To Have It All

by B. N. Toler

  As I said, my sister would have let me crash at her place, but it seemed the longer I stayed away from Helen—optimistic that things would turn around for me—the more impossible it seemed to go to her for help. I couldn’t bear for her to see how far I’d fallen.

  Rock bottom.

  Most people think they’ve been there before. For me, I wasn’t just there—I’d set up house.

  “Where’d you sleep last night?” my friend Pearl, a middle-aged lady that’d been on the streets for three years asked.

  “Bench in the park,” I grumbled as I plopped down beside her next to the small diner letting my back thud against the brick wall of the building.

  Every Wednesday we met at the Quick Stop Diner because one of the waitresses, Mary, always bought us a sandwich to split. Mary was kind to us when most people only curled their lip at us as they passed by.

  Pearl was one of the first homeless people I’d ever met. I’d stopped a couple of punks from bullying her, and she’d treated me like a saint ever since. I’d seen plenty of bums as they held their cups out to me, begging for money which I slipped them whatever spare change I might have in my pocket and felt good about it, but I’d never known one, personally. What a joke. If it hadn’t been for Pearl, I might have starved to death. Every day, she fought for food, for survival, but she chose to share with me. Mary had bought Pearl a sandwich every Wednesday for a year. It was her only guaranteed meal each week, and now Pearl gave me half. It’s funny how sometimes people with the least give the most.

  “Have you seen Murry?” she asked, raising her brows in hope. The thing about Pearl was she was as sweet as they came, but she wasn’t all there upstairs. Murry, for all I could tell, was an invisible pet cat that only Pearl could see. Sometimes, Pearl would sit for hours with her hand moving as if she were petting him even though there was nothing there. The elusive Murry apparently had run away recently and she’d been looking everywhere for him.

  “I haven’t seen him,” I told her, doing my best to play along. “I’m sure he’ll show up soon.”

  My situation was unfortunate, and bad luck had dumped me in shitville. As lousy and hopeless as I felt, I hoped that maybe I’d make my way back to some normalcy someday with a job and a roof over my head. But people like Pearl, she was sick. The mentally ill and poor really got the shaft. No one wanted to pay to take care of them, and everyone treated them worse than just your stereotypical bum.

  “Damn cat,” she griped, shaking her head. “Feed him, love him, protect him . . . and this is what I get? He just leaves me?”

  I patted her leg. “I’m sure he’ll come back.” I’d listened to Pearl prattle on day after day about her missing invisible cat and how she used to live in a nice house in Jersey. It was the same story over and over, but each time she talked about Murry, I noticed it eased her. So day after day, I listened. I felt a deep obligation to this woman, and it wasn’t only because she had fed me. My grandmother, at the end of her life, suffered from Alzheimer’s. It was a truly heartbreaking time in my life when I watched one on the strongest people I’d ever known diminish before my eyes. Pearl, in a distant way, reminded me of my Grams, but unlike my Grams, she was alone. So I took on the duty of checking on her every day, and when she told me the same story over and over, I listened. My grandmother, before her Alzheimer’s was bad, once told me, “God gave us a mouth that closes and ears that stay open for a reason.” Sometimes people didn’t need advice or kind words, they just needed someone to listen. When When Pearl hung her head, clearly worried and sad, I decided listening wasn’t helping much today and tried to change the subject. “Where’d you stay last night?”

  “That homeless shelter a few blocks down on Main again,” she informed me. “Don’t usually like that one because they won’t let you have pets, but with Murry missing it wasn’t a problem.”

  I stayed in a shelter one night, and I swore, short of it being arctic cold outside, I wouldn’t do it again. The place was filled to the brim, and two people tried to pick through my bag while I was sleeping. But for someone like Pearl, I was grateful for places like that.

  “You need a shower, Liam,” she divulged to me as she scrunched up her nose. “You smell ripe.” The other thing about Pearl, she was filter-free and brutally honest. If you smelled like shit, she was going to tell you. If you were an asshole, she’d tell you that, too.

  After raising my arm and taking a whiff of my underarm, I winced before letting out a defeated sigh. She was right. I stunk to high heaven. When was the last time I’d had a shower? Three days earlier? And even then, it wasn’t a shower. I’d used the hand soap in the restroom of a fast food restaurant to wash under my arms and my lower region. It was better than nothing. I supposed.

  Before I could respond, Pearl perked up and pointed. “There she is.”

  Mary, the kind waitress, was hurrying toward us in her white sneakers and handed me the paper bag.

  “Honey, you look thinner. You been working yourself to skin and bones?” Pearl asked as she gave Mary a thorough once over.

  Mary smiled sheepishly, her cheeks blanketing with the slightest shade of pink. Apparently, she was shy. Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat ponytail and her lips shined as though she’d just applied gloss.

  “No more than usual.” I hadn’t ever really looked at Mary, no more than meeting her eyes briefly to say thank you. Most days, I tried not to look anyone in the eyes hoping that if I didn’t, maybe they wouldn’t notice me. I wished shame equaled invisibility.

  “Have you seen Murry, Mary?” Pearl asked, her tone thick with hope. “He’s my cat, all black and has big yellow eyes.”

  Mary glanced at me, a moment of understanding passing between us—she knew Pearl wasn’t all there, too—before she shook her head. “I’m real sorry, Pearl,” she apologized. “I haven’t. But I’ll ask around and keep my eyes peeled for him.”

  “God bless you, hon,” Pearl murmured. “I just hope he’s okay. He’s never been on the streets by himself.”

  “It’s going to be really hot out here today, so I put two bottles of water in there for ya’s.” Holding her hand up to block the sun from her eyes, Mary added, “You guys try and stay in the shade if you can.”

  I smiled up at her from where I sat beside Pearl on the sidewalk, embarrassed, realizing how worthless and pathetic I must’ve looked to her. “Thank you, Mary. I swear, I will repay you some day.” I’d promised her this every Wednesday since the first Wednesday Pearl brought me there and come hell or high water it was a promise I intended to keep. Someday, somehow, I would repay this woman.

  And every Wednesday she looked down at me, her mouth curved somewhat like she was smiling and frowning simultaneously and said, “You don’t owe me a thing. I’ll see you guys next week.”

  “Thank you, Mary,” Pearl called around the bite of sandwich in her mouth as Mary hustled back inside. Pearl had already torn into the bag and gotten her half.

  We watched Mary rush to the front and round the corner. Mary is on her feet working all day, but takes time out of her busy schedule and money out of her own pocket to bring us a sandwich. My stomach grumbled as I looked inside the bag wishing like hell I wasn’t so desperate to eat this sandwich. It’s hard to describe the feeling of being immensely grateful and tremendously ashamed at the same time—it was truly humbling.

  When I took a big bite of my sandwich, I looked at Pearl who had just finished hers.

  When we met, it had been two days since I’d eaten. I was too proud to beg for food. In my mind at the time, I would rather have starved. But Pearl wouldn’t have any of that.

  A loud engine roared, drawing our attention. At the red light, a man sat on a motorcycle. The Road King he was driving was badass with a 26-inch spoked wheel. I could tell the man had put some time into it just looking at it. The fuel tank was stretched, it had a custom paint job, and he’d added drag bar handlebars, side covers, and saddle bags. My chest tightened as I stared, a hint of jealousy seizing me
as the thought I’d never own a bike again, let alone ride on one, skittered through my mind.

  “Sure is a pretty bike,” Pearl noted letting out a husky laugh. I frowned, wondering if she had a cold. It was summertime, so it probably wasn’t allergies, but I didn’t get a chance to question her about it because she added, “You stare at motorcycles like most men stare at women.” I snorted a laugh at her words. She was right.

  “I’ve worked on those,” I told her before shoving my last bite of sandwich in my mouth. When I finished chewing, I added, “They’re pretty badass bikes. I wouldn’t mind having one.”

  “You’ll have one someday. Someday, Liam, you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted. A guy like you won’t stay on these streets for long.”

  I appreciated her words of encouragement, but as the Road King zoomed off, I feared it had taken all my hope with it. I’d never considered myself a man that needed a lot, and I’d never dreamed of great wealth, but I’d hoped for enough money to get by and hoped someday I’d find a woman I could settle down with and start a family.

  A guy like me Pearl had said. What was I? I was nothing.

  “I wish I believed that,” I muttered.

  “You’ll see, Liam,” she murmured. “You’ll see.”

  After brushing the sandwich crumbs from my clothes, I dug in my pocket and found the crumpled up twenty-dollar bill I’d been holding on to. Taking her hand, I pressed it into her palm.

  “It’s not much, but somebody left it on me while I was sleeping last night.”

  Pearl looked up at me, her eyes seemingly searching my face. “This is all the money you’ve got, Liam,” she said softly.

  “I’ve got more,” I lied. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Her narrowed gaze said, bullshit. It was bullshit. She was no dummy. “I’m not taking this,” she insisted and moved to give it back, but I hopped up and grabbed my backpack before she could.

  “Nope. It’s yours,” I insisted.

  Shaking her head, she cut me a look that said: “Thanks, but you shouldn’t have.”

  Then her gaze darted from me to something behind me, her eyes flashing with what looked like familiarity, but quickly morphed into something else. “Look at that.” Pearl pointed, her eyes widening with appreciation. Following her line of sight, I found a tall man dressed in a tailored suit, standing at the corner of the café, talking on his cell phone, his free hand was in his slacks pocket. It’s not like we hadn’t seen a hundred suits every day, but this man stood out. He was handsome, for a dude, seemingly wealthy, and looked like he didn’t have a care in the world as he chuckled at something the person on the other end of the line must have said.

  Watching him, I couldn’t help but compare myself. I was never a suit and tie kind of guy and most days my hands were stained, and my nails were caked with grease. My body was covered in tattoos, and from what I could tell, this guy had no ink. He was a big guy, but physically I was larger. At least I used to be, before my life went to shit town. The streets had stolen more than my hope, taking their pounds of flesh. In better days I’d been broad and muscular, just like him. Not the waste of skin and bones I was now.

  “Bet he has it all,” Pearl wagered.

  I nodded in agreement as the guy turned and caught us watching him. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his Aviator sunglasses, but the way he leered at us, complete with his lip curling up said it all.

  We disgusted him.

  “Asshole,” I murmured as he began walking away.

  “Asshole with it all,” Pearl chuckled. The way people looked at us, their disgust, didn’t seem to faze Pearl in the least. She was used to it after years on the street. For me, I had a harder time brushing it off. If people wanted to walk by me, a worthless bum, and pretend they didn’t notice me, I could live with that. But to look at me like I was shit on the bottom of their shoe . . . that was a jagged pill to swallow.

  Shaking my head, I sighed and said, “What I’d give to have it all.” With a small wave goodbye to her, I headed to the street corner where the asshole who ‘had it all’ was waiting to cross, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He must have sensed me because he turned his head and sneered again when he saw me approaching. Apparently, being close to a homeless person was too much because the dumbass, in his haste to get as far away from me as possible, didn’t even look before stepping out into the street. It all happened so fast; the bus barreling toward him, the horn blaring. I didn’t think, I just reacted and jumped behind him, shoving him out of the way.

  After that, all I remembered was the screeching of brakes, the feeling of my body slamming into the pavement, screams, sirens, and unrelenting, insane pain.

  I’m dying, I thought as the sound of my slowing heartbeat whooshed in my ears. The thought wasn’t so terrifying given my current circumstances. I was a homeless bum with nothing except my sister and my nephew, David. I hadn’t spoken to them in months, the shame I felt about my situation kept me from contacting them. But as I lay on the warm concrete, the summer sun beaming down on me as I fought to stay awake, the images of Helen and David looped endlessly through my mind. Helen would have to identify my body. I hated that thought. I also knew she’d be equally angry with me for hiding from her as she would be devastated about my death.

  In the quick span of seconds before I closed my eyes, I realized for months I had hated my life; hated my circumstances. Being homeless and hungry was a hell of sorts, but even I knew, as hopeless as I’d felt, that things could get better—one day. Now I feared I would never know. I didn’t want to die, but as my eyelids grew heavier, my breaths growing harder to take, I feared it was too late. I wanted to pray, to beg God, but how? How did I ask him to spare me when I’d taken so much for granted?

  Just before I gave in—before I let the last bit of my life seep out of me—I watched the asshole who ‘had it all’ stand up and brush off his suit, giving me one glance as I lay bleeding in the street. I thought he’d come to my aid; that he’d rush to my side like any decent human being would do. Hell, even if he’d pulled that cell out of his pocket and called the police, that would’ve been something. But he didn’t. When our stares locked, I didn’t see remorse in his intense gaze, but I saw fear. Glancing down, he spotted my backpack a few feet away. It must’ve flown off my shoulder from the impact. Picking it up, he stared at it a moment before clutching it to him. Then he spun around and sprinted away. I’d just saved this man’s life, and that’s all I got? My bag was stolen and a quick glance before he hightailed it out of there?

  Apparently, that asshole was Max.

  Now I’m in Max’s body.

  I’m the asshole.

  I paced Max’s apartment for hours, with no idea what to do. I’d died and taken over this man’s body somehow. As I searched through his things, my mind was riddled with darker thoughts. I wondered how my sister had taken it. Was she okay? Had they had my funeral yet? The thought was surreal. Somewhere out there my body was possibly already rotting in a casket, yet here I was in this man’s perfectly healthy body. The thought enraged me as I remembered Max fleeing the scene, leaving me like I was nothing.

  Shaking my head, I told myself to remain calm. Letting myself fall into a blind rage wouldn’t help anything. No matter what, I had to meet this Waverly woman even though she seemed less than excited to see Max. I continued to dig through drawers, reading mail—mostly utility bills—inspecting keys, looking for clues as to what they may go to. There was a laptop on his desk which was password protected, so I couldn’t access it, but I did find his wallet right beside it. A filing cabinet in his office offered a few insights to his life. He was insanely rich, which was pretty obvious judging by his gigantic New York apartment and fancy clothes. Looking over some of his old bank statements, I discovered he had millions. As I rifled through his paperwork, I couldn’t find anything that would tell me where he worked or if he even had a job, for that matter. Maybe he was just rich.

  “Must be nice,” I’d mumbled to my
self.

  Other than his wealth, I didn’t discover much else, but I now knew I possessed the body of Maximus Greyson Porter III, and that Max had a fetish for Asian porn judging by the charges on his bank statements.

  A notepad sat on the table by his bed next to an empty bottle of scotch and a highball glass with only a sip in it. Picking up the notepad, I thumbed through it, but all the pages were blank. When I opened the nightstand drawer, I found an empty pill bottle for painkillers. I wondered if he took these for some kind of pain or injury, or maybe recreation. The fill date was a little over a week ago, before I saved his life, and the bottle was already empty.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re some kind of addict,” I mumbled to myself. That’s all I needed right now. The thought caused me pause, and I had to inhale a steadying breath.

  “Keep it together, Liam,” I told myself. “Losing your shit won’t help.” With every moment that passed I felt more and more panicked. I was in this man’s body with no idea who he really was. I didn’t know if he had family or if he had medical problems. Was he a drug addict? But the biggest question, the one that was really eating me alive, was why in the hell was this happening?

  Tossing the bottle aside I opened the drawer further, finding condoms, a black silk eye mask and some folded bills in a clip. “Six thousand dollars?” I gaped after a quick count. Who the hell keeps that kind of cash in a drawer? Staring at the bills, I twisted my mouth wondering if I should take the money. Was it stealing if I was Max—at least in the physical sense? I mean, it’s not like I stole his body. In fact, I’m the only reason his body still existed at all and wasn’t stuffed in a body bag somewhere. I decided to take some of the cash, just in case. I wouldn’t spend much but I thought Max owed me a few drinks at the very least. And at the very least, I could pay for dinner with Waverly if I needed to.