Walter The Homeless Man

by Tekoa Manning

  Walter took the single yellow rose as he had so many years ago. He thought about how history does indeed seem to repeat itself. He stumbled down the cobbled walkway of the florist to the sidewalk that headed towards the town square.

  He waited patiently all day for family members and friends to leave the funeral home. His heart was heavy and a part of him just wanted to come clean, apologize and make his presence known, but he had left everyone else to deal with something he should have been man enough to deal with. He had walked out on his family and his wife, at a time when they needed him most. Oh, if only they would understand. He felt like the most wretched man alive, nothing more than a coward, a weakling, and he was repulsed by his condition. He wished he could go back, but life did not allow such indulgences and now he wished it was him lying in the grave. Walter gazed at his pigeon and thought back to the day of his wife’s funeral. He even remembered the words he had prayed.

  “Oh God, why didn’t you take me first. Ruthie would have done such a better job being here for the children. Why did you keep me here and let her leave? You said the two would become one flesh, it’s in your Word, and yet here I sit without half of myself! I am incomplete without her; just take me home.” Walter had lowered his head and grieved until the sun had set. He remembered each detail of that dreadful day; to the rose he carried that still looked somewhat fresh, to him making his way to the parlor. The front door of the funeral home had been locked, but Walter went to the back and tapped on the door lightly. A stooped man, with kind eyes, had greeted Walter. “Good evening sir, can I be of some assistance to you?” But, before Walter could speak, “The viewing has just ended for Mrs. Ruthie Kendal, but you can resume seeing her tomorrow at 10 am. We will be conducting the funeral at that time, sir.”

  Walter had reached for his wallet and pulled out his license. “I am the husband of the deceased and have traveled some distance to get here. Can I please just have a moment?” Walter begged with his eyes to the man, waiting, and holding his breath.

  “Certainly sir,” the man had nodded and opened the door for Walter. “Right this way sir,” Walter followed him down a long hallway and then up some steps to the viewing area. “You have 10 minutes sir, please see yourself out the way you came in.”

  Walter had nodded and thanked the man. Each step he took towards the casket felt like concrete blocks were encrusted to his shoes. He had choked up at the sight of her, his lovely Ruthie, finally at peace. He had placed the single yellow rose in Ruthie’s hand tenderly, and he had kissed her cheek. Her pretty blue eyes were closed and he knew she was better off. He also thought Brenda and Daniel had seen the rose and knew that he had come to see Ruthie one last time.

  Walter knew that he had left them with a heavy load to bear. He could only imagine what it was like towards the end. He thought that somehow they would understand his pain, but then he had retrieved Jackie the following week, after the funeral. Jackie held the note that carried so much pain, “unforgiven.” Brenda had responded in red ink, but to Walter it might as well have been blood. His daughter was angry and Walter knew it. She was too angry to forgive him and he guessed he didn’t blame her, but would she stay angry forever?

  He tried to think of people in his life that he had held a grudge against. He tried to think of instances in his past that he had never forgotten, wrongs and deceit that lingered and hurt. His brother had once borrowed five hundred dollars from him when Walter really couldn’t afford to lend it, but it was his brother and he’d been laid off from work for some time. Later, after he’d gotten a job at a larger company, he had never offered to repay him, even when he knew Walter was having tough times. He smiled, remembering what Ruthie had done to correct the problem that was slowly driving a wedge between them. She waited until Jack, his brother, had an almost brand new riding mower for sale and phoned his wife Jill. “You know, I think Walter could really use that mower Jack’s selling. With Jack still owing us the five hundred he borrowed last May, we thought maybe we’d just call it even. Lord knows Jack’s plum forgotten about that or he’d of paid Walter back by now, and Walter’s just too kind to bring it up.” They received a check in the mail the following Monday, but that was still different. Walter couldn’t think of anyone he knew doing something this terrible.

  Walter shook himself from the memories of the past and looked around the park. Everything looked grey, black and white even. Since he had lost Ruthie and his family, all the colors in the world seemed to have faded away. He placed Jackie back into the cage and folded the small spiral notepad over and placed it back in his pocket. He had no words to say, what could he say? The memory of him visiting Ruthie one last time lingered as he made his steps towards the soup kitchen across town.

  Benjamin

  Chapter 6

  Benjamin Stewart lifted the box of French style green beans and then proceeded to place them in even rows on the shelf. A hurried younger lady with two children unknowingly rolled her cart into the heel of his foot. Benjamin grimaced and shot her a look of pain.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t. . .” Her words muffled into the distance and she continued on, turning the corner. Benjamin looked at his watch; twenty more minutes and he’d have to do his community service work at the School for the Blind. It had been sixteen months since the accident and he was still having nightmares. Benjamin had not yet driven. He had completed the alcohol classes. He had worked to pay each fine. Benjamin knew he should have been charged with murder, but his alcohol levels seemed to have been dismissed. He hadn’t driven since. Just thinking about getting behind the wheel of a car made his mind freeze. He’d feel dizzy and nauseous. Benjamin had flashbacks where he could hear the tires screeching, the glass shattering. He could see the body of a man lying ever so still. He knew he’d have to live with this memory the rest of his life. He clocked out at the computer and made his way out the back of the grocery store. The rear of the store was lined by dumpsters and truck deliveries; Benjamin turned down an alley between two of the businesses. He took the joint out of his cigarette pack taking long draws, holding the smoke deep in his lungs. Yes, that’s better, he thought.

  He walked down Gardner Street and then turned the corner of Huet Street. He entered the Dunlap School for the Blind, signed his name on the visitor log sheet, and waited for the director to give him his assignment. The assignments usually consisted of Benjamin passing out the lunch trays, mopping the corridors and emptying trash bins. Two girls walked down the hall, staring straight ahead, tapping their canes in a similar motion. Benjamin wondered what it would feel like to live in total darkness; at times he wished he were blind. Then he wouldn’t have to see the blue minivan that followed him home some evenings. He wouldn’t have to read the horrible letters she sent to the school or stare into the eyes of the children who would never see their father again because of him. Benjamin felt the anger rising, his pulse quickening as his temples throbbed. He hated her almost as much as he hated himself. She knew nothing about him. He paid for his mistake each day. Benjamin walked down the hallway and spotted Marcie Owens. She was the one good thing about the Dunlap School for the Blind. She was also there to pay a penance, and Benjamin always looked forward to seeing her.

  “Hello Benji!” she said, as her words curled around her thin paper lips. She never called him Benjamin. He liked the pet name she used. Marcie wore a pink cashmere sweater that day, revealing cleavage Benjamin could appreciate. Her long blonde hair was thin and straight, charged with static from the cold. The small wire-rimmed glasses framed her green cat-like eyes. Benjamin thought they gave her a look of sophistication.

  “I brought the ink-dot pictures you wanted to see and Kenny picked up a six-pack of beer for us. Do you want to go to the park when we’re finished here?” Two more girls rounded the corner with their canes outstretched leading them. Marcie jumped in front of them and started doing a silly dance. Waving her hands frantically she stuck out her tongue making faces at the girls that they would never see. Benjamin trie
d not to laugh, remembering that it wasn’t their hearing which was impaired. He knew Marcie meant nothing cruel by it; she just liked having a good time.

  “So are we on for the park?” she asked once more. Benjamin felt his cheeks turn three shades of red as Marcie smiled one of her brilliant smiles.

  “Sure,” he said, “sounds great.”

  They left the Dunlap School at four and hopped in Marcie’s 73 Super Beetle, which to start needed a hill and a push to pop the clutch. Benjamin’s tall lanky frame lowered into the passenger seat. His brown wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail with strands left unkempt, which blew in his face. He brushed a strand aside and looked at Marcie who shifted into third gear. “What a knockout,” he thought. If she knew the truth about my past, she’d never speak to me again. She felt Benjamin’s eyes upon her and turned to meet his gaze.

  “What?” she said, rolling her lips into an almost invisible smile that made Benjamin wonder.

  He picked up the portfolio she brought and studied the black ink pictures she had drawn. They were dark yet stunning, all the tiny dots forming a male torso, his muscular body etched in a skilled fashion. He was faceless, and she had started the picture at the neck then worked her way downward. He flipped the sketch pad and studied the next drawing; it was a grouping of sunflowers, their petals tumbling downward. “Sweet,” he said, turning towards Marcie, not knowing if he meant the pictures or her.

  They reached the park, grabbed the beers, and walked down a worn path that led to a huge rock nestled in the creek. In the summer time it was a happening location, but on this cool November evening, pure solitude. They made their way jumping from stone to stone, careful not to slip into the icy waters until they each climbed atop the massive boulder in the creek. It was a big rock with a flat huge surface perfect for taking a load off.

  Marcie uncapped her beer bottle first and felt the cool liquid begin to calm her nerves. Benjamin followed suit, his breath clearly visible in the chilly air. The time they spent together felt so comfortable to Benjamin at times. It was as if they had known one another in a previous lifetime but at other times it was awkward. She had been the first person he’d opened up to since the accident, however he was still withholding truths from her and keeping secrets. After resting a bit and finishing a beer, they made their way back over the stones in the water to a spot where a few picnic tables were placed. Marcie sat on a tree stump and uncapped her second beer when something caught her eye.

  “Look!” Marcie said, startling Benjamin out of his daydream. “There’s an old man over there by the trees.”

  Benjamin turned his head just in time to witness the pigeon take flight across the crimson sky. A piece of paper floated peacefully through the breeze, traveling north in their direction followed by a peculiar old man with gray hair and a scraggly beard. The old man’s head was lifted upward and he began to walk more briskly until eventually he was standing directly in front of the creek just a few feet from them. In one hand he held a cage; his other cupped his eyes as he peered towards the bird.

  “You lost your note,” Benjamin said, eyeing the faded paper. Walter turned around to place a face with the voice. Walter didn’t speak; his focus was on the beer bottles and the fact that his mouth was as dry as a cotton ball.

  “Sure is cold out here,” said Walter, as he flapped the long trench coat, flipping up the collar to break the wind. Marcie uncapped another beer bottle and presented it to Walter who seemed very thankful.

  “Do you live around here?” She asked quizzically, adjusting her glasses which had left a red ring upon her nose. She guessed he was homeless by the looks of him, but one could never tell. He was difficult read. In one sense, he had a distinguished face, a named brand coat, and a pleasant disposition but on the other hand his hair was unkempt and his clothes were somewhat soiled. Marcie once had a professor who looked every bit as homeless as this man. She chuckled to herself thinking back to the absentminded professor and gazed upward at the homes which lined the cliffs surrounding the park.

  “No, I’m just,” Walter stopped, not knowing how to answer. “I stay here and there,” he said, taking another swig from his beer bottle. About that time, Jackie landed by his feet and began to coo. Walter knelt down and placed her in the cage. Then he ran his fingers through his silver hair and tried to recall the last time he savored a beer.

  “Sweet bird,” said Benjamin. Is that a pigeon?”

  “Yes, she is a homing pigeon and a dear friend. I had her for years; blue ribbon winner as well.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard about those birds. Pretty interesting,” said Benjamin. Marcie couldn’t help but feel sorry for the old man and a tad curious.

  “So are you from here?” asked Marcie.

  “No, I am from a little town called Barkley; if you blink you'll miss it. It’s in Tennessee, that’s where I’m from originally. I’m just visiting here awhile.”

  Marcie nodded at the man and felt her hands growing cold from the beer bottle and the winds chilly breath. They continued to talk about Kentucky and Tennessee, finally agreeing a home in a warmer climate would be good about now.

  Benjamin’s thoughts at the mention of home shifted to his own place. He had a one bedroom loft he rented from a friend at the grocery store. The old lead painted walls were peeling. The kitchen window’s view was a concrete brick building. To say the least, it left much to be desired. He wanted to have Marcie over but had been too embarrassed. Maybe after he finished his community service work, he could get a second job and spruce it up a bit. But, with his track record, it had been hard enough to find employment at the grocery store. He snapped out of his daze and heard the last of a conversation between the old man and Marcie about the beach.

  The old man finished his beer and placed it back into the empty slot of the beer case. “Well, thank you,” he said. “I must get going now. It’s almost dark and I have a six o’clock appointment. I volunteer over at the homeless shelter. Always take my bird, the kids love her.”

  “It was nice to meet you,” said Marcie, as she introduced herself and Benjamin.

  “Name’s Walter Kendal and it was a pleasure as well,” and with that, they watched him disappear into the woods, the cage swaying as he walked. Benjamin glanced at the ground where the tattered note still lay.

  “Wait, sir, you forgot your . . .” But it was too late, Walter was already out of sight.

  Benjamin reached down and picked up the paper, his cold fingers began to unroll the worn note. He could just faintly make out its letters bleeding together, forming one word, one word that left Benjamin perplexed “unforgiven,” was all it said. “Unforgiven.” Benjamin almost laughed at the irony of how one word could describe his life. How could he ever be forgiven for murdering a man? Yes, the word seemed to sum up his circumstances. He stuffed the crinkled paper in his pocket and pondered his future.

  Bradford

  Chapter 7

  Desiree opened the thick manual and began to study for yet another exam. It was Saturday, and the children were distracting her with their frequent interruptions. She hadn’t gotten far into the first chapter when the phone rang. It was Bradford Stiltz, one of the three attorneys she worked for at the firm. “Sorry for bothering you at home,” he said, “but I have some information I wanted to share with you and was wondering if you could be of some assistance? I’m dealing with MADD, mothers against drunk drivers, and since you’ve witnessed it firsthand, I brought your name up. They’re looking for another spokesperson for their June conference. You know we never seem to know who to go after: the person pouring the drinks, the cashiers selling to underage teens, or the careless drunk drivers. I was just thinking about your particular circumstance and thought you’d have a lot to offer!” Desiree was moved by his interest in her situation and by the idea of meeting others like herself. Desiree also felt he was a sincere man and did not fit in the stereotypical boxes she had projected due to his friend and copartner, Thomas Friedman. She had witnessed Mr. Friedma
n making advances on far too many coworkers, and he seemed to have a different woman at every event.

  “Bradford, I think a support group may be just what I need. Except I didn’t lose a child to a drunk driver, I lost a husband,” she glanced at the mantel to study the framed portrait of John then quickly shifted back to the text in front of her.

  “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Every case is different and just as valuable to the group. Would you like to meet me for dinner, and we could discuss the format?” Bradford secretly hoped she’d say yes; he wanted to get to know her better and had always found her refreshingly down to earth.

  Desiree watched as Josh stuck his feet on the back of Tabitha’s rocking chair and began to push her forward. Tabitha held on to the arms and let out a squeal, “Stop it, Josh!” Desiree eyed an orange Kool-Aid stain on the carpet and a trail of Lego blocks that Josh had dumped in the middle of the room. She sure wasn’t getting much accomplished here and decided to take him up on his offer. “Okay Bradford, I need a break anyway.”

  They were to meet at Christy’s, an upscale restaurant in the older historic area of town. Desiree made a quick call to her grandmother, then went straight to her closet. She strummed through the slim pickings, making sure not to cross over into John’s clothing. She had tried to make herself go through them and box them up for the thrift store but hadn’t had the strength or the time. Finally, she decided on a sweater dress with matching jacket. The jacket was short waisted with a white collar and matching cuffs. She then chose a pearl necklace and earrings John had given her on their third wedding anniversary. She clasped the strand around her neck, combed what hair she had forward and grabbed her black beret off the dresser. Her stockings were snagged, but she was able to stop the run with clear fingernail polish and a blow dryer. A pair of black pumps and an hour later she pulled the minivan into the parking lot of Christy’s.