by Tina Martin
I run a heavy-duty extension cord out there and connect it to a surge protector to plug up a box fan and a lamp. At least he’ll have light and air while he’s staying here.
When I’m done, he looks around. I see the satisfaction in his eyes.
“This is nice. I can’t thank you enough for this.”
“Well, I’ll have plenty of work for you so you may want to build up some endurance and do some pushups or something on your downtime to get those dormant muscles working again.”
“I will, but for right now, I want to enjoy sleeping in a bed for a change.”
I can only imagine how it will be for him to sleep in a bed. I want to ask him how long it’s been since he’d done so, but I’m certain he’s ready for rest.
I look around the camper to make sure everything is in order, then say, “I’m gonna go. If you need anything, just holler.”
He nods, and with that, I leave him. I’m grateful that I could do something to help him out. I hope it serves him well. In the grand scheme of things, I pray this is day one of him getting back on his feet and starting over.
After a shower, I go to bed refreshed and at peace. It feels good to help somebody – real good. My only hope is that it doesn’t come back to bite me in the rear.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ahmalee
And now you’re shopping for him…
Told you I was the queen of doing the most. When I woke up on this beautiful, bright Sunday morning, I had Cain heavily on my mind. I’ve bought him some clothes after getting his sizes from the soiled garments he left in my bathroom. I bought five pairs of pants and five t-shirts, plus a pack of those tank top-looking shirts that men wear to bed sometimes. I got him shoes, socks, a pair of sandals and two five-packs of boxers. I got soap, toothbrushes, toothpaste, bath cloths, towels, bottled water and snacks. I bought a freakin’ mini fridge. Yeah, I went overboard, but it’s fulfilling to do something like this for someone. Mom would be proud.
I smile when I realize I reason like my mother. My father would throw a whole fit if he knew I was doing something like this, but I can hear my mother’s voice calming him down, rationalizing with him – telling him how I (like her) have always been a free spirit who chased after dreams and stayed true to who she was and what she believed in. Cain scared the crap out of me – I’ll admit that. He still does to a certain extent, which leaves me asking myself if I’m losing it. But if I can help one person on this earth, I’d say that’s a win. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that he doesn’t kill me.
* * *
When I’m back home from shopping, it’s close to two. It’s so hot, I don’t want to get out of the car. I’d rather sit here until mother nature calms down a lil’ bit. Shrew! Makes me wonder how hot it is in that camper right now. I know from experience – a box fan is no match for a ninety-degree day. It’s like sitting up under a hair dryer. What can I do to make Cain more comfortable?
I unload the car – mini fridge and all – then leave the stuff on the living room floor while I go to the kitchen to get started on lunch. I haven’t eaten and I know Cain hasn’t, so I fix two ham and cheese sandwiches and deep fry some fries. I should’ve picked up some lunch on the way home, but it’s too late now. This heat is merciless. I’m not going back out there anymore today.
I was about to go get Cain when I look out the window and see him walking across the backyard to the house. I open the backdoor and yell, “Hey, you’re right on time.”
“For what, ma’am? You need me to do something for you?”
“No. I fixed us some lunch. Come eat.”
He stops walking, crosses his arms and says, “I didn’t do any work yet.”
“I know, but I’ll have something for you to do afterward. Okay?”
He walks this way again. He’s still wearing the shirt and jogging pants I gave him yesterday evening. It’s not like he had anything else to change into.
At the table, he eats. Moans and eats. He drinks an entire glass of water within a few seconds.
“Sorry,” he says when he catches me staring. “I haven’t had fries in a long time.”
“I have more.”
He doesn’t confirm or deny if he wants more. I take it upon myself to refill his plate. He thanks me again. At least he’s polite, right?
“How was it sleeping out there?”
“It was nice to sleep in a bed.”
“Was it hot in there?”
“It was, but I’m not complaining. I’m grateful for your hospitality, even if I felt like a loaf of bread that somebody forgot was in the oven.”
I laugh at his description. I don’t mean to. It just sort of jumps out.
Cain gives a collected half-smile. I’m glad he sees the humor in the situation.
“I’m sorry. I know it gets hot in there. I didn’t think about it until I was out shopping today.”
“It’s fine. I’m teasing. Besides, beggars can’t be choosers.”
“It’s not even like that. I mean, I would have you stay in the extra bedroom but honestly, I’m not comfortable with that. I don’t know you all that well and I’m a woman and you’re a—”
“Man,” he says, finishing my statement.
“Yes. You’re a man. Don’t know why I just felt the need to say that.”
“I understand. I’m grateful for your hospitality. I am. I could be laying on a sidewalk, right?”
I eat my fries and he finishes up his meal. When he’s done, he promptly requests I give him something to do.
“Huh?” I ask.
“Work. I said I’d work for you in exchange for food and a place to stay. I’m a man of my word. So, what do you have for me to do today?”
“Um—let me think. I mean, it’s Sunday. Most people don’t work on Sundays.”
“I’m not most people,” he says.
I keep my eyes on him for a moment and ask, “Cain, what’s your last name?”
“Wesley.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been homeless?”
“Uh…” he sighs and leans back in his chair.
“Nevermind,” I say. I don’t want to agitate him. “I do have something for you to do for me—well actually it’s for you.”
“What’s that?”
“There’re a lot of bags on the living room floor. They all need to go to the camper.”
“I’ll get right to it,” he says eagerly, getting up from the table.
“Oh—I didn’t mean right this minute, Cain.”
“I know. I have nothing else to do. It’ll keep me busy…keep my mind off things. By the way, where’d you put my boots?”
Boots? I know he ain’t talking about those raggedy ol’ boots he had on. The ones that both sets of toes were hanging out the front of.
“What boots?”
“The boots I had on yesterday. I left them in your bathroom after I took a bath, along with my clothes.”
So, he is referring to the holey boots. Oh my…
“Cain, I threw those in the garbage. They had holes in them.”
“I realize that, ma’am—”
“Ahmalee,” I interrupt him to say. I’m almost offended that he called me ma’am again like we haven’t moved past that stage yet.
He pauses as if he forgot his train of thought since I cut him off. After a few passing moments, he finally says, “They were the only shoes I had.”
“Not anymore. I bought you some new ones today. They’re among the things you need to take to the camper.”
He walks out of the kitchen, heading for the living room.
I continue eating. I take a sip of water and glance up. He’s back in the kitchen, standing near the entrance, looking at me. I didn’t hear him come back, but here he is.
“Yes?” I ask.
“All the bags in the living room goes to the camper?”
“Yes.”
“You bought all that stuff for me?”
“Yes, well except for the bag with the Kotex
and Advil. That’s mine.”
He looks confused.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “Why—why did you buy all that stuff?”
“Beee—cause—you need it?” I say in the form of an elongated question. Why does he think I bought it?
He looks shocked for a moment. He looks at me, scratches his head then goes back to the living room. He has me questioning myself now. Did I do something wrong? Should I not have bought him anything? Does he feel a certain kind of way about a woman taking care of him? Would he rather have his old raggedy shoes than the new pairs I purchased?
Men have pride – doesn’t matter what walk of life they’re in. I picked up on that when he didn’t want to tell me how long he’d been on the streets.
And he still hasn’t told me.
It’s embarrassing. I get it, and if he doesn’t want to talk about it, I won’t make him. I’m only trying to help – not judge – and I wasn’t trying to make him feel like less of a man by buying that stuff for him. I hope he doesn’t feel that way.
At any rate, he carries the bags to the camper and does so quietly like he doesn’t want to disturb me. Once he has all the bags, I tell him to take the mini fridge. He takes that, too. Once he does, he doesn’t come back. He didn’t need to, but I didn’t think he’d stay in there. If I’m being honest, I was kinda hoping he’d come back to talk to me but since he hasn’t, I go about doing my Sunday chores to prepare for the upcoming work week.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ahmalee
For dinner, I have a large pepperoni and sausage pizza delivered from Scoozi’s. The temperature has cooled down substantially, so I take the opportunity to enjoy some time on the porch. I lit two spearmint and eucalyptus candles since they also act as mosquito repellants in addition to its aromatherapy and relaxation properties. I’m sitting on a blanket with my laptop. The pizza box is next to me. I’m in chill mode. I could only eat three slices of pizza and I had to force that third one down. One just can’t eat two slices of Scoozi’s.
Now, I’m sipping on a Smirnoff Ice, ordering more fragrance oils for my candles since I’ll be coming up with new scents for the fall. Along with the fragrances, I order more candle tins and soy wax. They’ll be delivered to the store next week.
I haven’t seen Cain since he moved all that stuff I purchased for him to the camper this afternoon. Now, I hear tapping at my backdoor. It’s eight something. He’s finally emerged.
“I’m around the front, Cain,” I yell.
He takes the length of the wraparound porch until he reaches the front of the house where I am. I place my laptop beside me and look up at the tall man who’s stepped into my space. He’s holding some clothes and a plastic bag that looks like it contains toothpaste, soap and some other stuff I bought for him.
“Hey,” I say.
“I was wondering if I could use your bathroom.”
“Sure. You can use it any time.”
“Okay.”
He proceeds toward the front door but before he can go inside, I say, “Wait—can I ask you something?”
He gives me a look like he’s waiting for my question.
“Did I offend you earlier?”
“Offend me?”
“Yeah. When I told you about taking the stuff to the camper, you took it all and never came back.”
“Why would you want me to come back?”
“I didn’t expect you to. I don’t know what I expected. I just thought I may have offended you because you didn’t say anything to me. So, I’m asking you—did I offend you, because if I did—”
“No, you didn’t offend me.”
“Then what happened?”
A crease appears in his forehead. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Something happened, Cain. I could sense a shift in your mood.”
“You could…sense a…shift? In my…mood?”
“Yes.”
He folds his bottom lip beneath his teeth. “Do you really think you know me well enough to sense anything about me, Ahmalee?”
“I know some things. Yes. Let me just say—if I offended you, I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t offend me.”
“Okay. Since everything’s cool, sit down and have some pizza with me.”
He stands there like he’s on the fence for a moment, then finally caves. He drops his bag by the door and sets his clothes on top of it. Then he sits on my blanket with his knees up.
I look at his legs – at the length of them. He’s not wearing shoes. He walked across the backyard barefoot.
I hand him the pizza box. “Help yourself. I ate three slices already.”
“Stop lying. You ain’t eat no three slices of nothing.”
“I’m not lying,” I say tickled. “Why do you think I’m lying?”
“You don’t look like you can down one slice, let alone three.”
“Don’t let the size fool you. I can eat up a storm. Sometimes I have to stop myself, especially when it’s something I like, and I like Scoozi’s. I wish I could eat another slice, but if I so much as eat one pepperoni, my waist beads are going to pop off.”
“Waist beads?”
“Yeah. I wear six of them every day.”
“Why?”
“It started as a weight loss management thing—if the beads get too tight, I know I’m eating too much, and I need to stop stuffing my face. Oh, and I like to wear them because they’re cute.”
He takes a slice and before he bites into it, I ask, “Would you like for me to heat it up for you?”
“No. That’s okay.” A few bites in, he says, “I was kinda shocked earlier that you bought all of that stuff for me.”
“I knew it! I knew it was something!”
He looks at me. “I didn’t expect it. It’s one thing to give somebody food and a place to stay, but you took it a step further and went shopping for me.”
“That’s what I do. It’s who I am.”
“Is that right?”
“Yep. But, look—if you think I’m doing too much, feel free to stop me. I’ve been known to get wildly out of hand—in a generous way, that is.”
He chuckles.
“You think I’m playing, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“Nope. Prime example—earlier this year, the elementary school down the street wanted to have a muffins for moms event. They needed volunteers from the community to bake muffins. Guess who had five women in the kitchen whipping up muffins?”
“Hmm,” he says.
I laugh. “We had so many muffins, there was enough to donate to the shelter. It took me forever to clean my kitchen after that. Flour and blueberries were everywhere, but it was a very fulfilling experience.”
“That was nice of you.”
“I like to think so.”
Cain finished the slice then says, “You asked me how long I’ve been on the streets. It’s been a year. A year and no one has ever done as much for me as you have.”
“Well, no one has ever shown up to my house unannounced and started cutting my grass out of the blue so, guess what, Cain Wesley? We’re even.”
He cracks a bearded smile – hard to notice behind all that hair, but he’s one of those people who can smile with his eyes.
I say, “I don’t know how long you’ll be around and I’m not rushing you. You can stay as long as you like, but if you ever feel like I’m overwhelming you in any way, please let me know.”
“Okay.”
He takes another slice of pizza, starts eating and asks, “How long have you had your store?”
“For six years.”
“Six years? Were you a teenager when you opened the store?”
“No. I’m twenty-eight—opened the store when I was twenty-two.”
“You look younger than twenty-eight.”
“Thanks. How old are you?”
“Thirty-nine.”
&nbs
p; “You look much younger than thirty-nine, especially after you cleaned up.”
He continues eating, then asks, “What did you do before you got into making candles?”
“Not much. I went to a two-year technical college and majored in a business program. That background came in handy when I opened the store. I’d take side jobs here and there just to make it through, but nothing ever stuck. What about you? What did you do before you were—”
I stop short of saying homeless.
“I was in media,” he answers. “My dream was to start my own media empire.”
“Really?”
“Yeah—you know—produce TV shows, Internet TV series, voiceover—all of that. I put all my money into it. Everything I had went into it. I was married at the time.”
“You were married?”
“Yeah. The business wasn’t working out like I’d dreamed it would, so she left me. Said she was wasting her time with a dreamer and she was right. I was so caught up trying to make my company a success that I couldn’t see her point of view. Now, I see it as clear as day.”
“See what?”
“That all dreams aren’t meant to be planned out and lived. Sometimes, a dream is just that—a dream—something that gives us hope even when we know deep in our hearts it’s unattainable.”
I shake my head, disagreeing with his way of thinking.
“You don’t agree that I’m proof dreams don’t always work? Look at me. I’m sitting on your porch, eating your pizza and waiting to take a shower in your bathroom.”
“It didn’t work that time. It doesn’t mean you give up because of one failure. It just means you try harder the next time.”
“What next time? I spent every dime I had on the first go ‘round. I don’t have anything else to start over again.”
“You’ll try again.”
