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Freeway
Photo by 'material boy'
Pops waited for traffic to clear before pushing his shopping cart off the sidewalk and into the dry, rangy brush. He didn't want people to see where he spent his nights. This was his vacant lot, and by God he wasn’t going to share it with anyone.
The cart creaked in complaint as it bounced over roots and ruts, but Pops couldn't hear it for the roar of the freeway overhead. Pops maneuvered the cart into place, hiding it behind an oversized, variegated aloe. He unfolded two large, well-worn cardboard boxes and lay them flat along the ground. Then he took two wool blankets out of a black plastic garbage bag. He spread them across the boxes and sat down.
He reached into the pocket of his long, beige trench coat for his last Mickey's Wide Mouth. He unscrewed the top and drank, smacking his lips with pleasure between swallows. When the bottle was empty he tossed it into the shopping cart. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to know he'd start out the next day with his first returns ready to go.
He would have liked another Mickey's, but that was the truth every night when he lay down to sleep. For now, he knew he'd drunk enough to keep the ghosts at bay.
Pops lay back, tucking coat and blankets around him. Later on, in summer, it would be warm enough to use them as a pillow. For now, a few scraps of cardboard beneath his head would have to do. Pops looked up at the few stars visible in the Los Angeles sky and breathed a deep sigh of relief and disappointment for having survived another day.
The cart creaked in complaint as it bounced over roots and ruts, but Pops couldn't hear it for the roar of the freeway overhead. Pops maneuvered the cart into place, hiding it behind an oversized, variegated aloe. He unfolded two large, well-worn cardboard boxes and lay them flat along the ground. Then he took two wool blankets out of a black plastic garbage bag. He spread them across the boxes and sat down.
He reached into the pocket of his long, beige trench coat for his last Mickey's Wide Mouth. He unscrewed the top and drank, smacking his lips with pleasure between swallows. When the bottle was empty he tossed it into the shopping cart. It gave him a sense of satisfaction to know he'd start out the next day with his first returns ready to go.
He would have liked another Mickey's, but that was the truth every night when he lay down to sleep. For now, he knew he'd drunk enough to keep the ghosts at bay.
Pops lay back, tucking coat and blankets around him. Later on, in summer, it would be warm enough to use them as a pillow. For now, a few scraps of cardboard beneath his head would have to do. Pops looked up at the few stars visible in the Los Angeles sky and breathed a deep sigh of relief and disappointment for having survived another day.
Photo by the author
The Kid crept past the giant aloe as quietly as he could. He placed his feet softly, careful to avoid kicking any rocks loose. When he reached the edge of the blankets, he knelt and took the pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his puffy black coat. He tucked a twenty inside the plastic wrapper and dropped the pack beside the old man's head.
Pops awoke in an instant. "What?" he shouted, reaching up and grasping wildly at the shadow above him.
"Shit!" The Kid muttered. He tried to pull away, but the old man had a surprisingly tight grip. The Kid placed his hands on Pops' chest and pushed. He didn't want to hurt the old man, but he had to get away before he was seen.
"Get the hell out of here!" Pops shouted to the retreating shadow.
The Kid ran into the darkness.
Pops dozed uneasily the rest of the night, trying and failing to keep watch. Whoever it was didn't return.
When he awoke in the morning Pops was sticky with sweat. He raised his aching body with care. Over by the aloe, a scattering of California poppies had bloomed in the early morning light. Their bright orange blossoms made him smile. The breeze picked up, and the poppies waved on their slender stalks.
Living the straight life had its advantages, but those who did could never understand the joy of waking up to surprises like flowers unexpectedly in bloom just beside his bed. So what if part of the surprise came from being too drunk to notice the changing seasons?
Then he saw a fresh pack of Camels beside his bedroll. With a twenty again. Maybe it was one of those do-gooder groups sneaking around and to help the "unfortunate." He stuffed the pack in his pocket and spat.
Pops awoke in an instant. "What?" he shouted, reaching up and grasping wildly at the shadow above him.
"Shit!" The Kid muttered. He tried to pull away, but the old man had a surprisingly tight grip. The Kid placed his hands on Pops' chest and pushed. He didn't want to hurt the old man, but he had to get away before he was seen.
"Get the hell out of here!" Pops shouted to the retreating shadow.
The Kid ran into the darkness.
Pops dozed uneasily the rest of the night, trying and failing to keep watch. Whoever it was didn't return.
When he awoke in the morning Pops was sticky with sweat. He raised his aching body with care. Over by the aloe, a scattering of California poppies had bloomed in the early morning light. Their bright orange blossoms made him smile. The breeze picked up, and the poppies waved on their slender stalks.
Living the straight life had its advantages, but those who did could never understand the joy of waking up to surprises like flowers unexpectedly in bloom just beside his bed. So what if part of the surprise came from being too drunk to notice the changing seasons?
Then he saw a fresh pack of Camels beside his bedroll. With a twenty again. Maybe it was one of those do-gooder groups sneaking around and to help the "unfortunate." He stuffed the pack in his pocket and spat.
Photo by the author
It was early afternoon by the time Pops finished swapping out his cans and bottles for cash as usual at the recyclers. He decided to take a stroll to the library. Maybe some more do-gooders would show up to try and buy their way into heaven by handing out thin sandwiches. Hot and tired, he took off his coat and sat out front on the cement steps with men and women in other states of decay.
"No sleeping on the steps, Pops."
Pops opened his eyes and looked up at the source of the soft voice, a dark, young Asian man in a blue guard uniform.
The guard smiled. He sympathized with the ones like Pops who were quiet, kept themselves tidy and didn't make trouble. A security guard working for barely better than minimum wage, he knew he lived only a paycheck or two away from a life like that. It was the ones who started fights on the library steps that the young security guard disliked intensely. They always picked on people smaller and weaker than themselves.
Still, his job was to keep homeless people from camping out in front of the library. So when he noticed them nodding off, the ones he liked, he gently nudged awake. The ones he didn't, he waited until they were fast asleep and threw them out.
Pops shook one of the Camels out of his pack. He considered offering one to the guard, but decided against it. The guard could buy his own damn cigs.
No one showed up to hand out food. As dusk fell, Pops headed back to his aloe and California poppies. Along the way he found half a ham sandwich and some fries in a garbage can. He bought a six pack of Mickey's, too. It was a good day, not a great one.
As he approached his vacant lot, he almost didn't recognize it. Instead of poppies and chaparral there was a single variegated aloe, stark and alone amidst the devastation of short cropped vegetation.
CalTrans had mowed his home.
Pops didn't wait for traffic to clear. He left his shopping cart on the sidewalk and ran to the aloe. The black plastic bag with his blankets, his cardboard boxes, everything was gone. Including his beautiful poppies.
Pops fell to his knees where flowers should have been. He lifted his face to the sky and howled his desolation. How much could one man bear to lose in this life?
"No sleeping on the steps, Pops."
Pops opened his eyes and looked up at the source of the soft voice, a dark, young Asian man in a blue guard uniform.
The guard smiled. He sympathized with the ones like Pops who were quiet, kept themselves tidy and didn't make trouble. A security guard working for barely better than minimum wage, he knew he lived only a paycheck or two away from a life like that. It was the ones who started fights on the library steps that the young security guard disliked intensely. They always picked on people smaller and weaker than themselves.
Still, his job was to keep homeless people from camping out in front of the library. So when he noticed them nodding off, the ones he liked, he gently nudged awake. The ones he didn't, he waited until they were fast asleep and threw them out.
Pops shook one of the Camels out of his pack. He considered offering one to the guard, but decided against it. The guard could buy his own damn cigs.
No one showed up to hand out food. As dusk fell, Pops headed back to his aloe and California poppies. Along the way he found half a ham sandwich and some fries in a garbage can. He bought a six pack of Mickey's, too. It was a good day, not a great one.
As he approached his vacant lot, he almost didn't recognize it. Instead of poppies and chaparral there was a single variegated aloe, stark and alone amidst the devastation of short cropped vegetation.
CalTrans had mowed his home.
Pops didn't wait for traffic to clear. He left his shopping cart on the sidewalk and ran to the aloe. The black plastic bag with his blankets, his cardboard boxes, everything was gone. Including his beautiful poppies.
Pops fell to his knees where flowers should have been. He lifted his face to the sky and howled his desolation. How much could one man bear to lose in this life?