot is a square of dead grass and weeds.

  Nathan leans against a tree, smoking a cigarette.

  Someone shouts, “Here they come.”

  Nathan stomps the cigarette against the tree to put it out and flicks the butt into the bushes.

  Cops surround everybody.

  Nathan growls, “What do you want?”

  Two large officers approach Nathan, and an officer screams, “Get your hands up.”

  Nathan makes a tst sound with tongue and raises his hands slowly while he grins.

  “Do you have any weapons or drugs on you?”

  Nathan continues grinning and says, “Nope!”

  “Raise your hand up high,” an officer commands.

  Nathan raises his hands higher as his grin widens.

  “Do you have any needles or sharp objects in your pocket?”

  “Nope!” Nathan replies.

  Then an officer thrusts his left hand into Nathan’s coat pocket.

  “Officer, you’re violating my rights. I have the right…”

  The officer screams, “You have no rights.” Then he pulls his hand out of Nathan’s pocket and punches Nathan hard in the stomach.

  Nathan falls to the ground holding his stomach while the other officer jumps on top of Nathan’s back, screaming, “Stop resisting! Stop Resisting! Stop Resisting! …”

  Then the officer plants his knee on the back of Nathan’s neck while the other officer grabs Nathan’s hand one by one and handcuffs Nathan’s hands behind his back.

  Nathan yells, “I want my attorney! You violated my rights! You bastards violated my rights!”

  Both officers pull Nathan up. Then one officer leads Nathan to the paddy wagon while Nathan jerks back and forth, trying to free himself.

  The officer who tried to search Nathan’s pockets approaches Tony.

  Tony holds the bible in his right hand, closes his eyes, and recites, “The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are bold as a lion.”

  “What did you say,” the officer screams.

  “Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and not be afraid: for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song; he also shall become my salvation.”

  “Oh, a wise ass!”

  Two other officers join the mean officer and surround Tony.

  “Get your hands, now.”

  Tony raises his hands while still clutching the bible in his right hand.

  The mean officer grabs Tony’s hands, knocking the bible out of his hand, and cuffing Tony’s hands behind his back.

  “Officer, my bible.”

  The mean officer stomps on the bible with this foot while he shouts, “Here’s what I think of your god.”

  An
officer leads Tony away to the paddy wagon while the mean officer approaches me.

  He commands, “Get up slowly with your hands up.”

  I obey and rise slowly with my hands up.

  “Do you have any needles or anything sharp in your pockets?”

  “No,” I reply.

  The officer begins searching my pockets, but I don’t have anything.

  Another large officer approaches and says, “The vans are full. We can’t take anymore.”

  The officer who had checked my pockets says, “This is your lucky day.” Then he punches me in the stomach, and I drop to the ground and curl into a fetal position.

  After ten minutes, I feel better. I crawl to the tree and prop myself into a sitting position with my back against the tree.

  I see two police vans filled with members of our homeless community. Nathan sits in the last row while he screams profanities at the officers, twisting and contorting his body trying to break the chains.

  Then I see a team of city workers dragging tents and sleeping bags and our supplies, and toss them into the bed of a large pickup truck.

  The officers and city workers return to their vehicles, climb in, and drive away. And, the woods became quiet.

  An old homeless man sees me and approaches. I think his name is Richard, but I’m not sure. He says, “I see they left you behind too. Oh lord, please forgive them.”

  He helps me to stand up. “Do you think they’d do this to Jesus?” the old man asks.

  “I don’t want to disrespect Jesus, but I’m not sure they would give Jesus a break. Wasn’t Jesus homeless?”

  “No, not Jesus.”

  “Well, he never lived in a house, and he walked from town to town saving people, didn’t he?“

  “Huh um. Yes, he did.”

  “Doesn’t it sound like he was homeless?”

  “Yeah, but it was Jesus.”

  “I know, and some things never change, but at least we are more civilized. We wouldn’t nail Jesus to a cross today, but they probably would throw Jesus into a looney bin and pump his veins with anti-psychotic medications.”

  “Yeah, right. The state can no longer afford to pay to send people to psychiatric hospitals. They’d just throw him into a cold jail cell and let him rot there for years.”

  Then I notice Nathan’s pack of cigarettes and lighter lying on the ground. I’m not sure why I did it, but I bend down to pick them up and stuff them into my winter coat pocket. And, I don’t even smoke.