I watched a crisp brown and red leaf fall just beneath my path and I stepped forward and onto it, crushing every dead and dry cell of the leaf. I was walking home from school. It was a Friday, and the only thing I was supposed to get done was my laundry before I could do whatever I’d wanted. All day I had dreamt of myself doing everything but my school work. Vivid images of my weekend to come, played a montage through my thoughts when my teacher interrupted about halfway through, catching what was left of my attention span.
I never really paid any attention in school. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect my teachers, or thought it was cool. It wasn’t that I didn’t want good grades, or even that I hated school. Because I didn’t. And I don’t. I never paid attention for the sole purpose of dreading the concept of learning. Something about the idea of sitting there being told how to do something then actually applying it to a fictional scenario, then being expected to insert that lesson into our life someway, didn’t set with me. I guess what I really mean is that I much would have rather to just physically do it. Somehow project myself into the perspective of the “boy who ate 12 chocolate bars but paid $2.50 for all of them” or into “George’s” dilemma with finding out however many people bought tickets to the dance. I just didn’t care. I. Just. Didn’t. Care. That’s where she stopped me.
“Maxwell?” She approached my desk and suddenly stole my mind back. Even as much as I wanted to pretend I didn’t hear, I acknowledged her.
“Yes, Ms. Hunter?” I pretended she never lost my non-existent desire to learn.
“Can you answer me this problem?” She pointed to the board.
“I don’t know…Can I?” Or are you going to correct me and tell me I’m wrong?” I fired back with a wise comment, making the entire classroom explode in calorie-burning laughter. She was fuming. Her frustration generated negative vibes that bounced off the walls of the classroom. My sinister smirk only took her pool of hateful emotions to the next level. She had the cliché cartoon expression on her face, resembling a character releasing steam out of their ears. On her forehead, there was a vein that ran downstream towards her right eye and it swelled every time my wise remarks sent her blood pressure off the charts. I didn’t try to make her blood pressure sky-rocket; it wasn’t that I didn’t like her or her class. I wasn’t trying to be the class clown or just be a nuisance, I once again didn’t care. I had rather get back to my day dreaming. So I did.
I thought about everything but Math for the next fifteen minutes. I gazed out the foggy window at the handprints that were imprinted in the condensation last week. Out the window, I saw the October skies. The clouds were painted a strong orange and soft purple, then faded off into a milky pink color as it hugged the edge of the atmosphere. For an early morning, the sky made it feel as if it were evening with their warm colors. Through the clouds, the sun’s rays illuminated streaks of the air. My mother calls them Heaven - those rays. She tells me that the rays are Heaven, inducting a person into their world. I guess a lot of people died that day.
The rest of that day, I watched rays shine down from Heaven, too many to count. I observed the kid next to me sleeping in class, who was, by the way, sleeping peacefully without one comment from Ms. Hunter. I listened to the latest drama from the girls behind me who gossiped every time there was a pause in the learning process. And let me tell you, about all I learned in that class was which girls in our school were “mean backstabbers”.
Finally, it was five minutes before the school bell was supposed to ring and I was no longer day dreaming. Ms. Hunter opened the previously dew-covered windows, and I could feel the chilled autumn air rush its way into the room, giving me goose-bumps through my jacket.
The bell sounded, and before you could even think to hold the door for me, I was gone. Not that anyone would ever hold the door for me, I wasn’t very well-liked by my peers. Sure, they laughed at my jokes, but it was my humor they liked, not me. It wasn’t that I was one of those kids who remained lonesome in the back of the class, one who only talked when trying to suck up to the teacher. No one ever picked on me, or had mean things to say to or about me. I just really had no direction, and this wasn’t something that bothered me. I carried on with my day, each and every day, not caring what people thought (as I should), and not caring what people had to say to me (even when I should have).
Anyway. On my way home, I noticed a white piece of shiny paperboard peeking from under the mud and leaves. I kicked it, triggering it to slide in a quickly-spinning motion further up the road. Covered in dirt, bits of leaves and whatever bugs lurked in the moist environment under it, I made out the words that were still visible on the piece of trash. It was a flattened milk carton; littered on the side of the road, creating a home for thousands of insects, while abusing Mother Nature at the same time. For some reason, though, I’d like to thank the person that tossed that milk carton. I was supposed to go food shopping that day on my way home, and I almost forgot. No, I didn’t want to go food shopping, but it was still something I had to do and if I didn’t do it on my way home, I’d have to go back out.
Chapter 2
The weather was beginning to get ruthlessly bitter. In Chicago, the fall months were unpredictable; extremely warm, or extremely crippling cold weather. My short walk to the grocery store felt like it took hours rather than minutes; dragging on forever, forcing me to focus on my body temperature more than anything else. That walk changed my life for a lot of reasons. Some reasons, I didn’t know yet, but some I did. And one reason was that it reminded me that I really need to invest in a new winter coat. But the others; they put things into a whole new perspective for me - a perspective I didn’t even see until it was sitting at my feet.
I was approaching the last block before the market until I had to wait for the crosswalk signal. I waited, and waited, and waited. I waited for what felt like forever, which realistically only amounted to about a minute. I guess you could call me impatient. Regardless of the signal, I began to cross to the next block and disobeyed the ‘law’, or what I like to call a ‘suggested signal’, which obviously was just suggesting that I should not cross when it told me not to cross. But I did, and I was already anticipating the shock my body would feel as it escaped the frigid air, and suddenly met warmth. There I was: standing on the dirty city concrete, facing the green and red apartment-style store. I read the white cloth sign that hung just above the windows that read Millen Kane Family Grocery. The display windows were lightly frosted and fogged, and made me that much more excited to enter. But then, there it was, the next thing I noticed.
Chicago is full of homeless people. It’s sad, but it’s something that’s so common that you don’t really pay attention to it anymore. Which is also sad, depressing even. I typically just take a glance and feel a dim emotion of sympathy, then carry on as the rest of the world does. Everyone knows it - what I’m talking about - everyone knows exactly the feeling. The feeling that you get when you see someone who is homeless. You look really quick, but try not to stare so that they don’t feel “different”. But that’s not the real reason. It’s not so they don’t feel different. The real reason is that you’re afraid to face reality, afraid to face the fact that everyone takes everything for granted somehow.
And that’s exactly what I did. I ignored the homeless man shivering at my feet. I had places to be. I had to get groceries. That man would be here later. That man would still be homeless, and still shivering. But what did I care?
Chapter 3
When I walked in, the first thing I noticed was the lighting. I had been to the grocery store before, this grocery store, but there was something about the fluorescent lights that caught me this time. Maybe they were too bright, or not bright enough. Maybe it was the way they lit up the store, making it feel ‘homey’ or family owned. Whatever it was, it had me thinking for about 5 minutes. My mind should have been pondering the homeless man, but he had given me no excuse to pay any attention to him.
I ventured through the vegetable and fruit section, then near the deli. I watched the man behind the display window cut hundreds of slices of cheese, and different meats. I focused as his hand synchronized with the machine, perfectly thinning each slice. He looked like he hated his job, but when he turned to the woman he was serving, the man painted a smile across his face and said, “Have a nice day! Enjoy!”. That angered me. The fact that he was unhappy, but he acted as if he wasn’t. Why couldn’t he just accept it and avoid pretending to be nice to the woman? He didn’t have to be rude, but he didn’t have to be a fraud and be friendly. I don’t know why it bothered me so much, but it did.
Awaking from my deli daze, I proceeded through the rest of the store. I grabbed crackers, juice, tea, and even threw in some candy for myself. My mother would probably agree that it’s not the best idea for me to chew away holes into my teeth with sugar, but she couldn’t stop me now, could she?
I was almost to the coldest part of the market. The place where you wish you could be when it’s so hot out in the summer, the place you hate if you’re just coming in from outside. I had to get milk. It was as if I was outside again, the cool air flushing through my red nose, my hands shaking out of lack of warmth. I found myself wishing for summer again, wishing that it would feel refreshing, not dreadful, to go buy milk. I looked for the biggest jug of milk, knowing that if I got the small one, I’d be back soon. I’d be back to face the cold again. I picked the last gallon of milk off the shelf that was sweating with condensation and put it in my cart.
There was only one more thing on my list that I needed to get before heading home: bread. There’s nothing wrong with the grocery store’s bread, but the best bread is down the street about two blocks at Soft Wheat Bakery. Their bread is always so fresh and warm. No matter the bread, it’s simple to rip apart; not dry, but moist. The aromas of the ovens full of pastries and dough, and the coffee machines churning all day, fill the street. The surrounding buildings are permanently scented with the bakery’s creations.
Approaching the bakery, it was all I could smell. Warm air was radiating from the door, and alas I was comfortable again. The man at the counter moved frantically to meet his customer’s needs, and quickly shouted to me.
“What can I get for you, boy?!” His voice was strong. I felt rushed, I couldn’t decide which bread.
“Uh..Uhm..Ahm.. Can I please get an Italian Semolina?” I pointed to it in the case. The man looked at me for a second, wondering if I knew what I was talking about.
“Sure thing!” He shouted, then bagged me a loaf. “Will that be all today?”
“That will be all, sir. Thank you.” Okay, I know I’m not the most polite person but I respect people I don’t know, or at least haven’t met before. If you got standards? I respect you. That’s just the way it is. I don’t respect some adults, and I certainly don’t respect a lot of my peers. I don’t respect myself sometimes either, but I do respect those who have taught me anything in life. And the man at the bakery, he never taught me anything special, but he rushed me into making my decision. He forced me to dive right in, to try something that I may not have ever tried before. To take a risk, and hope I wouldn’t regret it. If you ask me, for a life lesson, it was a little much coming from a simple loaf of bread.
That wasn’t the only lesson. On my way out, my mind was once again focused on being home. I was focused on relaxing and having fun this weekend. My focus quickly turned to the figure that was sitting by the small indoor fireplace near the door. A very ragged jacket, dirtier than a cloth that had just been used to change a car’s oil. Jeans, faded with dirt and ripped at the knees. Their shoes were worn down leather with busted holes near the toes. For the first time, I felt so self-centered. But it wasn’t until I saw this man for the second time, that I actually felt something at all.
Chapter 4
The man could feel my presence and me watching over him. He slowly turned his head to get a peripheral glimpse of me looking at him, then quickly turned back to the fire. His body was tightly bundled, and seemed as though he felt exposed, yet as if no one was paying attention to him, even when they really weren’t.
I sat down next to him and set my groceries and loaf of bread beside me on the tile floor. He looked at me, as if he was afraid. I wasn’t sure what he was afraid of, he had probably faced more things to fear, than I had ever faced before.
“Hi, I’m Max.” I smiled.
“..He-.. Hello.” He struggled to mumble. “I’m.. Winston..”
“How’s you’re day been, Winston?” I tried to start conversation.
“Cold.” He was hardly giving me anything to respond to, he seemed shy.
“Would you like some bread?” I offered him some of the loaf, nodding towards the loaf in my hand.
“Oh, I couldn’t take that from you.” He muttered. He was starting to open up.
“Sure you can, I can just get another, and your body could use it more than mine..”
“That’s how I got myself into this mess.” I could feel Winston’s pool of regret and self-hatred in his words.
“What mess?” I was confused.
“What mess?! Don’t try to fool me, kid.. I mean, Max. I’m homeless, heartless, familyless, hopeless, everyone knows it. And everyone, is careless. Who cares. And why should I care, than no one cares? I don’t.” Winston fired off, venting every last feeling to me about himself. He wanted to be heard, and I wanted to hear him. Suddenly, I could see his eyes light up a little. “I’ll tell you what. You come back tomorrow, come back to that grocery store you went to this morning. I’ll be there, waiting for you.”
“Tomorrow? Why?” I asked.
“I got an idea, kid. And I’ve seen you at the grocery store before, even if you didn’t see me. Just go there. Don’t give me no grief. See you tomorrow. Carry on now. Get lost, boy.”
Every word he spoke to me replayed in my mind, it was one of the more interesting conversations I had had. It, in fact, was “different”. But I was ready to face reality this time.
I went home that night, thinking about it until I slept. I woke up, and I was still thinking about it. And because I was thinking about it so much, I was almost starting to feel nervous. I was starting to become scared, but excited at the same time. And I can’t tell you what made me feel this way, but something just did. Something just made me cringe, but smile.
That afternoon, I headed to the grocery store. There he was, sitting peacefully in the sun. Today was particularly warm for a winter day. No wind, no rain, no snow. Just sun. I slowly made my way towards him.
“Hey, Winston.” I stopped before him.
“Max, max, max.” He repeated my name like my mother would when she thought she was some sort of detective. “How was your day?”
“Very well, thank you. Just trying to get by. How was yours?” I was nervous to hear his answer.
“It was very well, eh? Do you consider thinking you’re ‘on top of the world’ as very well?” He put his hands up to make quotations with his fingers around his words. “Nobody is below you. You’re at the bottom, Max. And my day? How was my day? Very cold. Very lonely. Very boring. Just like my bank account, and my family. Very cold. Very Lonely. Very Boring.”
I knew I was going to pity his answer, I knew he was going to attack my personality. He read me like a book, like he’s spoken to me plenty of times before.
“Can I tell you something Max?”
I looked at him, afraid of his answer, this time too.
“Can I?” He repeated himself.
“Ah, yeah, sure Winston. Go on Mr..” Awaiting his words, I made sincere eye contact.
“Stop being selfish. Stop using people, and being rude. You, my friend, are all of the names or things you call people. You are worth everything that you do to the people around you. Would it hurt you to be so positive?” His words made me feel unsteady, only because they were true. “Look at me!” I obeyed and quickly glanced back. “Look at what I’ve done to myself. I know you. I know you too well. I know you so well that it makes me sick. I know that one day, if you keep seeing yourself as better than the rest, and if you keep taking advantage of everything in your life, it will make its round trip. Everything in your life will start taking advantage of you. Just look at me. Look down the street at all my ‘company’.” I knew exactly what he meant by company, and I shouldn’t have. He was talking about all his other homeless friends. I shouldn’t be so familiar with the idea of so many homeless people. “Will you do that for me?”
Decisions.
“I can try, Winston. I can try. How do you know so much about me?” I wondered.
“Trying is not good enough, you need to succeed, or you will not succeed in life. And I do not know a thing about you. I don’t know your face from that of someone else’s, I see so many faces everyday. I just know I was just like you. I recognize you, yes, but it’s your personality that makes it so obvious. Smarten up, be a person.”
“Winston, I-” He cut me off.
“Max, just go do it. Stop spending your time on someone like me, everyone else did, and so far I’ve turned out fine. Just dive right in. Go for it. Take a risk.” He shooed me away.
I started to walk away, keeping all of the favors he asked of me, in mind. As I neared the edge of the street, I glanced down it at all the homeless people. I glanced at myself. I looked at the woman walking out of the grocery store with all her new food, unsure of just how lucky she was to have that food, and have a warm place to eat it. I turned one last time towards the store, looked at the figure sitting on the ground. A very ragged jacket, dirtier than a cloth that had just been used to change a car’s oil. Jeans, faded with dirt and ripped at the knees. Shoes, worn down leather with busted holes near the toes. But it wasn’t until I saw this man for the second time, that I actually felt something at all.
“Bye, Winston. Thanks.”
