There was just enough light to see our way over to the dumpster. The music and laughter from inside the cafe floated on the air. If we tried really hard, we could, for just a second, pretend that we were normal, pretend that we would sit down to a meal to talk and laugh. But the moment Dani opened the lid to the dumpster, I was brought back into reality. With a sigh, I climbed in and searched for the tied off bag of food the cafe always put in a heavy duty doubled-up trash bag. On some days the bag was our lifeline, held only food, and was kept safe for consumption if we reached it soon enough. The workers tied it off, which kept the food from touching anything else in the dumpster. Of course, they didn’t do it for us. They did it to keep the rats out. Some days, that’s what I felt like—a giant rat scouring for food, frightening anyone who might pass by.
I tried to hold my breath as the putrid smells infiltrated my senses. Stepping as carefully as I could on the black bags, I began my search. I needed to find the most recent bag. The shame filled me as I actually contemplated eating while I was still knee-high in someone else’s garbage. With a shake of my head and what felt like lead in my heart, I climbed out with our food in hand. Dani and I headed back to The Green, the only relatively safe place for us to sleep. The Green was about a block worth of grass and trees in the middle of the city surrounded by governmental buildings including the police station and courthouses. As part of the historic side of Dover, The Green is kept in immaculate conditions. The landscaping left little to be desired, and the buildings mirrored the red brick that lined the rest of the neighborhood. With police passing through at all hours of the day and night, a person would have to be crazy to try to rob someone.
It was frequented by families and college students, all of whom were completely oblivious to those of us who weren’t just visiting. Some of us lived there.
Most people believed that Delaware was the picture-perfect small-town state. They believed there were little-to-no homeless, a decent crime rate, and a below-average dropout rate for their high schools. What most of the state’s residents don’t know is that there really are homeless in Delaware. We know where to go and how to blend in. We know where the convenience stores are that have the bathrooms that don’t lock so we can get clean, how to stay out of sight when we have to go through dumpsters to find food and clothing, and not to sit on corners and beg people for money. We don’t bring attention to ourselves. Sure, the locals know the homeless exist, but it’s a minor problem to them. They don’t realize that they send their kids to school every day with homeless kids. They don’t realize that walking through Wal-Mart that they could be chatting with a homeless person. And for the lucky few who manage to get a job, the customers don’t realize they are being served by a homeless person, either.
“What did you get?” Dani asked.
“I just grabbed a couple bagels,” I said and handed her the blueberry one. Her eyes lit up as she took it from me, and reached over and patted my cheek in a motherly way.
Dani had been the closest thing to a mother that I have had since mine died when I was ten. After that was foster families, and I loathe the days those memories make it to the forefront of my mind. No matter how hard it is on the street, it will always be better than being there. I ran away and found myself in Dover after a week. At the age of fourteen, being alone is not a safe situation no matter where you are or who you’re with. When Dani found me, I was struggling to adjust to the new life I had brought upon myself. I was freezing and hungry. She took me under her wing, taught me the ropes, and three years later, we were still together. She was the only person in the world that I could trust. She was my family, even if we didn’t have the same blood running through our veins.
“You are too sweet, child. Let’s eat, and then I will take first watch while you get some sleep.”
We sat and ate in silence. When I was finished, I pulled a thin and worn blanket out of my bag and covered myself, creating a slightly warmer environment. My backpack became my pillow. Dani would stay awake and watch out for potential threats. Threats were common for anyone living on the streets, especially for women. That was what I was terrified of. I shook my head at the thought and allowed myself to trust in Dani; she would wake me if anyone suspicious came near. While sleeping at The Green limited the amount of danger, we were not stupid enough to trust what little belongings we had, or ourselves, to chance.
“Good night, Dani,” I said before closing my eyes. It wasn’t long before I was awoken by the sting of the cold that was wrapped around my body. The sky was still dark, and Dani was standing a few feet from me watching the street that lead to the local college. I sat up and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. “What is it?”
“What are you doing awake? You need your sleep. Don’t worry about those fools, just a bunch of drunks heading back to their dorms. Nothing to worry your head about. If they get too close, I will let you know. Now go on, back to sleep,” Dani said, looking and sounding very much like a mother with her hands on her hips and a stern look on her tired face. Dani was in her late fifties and had plenty of “lifelines” to show her age. Her hair was brown with hints of gray throughout, and she had the most immaculate posture I had ever seen, making her appear much taller than her small frame actually gave her.
“Yes ma’am!” I said, saluting her with a grin. She laughed shaking her head and pointed to my makeshift bed. I pulled my arms into my sleeves and wrapped them around my body hoping that, in addition to my worn-out blanket, they might help me stay warm.
***
Dani woke me with a little shake and a yawn. It was her time to sleep. The sun was still down but, by the sound of the birds, morning was a few short hours away. Dani had once again put me before herself.
“Dani, why didn’t you wake me sooner?” I said as I sat up, rubbing my eyes. She had sat beside me, and I stood, making room for her to lie down. She used her own bag as a pillow and wrapped herself in our shared blanket. I took my bag to the bench seat that was a few feet away, directly under a streetlamp. I was close enough to Dani to wake her should the need arise and far enough to not be annoyed listening to her snores. I pulled my journal out of my bag and began to write, just as I had done every night since I was given my first journal. It had been a gift from my parents on my tenth birthday, just two weeks before they died. It was the one possession I owned that I wouldn’t share with Dani. She had never even held it.
October 17th 2010
The weather is getting colder by the day and I know that I will have to get some warmer clothing soon. I hate having to steal, but no one is willing to give a teenage dropout a job, let alone a homeless one. Dani is always so positive about things. She just KNOWS that things will be okay, that the winter will come and go just like the last one, and we will manage just fine. I wish I could be as optimistic as she is. She is amazing to have lost everything after a lifetime of having it all and to still be able to look at things the way she does.
“Always remember who has helped you in any way, Paige” is what she tells me. “One day you can repay them. The bad in life doesn’t last forever. Remember that and you will be fine.” I wish that were true.
Until tomorrow.
I put my journal away and woke Dani just as the sun had begun to rise. I knew we had to start finding something more substantial to wear, as my T-shirt would not suffice much longer during the day, let alone the nights. If last night were any indicator of the winter to come, we needed warmer clothing, and soon.
“Paige, what are you doing today?”
I was confused by her question. We always stuck together. It was just what we did.
“You are more than capable of being on your own for a day. I just want to try and go down to the welfare office and see if they have any job openings listed on the ‘We Care’ board.” She made air quotes around We Care, because honestly, the state may say they care, and want the public to believe they care, but they don’t. If they cared, there would be more than two homeless shelters in the entire state.
“The board? You think they will have something this time? I could go too, and if there were a couple postings, we could both try for work.” I knew she was about to turn me down. She had told me before teenagers should enjoy their youth and have fun, not worry about working. I had replied with, “Yeah, I still need to eat.”
I knew why she never wanted me to try for work. A runaway is always sent back. There really was no way for me to get any identification that made me look older either. Dani didn’t want to point this out because she knew how thinking of my life there affected me. She was once again protecting me, and while I wished I could find a way to help, there really was little I could do.
“Paige, you know that if I get a job I will pay for your things. You don’t need a job. Go to the library and read or start writing one of your little stories you enjoy so much. Let me be the adult here, you just try to be a kid.” She stood and ran a dry toothbrush across her teeth. “Better than nothing,” she always said as she finished.
“Fine, I think I’m going to head over to the Salvation Army. Then I might go to the library. I’m not really sure yet. What time do you want to meet back up?”
“Oh, I think we could meet up around five. I will see if the office has some food I can bring back for us. Otherwise, we can just wait until tomorrow and head down to Wal-Mart and see what we can come up with.” She hugged me, kissed my forehead and left.
I pulled my brush out of my bag and tried to tame my strawberry blonde curls. I had never understood that term, but my mother insisted I wasn’t a redhead. I had the perfect blend of red and blonde, and I was sweet like a strawberry. I smiled at the memory and pulled the rubber band from my wrist and wrapped it around my hair into a ponytail before using my dry toothbrush just as Dani had. When I was as close to presentable as I could be, I stood and began the short walk to the Salvation Army.
It was still early in the morning, but the street was buzzing with activity. The mornings in Dover were always busy. Everyone had somewhere to be—adults went to work, kids went to school, and the rich uppity old people went to clubs or to tea, or whatever they did. Everyone was always moving. The walk was a short one, but entertaining nonetheless.
When I reached the shopping center, there was still about an hour before it opened. I simply sat down on the sidewalk with my back leaning against the building, watching the world around me. I did this often. I really didn’t have anywhere else to be. The parking lot slowly came alive over the hour, and people went in and out of the surrounding stores. Children ran by me and played while their mother chased after them. I learned long ago not to help out when it came to kids. I had stopped a child from running into the street once, and his mother practically disinfected the child right in front of me all the while yelling at me for touching him. She even threatened to call the cops on me because being homeless “had to be illegal.”
I heard the lock click from behind me, and I stood waiting for the door to open. As soon as the worker was visible, I knew the manager wasn’t working that morning. If I wanted warmer clothing for tonight, I would have to take them. I hated stealing. My mother would be so ashamed that I took things that didn’t belong to me. But I can’t imagine she would want me to freeze to death in my sleep either. Besides, I wrote down everything I took so one day, when I had money, I could pay it back. It was more borrowing without permission than stealing.
Shoplifting takes practice, something I hate to say that I have plenty of. After three years living on the street, I had perfected my technique and each type of store had a different one. I walked through the door and smiled at the few employees who were there on the morning shift. Usually the mornings are slower, so typically there are only two or three people working. As I wandered the aisles, I took a mental note of where each of them was in the store.
After a few minutes, I made my way over to the sweaters. If I could get just one sweater, I knew it would be enough to get me through until winter really hit. I was grateful the thrift stores didn’t have the money for security cameras. I looked through the whole rack, pulling out nine or ten of them. Making sure I could see the workers one more time, I went to the dressing room.
I knocked softly on one of two dressing rooms for the whole store. When no one answered, I slipped inside with all of the sweaters. With the thrift stores, there is never anyone standing outside the dressing rooms to count the items taken in. That’s the key in this type of store. That is why I grabbed so many items at once, because there is no way for them to be able to tell if you come out with exactly what you went in with. Taking the time to try them on, I found one that fit well and actually was rather pretty. I quickly slipped it off and put it in my backpack then put my own holey shirt on and left the confines of the little room.
Hanging all the remaining sweaters on the rack next to the dressing room, I sighed as if I was rather disappointed in not finding what I wanted. The worker came over and began collecting the sweaters.
“None of these worked for you?” she asked.
“Nope. They were all a bit baggy on me. Maybe next time. Thanks though!” I waved good-bye as the guilt began to eat away at me. Being as careful as I could to walk at a normal pace, I headed for the front door.
As soon as the door opened, the cold air hit my face, and I was glad that I had that piece of warmth sitting in my bag. I browsed the windows of the shops that surrounded Salvation Army for a few minutes then walked off down the street. When I was sure I was far enough away that no one from the store could see me, I took the deep green sweater from my bag and pulled it on, relishing the almost instant warmth that it provided.
I continued along the road. I took my time to enjoy the way the wind blew the trees and to listen to the sounds of the busy streets. One of the few good things about living this life is nothing is taken for granted. There is beauty in everything and inspiration in anything if you just take the time to listen. Most people either don’t have the time in their life of hustle and bustle or they simply don’t think it’s anything to take notice of. While I long for the day when my life revolves around a job and having to pay bills for a house that I own, I hoped I would never lose sight of the little things the world has to offer.
Within an hour I made it to the library and chose a book to read. The librarians were all friendly and knew I wasn’t there to cause trouble. I curled up in the comfy red chair by the east window that overlooked a playground and dove into the world of Chaucer. I used my abundance of time in the library to read as much as I could about anything and everything. I knew when I was finally able to join the rest of the world I would be expected to know everything a typical young adult would. I read old math books that were donated when the schools no longer used them. I tried to keep up with the newspapers and I read as many literary classics as I could. I may not have understood them all the first time around, but I had a lot of free time to reread. When I noticed the sun begin to fade through the window, I looked up and saw I was the only one left in the library. The librarian was stacking the shelves with books, and I thanked her as I replaced my literary escape in the exact space I took it from and returned to my reality.
***
The walk back to The Green seemed to pass by in a flash as I was in my own head, picturing yet another story that only existed in my imagination. This one was full of magic and mayhem starring a brilliant girl who couldn’t keep up with her own fate. I would see something, or read something and was inspired. I often dreamed of being a best-selling author, telling tales of life, love, and sorrow. One day, I promised myself that I would do it. I would write a novel, and I would be published. One day I would be able to afford a home and a computer and an education. I refuse to believe that I would be homeless forever. I laughed when I realized that Dani’s views were rubbing off on me.
As I took my first steps onto the grass, I spotted Dani. I knew she was worried as her eyes scanned the surrounding streets. When she saw me, she bolted from the bench and headed straight for me.
&nb
sp; “You’re late, Paige. You had me worried sick! It’s nearly dark, and you know the first rule. Tell me, tell me the first rule,” she demanded as the lifelines in her forehead creased.
“Never get caught alone at night.”
“That’s right! Look!” she said, pointing at the setting sun “You were this close,” she said, indicating a miniscule distance with her hands, “to be out at night, ALONE!”
“But I wasn’t. I was at the library reading like you told me to, and I lost track of time. But I’m here, with you and the sun has yet to set. Want to go sit and watch it together?” I began grinning at her, hoping to lighten the mood. She let out a sigh of frustration before shaking her head and giving me that annoyed-but-compliant smile.
“Fine. But next time you damn near give me a heart attack I will smack you upside your head.”
I rolled my eyes at her, linked my arm in hers and walked over to the bench to watch the sunset.
I pulled my journal out and on the back page, I added in my latest ‘borrowed’ item.
One sweater, Salvation Army, Dover De, $5.
When I did the math in my head, my grand total that I needed to repay up until this point was three hundred and twenty-seven dollars. When I do live like the rest of the world and tell my story to my children, I want to be able to tell them the truth. Yes, I did take things without permission, but I always paid them back.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Growing up, Adrianne couldn’t get her hands on enough books to satisfy her need for the make believe. If she finished a novel and didn’t have a new one ready and waiting for her, she began to create her own tales of magic and wonder. Now, as an adult, books still make up the majority of her free time, and now her tales get written down to be shared with the world.
Overexposed Page 16
