“The Beaten Path”

Part 1

I watched the car pass as I stood there with my hand extended and my thumb up asking for a ride to somewhere. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, but I knew that I was tired of walking and that I wanted to be somewhere different. The rain continued to pour and I heard the thunder crack while more cars passed. Before I knew it, I was being splashed by the excess water resting on the road as one car rushed by me so fast that I hardly saw it. They must have been in a hurry; I remembered those days when I was always in a hurry to get to the next place- to work, to lunch meetings, home for dinner, always rushing; but I mostly drift these days and spend my time on park benches trying to imagine my life being different from what it is now. Trying to remember what it was like before the only roof over my head I knew was the vast and unpredictable sky.

Truthfully, I had forgotten many details of my former life. A year seems like such a short time to many, but it felt like a lifetime since my normal existence ended. There were times when I struggled to remember what it felt like to not be treated as an animal roaming the streets who most think should be caged or killed.

I realized how dark the sky was getting and it hit me that I couldn’t go back to the park downtown for a while. A fight had erupted last night and the cops came and told us that they didn’t want to see us there again, which usually means don’t come back for a couple of nights until they forget to patrol for the homeless population and we can go back to flying under their radar. I knew I needed to find a place to settle for the night before the storm became worse and I ended up more soaked than I already was.

I never expected rides from people when I stood on the streets watching them pass. There were times when I became hopeful, but I looked like a homeless person and not simply a person who had their car break down. My faded jeans and shirt that was a couple of sizes too small gave it away. I looked like hell, and I could feel it.

I walked for a while before my bag became too heavy and my feet were too soaked with rainwater to continue. I spotted a bridge and decided to spend the night under it until morning. I found the beaten path below the bridge and followed it just as countless others had done before me while seeking their temporary home. I think the hardest part about not having a home is realizing that everything is temporary. I didn’t belong anywhere nor did I have any ties to anyone. I felt isolated and the lonely streets provided more than enough time for me to exist inside my head as I ruminated about my poor existence and the tears began to fall from my eyes.

As I got to the end of the path and found the concrete platform under the bridge, I noticed that I wasn’t alone. Another man was sitting and rubbing his hands together to warm up as though there was a fire in front of him. I had learned to proceed with caution when approaching other homeless people because we’re always on the defensive. I was stabbed once on the street for trying to ask a woman for a cigarette lighter soon after I transitioned to this new life. Since then I never took any chances.

“You been here long,” I ask the man as he looked off into the distance as if trying to ignore me.

This was how we let each other know that we’re safe. He needed to know that I had no intention of invading his space or robbing him. That question acknowledged the fact that I was a visitor in his space and that I answered to him.

“Just a couple of hours. Not long.” He says without looking at me.

I could tell that he’d been on the streets for longer than I had. There was a look that people acquired after they have been away from normal life for too long. Each time I found a bathroom with a mirror I searched for that look on my face. I’ve yet to see it but I wondered if I would see it when it appeared. Does a savage know what they are or is it for the rest of the world to determine? These were the thoughts that kept me up at night.

“Okay. I think I’ll keep you company for the night if that’s okay.” I say as though I’m proposing that we play Xbox.

He was silent.

I sat down my torn-up trash bag of belongings, none of which were with me when I first moved onto the street. I had collected various small items from the trash or from people who felt like donating things they didn’t want. The saddest of my possessions was a picture I kept of my son. I knew that I would never see him again so that picture was the only physical reminder I had of him. I often hoped that he had forgotten about me because of the way I let him down before I left. There were nights when I would spend hours at a time just looking at the picture until my tears had gotten to be too much.

I didn’t try to talk to the man as we sat mere feet apart. I instead listened to the sound of the rain and allowed it to lull me to sleep. It took a while but I was out cold in what seemed like less than half an hour. I didn’t dream anymore, there was only darkness when I closed my eyes.

Part 2

It took a bit of work to force my eyes open the next morning. The rain was still falling and today was cloudier than yesterday, which meant it would probably storm for most of the day. I didn’t realize how unpredictable the weather could be until I no longer had a device to gauge it. I looked around and realized that the man who had been my roommate the night before was no longer there. Then I realized that not only was my trash bag missing, but so were my shoes. This was not the first time something like this happened and I knew it would not be the last. I tried not to be upset because I realized that everything is temporary because being robbed had become a natural part of life.

I heard the sounds of the cars up above me and began to wonder where they were going. Were they going to spend their days at jobs to pay the rent and put food on the table? I was hungry and started to vaguely remember what it felt like to have guaranteed meals; that was a luxury that I never thought would end, but it did. Some restaurants would bring out food when they saw us walking in circles like zombies outside of their establishments but besides that, I relied mostly on scraps.

I knew that the rain was falling much too hard for me to try and leave the bridge so I stayed there. Besides my hunger, I had no reason to venture out so I just sat there alone with my thoughts about having just lost everything.

I started thinking about the past in conjunction with where I had arrived in life. These thoughts didn’t come up often, but when they did they hit me like a ton of bricks. I was a teacher before everything happened. Teaching isn’t the grandest profession but I was happy and stable. I had a roof and I could provide for my son and wife, but then everything changed within a single night.

***

I remembered that night like it was last night. I had gone out with a buddy for a couple of beers and I got home before midnight. I entered the house, got a drink of water before going to our room, and there I saw my wife in the middle of having sex with someone I had never met.

“Get out!” I yelled before either of them saw me.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” she said as we both watched the other man scrambled to find his underwear.

I could not respond. My heart was broken and her apology made it worse for me. I met Angie in college and we had been in together ever since. I thought about our son and I gazed at her with my eyes full of hate.

“Get out!” I say again while starting to push the man until he was out of the room.

“What the fuck!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Do you know how stupid you sound when you say that? How dare you have sex with someone else in our bed and then think that saying you’re sorry will fix anything?” I yell.

I watched as she started to get dressed as the tears escaped her eyes and I saw regret all over her face. She was the love of my life and I thought we were happy.

“Where is he?” I ask with concern in my voice.

“He’s at your dad’s for the night. We don’t need to tell him.”

“I’m not going to tell our son the truth about you, never.”

“We’ll get through this, I promise.”

“No, I don’t know that we will” I say.

“Please don’t say that. I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did! I’m sorry!”

“Me too” I say before shooting her.

I did it before thinking. I often carried a gun with me, but I never imagined that I would ever use it on my wife. This was my first thought; how could I kill my wife and mother of my son. That thought escaped and was replaced by the realization that it was her who had ruined us. What would our son think if he knew?

Hiding the body was necessary as was discretion. I knew that moving the body myself was the only option as to not incriminate anyone, so I did. I loaded her lifeless body into the back of the car and drove a few towns over until I reached the river bank. I didn’t have a boat so I had to rely on her floating far enough out to not be noticed by boaters tomorrow. I hoped she would disappear as I drove home, but somehow I knew that she wouldn’t.

In the days after I began to regret my actions. I wanted her to suffer for breaking up our family, but I had gone too far out of rage and sadness. My son was still visiting my dad so I made a decision. I ran and never looked back.

***

I heard voices and reached for the knife that I kept inside the pockets of the torn-up pair of pants I had been wearing for the last few weeks. I didn’t like violence but I had to be prepared for anything. I sat there waiting for the people to appear and when they did, I realized they were kids.

“Let’s turn back,” said the young boy to the girl, who I assumed was his older sister.

“Hey,” I say while standing up and looking at them, as they were about to turn and run away.

“We don’t mean to interrupt, sir. Please don’t hurt us.”

“What are you doing out here in the rain?” I asked.

They were silent as they stood there motionless as though frozen like two mid-size statues. I could see the sadness on their faces and knew that they had either run away from home or had been forced out. That look of slight hopefulness that perhaps someone would come looking for them along with the beginning thoughts of hopelessness is one that I always recognize when I see it.

They were still silent.

“How long have you been out here?” I ask.

“It’s been a week.” Said the boy, who looked to be no older than 12.

“Well, how did you get here? Did you run away?”

“My dad kicked me out and my sister here refused to let me go out by myself.” He says looking at her.

“What about the rest of your family? Grandma? Grandpa? Anyone?” I ask.

“None of them want me,” he said in a tone that rolled off his tongue far too easily.”

I stood there for a moment thinking about what to say next. As much as I hated seeing anyone else forced into this life, it’s especially hard when they are kids. I thought briefly about my son and how I would feel if he were in their place.

“Tell me why they did this to you,” I say as I approach them.

I saw the nervousness on their face.

“I won’t hurt you,” I say.

Saying this immediately made me think about how it must have felt for their parents to make that promise to them but to then ultimately cause pain by refusing to allow them to live in their home. These were the moments that made me feel human again, the times when the sadness of the world becomes all too real to detach myself from. I also became sad as a result of my own past.

The boy looked at the girl as though asking permission to answer the question. Almost as though what he had done was something so heinous that he deserved to be in this station of life.

“I told him I was gay” he said while looking down. His sister squeezed his hand in support.

I didn’t know how to respond to this. I knew that a large amount of the kids on the street were gay but I guess I assumed that parents no longer viewed their kids as disposable. I wanted to find the father and bash his head for sending children out into the world like this.

“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” I say to the boy as I force a smile to comfort them both.

“Thank you”, says the girl

“What are your names”? I ask.

After I transitioned, I realized that homeless people don’t often use actual names. We use nicknames sometimes but for the most part we’re just drifters going from one place to the next without ever finding anywhere to belong. There are times when I have to remind myself that I once too had a name. I can remember it, but I trained myself to never say it; neither out loud or in my head.

“My name is Jaci,” says the girl.

“I’m Brennan.”

“How are you two surviving out here”

“The best we can,” she says while looking away.

I didn’t press the issue but I had concerns about that answer. The streets force people to make choices they normally wouldn’t, especially when there is someone else to support.

“Have you been to the children’s shelter?”

“Where is that?” says Jaci with enthusiasm.

I had passed the children’s shelter several times but never had a reason to go. As much as I hated that there is a need for it, I loved that there was at least a place for children to go to be taken care of. I told them I would walk them there because I didn’t think they had been on the street long enough to be able to navigate. Worse than that, children die or get taken from the streets far too often so I wanted to give them the protection that their dad failed to provide.

I reached for my trash bag before we left forgetting that the man from last night had taken it. I felt myself becoming more upset but I also knew that I needed to compose myself in front of the kids. I took a deep breath and told myself I’d get over it.

“Alright, follow me,” I say as I led them back above ground.

The rain stopped for a while but there were puddles everywhere. I was lucky that the concrete was wet and not hot and dry because I was barefoot. My feet had more blisters than I care to acknowledge from being forced to pound the payment on hot days.

“So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” I ask the girl.

“A teacher,” she says.

“Well that’s a great job and I wish you luck,” I say. “What about you, Brennan?” I ask.

He was silent for a few steps as though he didn’t know.

“I don’t know. Never thought about it,” he says with shame.

“Well, you’re young. You’ll come up with lots of things you want to do with your life, just remember to pick something that makes you happy”.

The boy smiled a slight smile and I wondered if he could believe me. I hoped that his confidence wasn’t so shot to hell that he couldn’t believe positive things about himself. There were far too many people living on the streets for that very reason.

We were at the shelter before long and it was time to say goodbye. I decided I would stand outside until someone had talked to them. I didn’t want to cross the threshold because I knew that I couldn’t stay. Going in would have been the same thing as taunting a starving dog with a steak that he can never have. I hoped those kids would be okay. I hoped that the dad would come looking for them, but I knew he wouldn’t because unfortunately parents seldom view themselves as wrong.

“Sir, can you come back?” I heard a voice behind me.

I turned around to make sure it was directed towards me. I don’t often get called sir because that term is typically used to show respect. No one respects the homeless.

“Yes, you,” she said as though she knew why I was confused. “Where did these kids come from? They won’t say and we have to have some form of background information”

“They showed up under my bridge this morning.” I begin. “The boy is gay and the dad kicked him out and the daughter refused to stay while her brother was forced out onto the street.”

“Do you know anything else about them?”

“The boy is Brennan and the girl is Jaci. That’s all I know.” I say before walking away.

“Sir, do you need assistance as well? There are places you can go” said the lady.

“They’re all full” I say as I walk away without looking back.

Part 3

Many hours passed since I dropped the children off at the shelter and I couldn’t help but contemplate my existence. I’d seen so many people come and I wondered how much longer I had before I expired and became nothing more than just another dead homeless man on the street; with no family to care about the body, no funeral service, and no marked grave. Just a worthless corpse taking up space in the ground.

I cried as that thought entered my head and hung there like a sad picture on a bleakly colored wall. I had returned to the bridge in subtle hopes that I would run into the man again from the night before. Although I accepted that being robbed was simply a part of this life, I had become much more upset about the situation as the day progressed. I felt anger swell inside of me in a way it never had before. Everything I had was in that bag besides the clothes I was currently wearing. I had no shoes, no socks, and the rain seemed to be never-ending.

I started to picture the man’s worn face from last night. The quiet way he spoke and how he avoided eye contact. I began to imagine bad things happening to him. First, him being robbed in the same way he robbed me. Having him wake up to find that he had nothing to his name brought a smile to my face.

It was then that I realized that he was a virus to everyone else. We have a great deal to worry about in our daily lives as it is, which means having someone who is one of us commit treason made it even worse. I wanted to rid our community of people like him. I wanted him to never steal from another homeless person, or anyone, for that matter.

I sat there alone with those thoughts and concluded that I needed to end his life to protect the rest of us. The interesting thing about being homeless is that there are only certain places for us to go, which means it would not be difficult to track him down.

I had killed before. The feeling I felt as I pulled the trigger on the old and decaying gun I had found one night rushed back to me like waves washing up on a beach. I hardly ever thought about that situation but I did at this moment and it reminded me of the power that I possess.

I heard footsteps approaching as I sat there on the cold wet concrete. My heart was put at ease when I realized that it was a familiar face. There were not very many people on the street who could be called friends, but this was one.

“Long time no see, old man,” I say as he walks into the slight light under the bridge.

“You hungry? I hit the jackpot about an hour ago. This old woman from that Mexican restaurant downtown decided to be nice today.” He says as he pulls a box of food from his bag.

I was accustomed to scraps and whatever else I could find that others didn’t want. It was not often that I had food separated into containers and neatly placed into a box as though it was meant for me.

“Nah man, that’s for you,” I say despite wanting to partake in the feast.

“Why are you always like that?” He asks.

“Like what?”

“You always pretend to not want things when I know that you do. We all need a break from eating from trashcans and this is just as much mine as it is yours.”

“No, she gave it to you. It’s yours.”

I watched as he pulled out what I assumed to be a taco and brought it over to me. I looked away for a second as though some invisible figure in my peripheral vision would give me the permission required to accept this act of kindness.

“Thank you,” I say as I grab the taco from his hand.”

I almost ate it without removing the wrapper. Fresh food felt like something that I was unworthy of, much like driving a car or living in a house. I ate so fast that I hardly even tasted it. I wanted to slow down to try and remember what actual food tasted like, but I was starving. You get used to it after a while but then you become a dog sitting in front of his feeding bowl whenever you get the chance to eat.

“There’s more of that here,” he said as he sat there eating.

“One was enough”

“You sure?”

“Yep!”

I wanted more. I felt my stomach rumble as I continued to sit and watch my friend eat. I almost got up to grab one more but I didn’t like the appearance of being greedy, especially if that meant he would have less food for later. I knew how it felt to have a bounty of food, share it with everyone, and then to be hungry the next day because I gave all I had.

“So, what’s the move,” He asked.

That question took me back to the man who had stolen from me the night before. I knew I needed to find him tonight if I wanted any chance of getting my bag back, but most of all the picture that was inside of it.

“Well,” I say. “Someone stole from me last night and I intend to find him and get my revenge”

“What did the son of a bitch take?”

“Everything”

“Okay. You need my help?” he asked with a neutral look on his face as he took one more bite with crumbs of crunchy taco shell falling from his mouth.

“No, I think I can handle it. Just have to find him.”

“Well there is a fire happening at the old park tonight, there’s a good chance you’ll find the asshole there.”

“Thank you,” I say.

We sat there in silence for a while as I began to formulate my plan. The sad part is that killing people on the streets is easy because no one ever comes looking for us. We’re here one day and gone the next and the world keeps spinning.

Part 4

I marched down Main Street with a purpose as I clenched my fists and looked around to make sure I didn’t overlook the guy who stole my bag. It was getting dark but I had become accustomed to navigating in the dark so I was sure I would get the deed done in a single night. There was so much noise around me that for a moment I thought it must have been some sort of holiday. I knew it wasn’t Christmas due to the lack of decorations. I somehow kept up with the passage of days but I had to rely on the weather to tell me the time of the year, which means I’m never really sure what time of year it was.

I continued walking until I saw a cloud of smoke and could smell the scent of cheap and stolen liquor and could see the look of despair that followed us wherever we went. I knew he was there because I could feel it in my guts.

I slowly scanned the crowd to see if I could spot him right away. I decided the best course of action was to at least enjoy the company until I had to take the man’s life.

“Pour yourself a drink,” said a woman wrapped in a dirty blanket who looked as though she had come back from the edge of death.

“Thank you,” I say as I grab one of the dirty Styrofoam cups and dip it into the small trashcan of suspicious liquid.

I took a sip and closed my eyes as I felt the worst burning sensation of my life. I didn’t know what was in the drink but I certainly wasn’t going to waste alcohol, even if it tasted like gasoline. I began to wonder how they got their hands on it but quickly realized that it didn’t matter.

“Wanna join me behind that tree over there,” asked the woman.

“No thank you, I’m good.”

“Fine,” she says before moving on to a woman who was only a few feet away from me.

I started to walk around the crowd as I slowly sipped the hot drink and looked for the guy. I knew I would notice him immediately because his tired face had been burned into my memory as soon as I realized what he had done. I considered myself to be a nice guy. I don’t like violence and I detest rudeness, but everyone has their limits. Although I consider myself to still be somewhat normal, people on the streets tend to have much shorter tempers, and I am no exception.

As the party continued, I realized that more people were coming. I even looked up at one point to see the lady from the Mexican restaurant I hang out in front of walking up with a tub of food. This warmed my heart and her kindness almost made me rethink my decision to kill the man who stole from me. In a way, I felt bad to see someone helping us while I was standing there waiting to take someone’s life, but I also knew that I would hate myself if I didn’t do it.

I continued walking around scanning the ever-growing number of faces until all of a sudden, I saw him. He was wearing my shoes and talking to some guy as they shared a beer. I felt anger surge through my body as though I was waiting for some sort of transformation to occur. I stood there silently as I went unnoticed. He was taller than I was but much smaller; I knew that defeating him would be no problem, but I would need to find a way to get him away from everyone to punish him for what he had stolen from me.

I gazed at his tired face and thought about the picture he had taken, which was the only physical reminder I had of my son. I almost cried as the anger intensified and I wanted nothing more than to attack him at that very moment like the animal he was. I didn’t feel bad about my plans to kill the man because I was sure he had done this to others. The streets had made him this way, it was not his fault, but that does not change the damage he caused me. I began to wonder if he still had the picture or if he had gotten rid of it because it wasn’t worthy of keeping.

My thoughts were disturbed by the sound of gunfire. As the shots rang out I looked around but could not see the people aiming the guns, but they continued. I got down but tried my best to keep tabs on the guy. I lost him in the sea of people running for cover and almost decided to go after the invisible gunmen for changing my plans.

I could hear screaming voices all around as they scurried like tired mice escaping their deaths and I tried my best to recall the man’s voice but to no avail. The shots stopped after what I assumed had been a couple of minutes. I looked around me and saw clouds of gun smoke and the sight of many pairs of feet running away from me. Then the sound of a car driving off in a hurry made it safe for me to begin to walk around as everyone else clung to the ground as though they had something to lose.

As I walked around in search of the man I saw more wounded bodies than I would ever care to see. I had seen my fair share of dead bodies, but there was something about walking around and seeing more dead people than living that shook me. I wondered what caused those people to target us the way they did. I wondered what they had against a group of people that are never given a voice in the world; what threat could we possibly pose? I wanted to kill my enemy because of what he did to me, but what can a powerless man do to the one with the gun?

“Help me,” said a voice from behind me.

The voice startled me for more reasons than one. As soon as he uttered the first word I knew it was him. I gazed up at the sky and watched the thunder strike before I turned around and faced the man.

“It’s you,” I say while trying to hide my anger.

“Yeah, I remember you from the other night”

“Why did you steal from me,” I ask as though nothing else matters.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he sounds as though he’s holding on to his life one breath at a time.

“I’ll ask again, why did you steal from me?”

“That’s the way it goes out here. You don’t own anything.”

“I don’t believe that. I own what I have.”

“Well you haven’t been out here long enough to realize what you’ve done.”

“I didn’t steal from you”

“But you’ve taken from someone before. Have you never taken someone’s food at the boardwalk when they weren’t looking? Never stolen anyone’s clothes from the locker room at the pool while they were swimming? No? Just me?” He says as he holds his stomach as though it will stop the bleeding.

“I’ve done some of that, but they can replace those things, I can’t replace the picture you took”

“How do you know? Just because they have a place to live does not mean that they can replace anything you take from them.

“But we’re the same, why take from someone who you know doesn’t have anything else.”

“Because I had to, just like you had to all those times. Look- I’m sorry but you’re no different from me.”

“You took the only picture of my son that I had. I don’t care about the rest.”

“This,” he asked as he reaches into his tattered jacket and pulls out the worn picture.

I grabbed the picture from the man as though he is not worthy of touching it and then I begin to hug it as though my son is there. I felt the familiar sensation as my eyes began to fill with tears and the moisture fell from my eyes and left wet traces down my face. My anger started to turn into a warm feeling, but I fought it. I had set my mind to killing the man and I planned to complete the task. It could be argued that I should let it go since I had the picture, but others needed to be protected. I hated this man for what he did to me.

Without thinking, I slowly reached my hand into the pockets of my worn black pants and found the knife I kept with me. I did it without him noticing the changes. Once I had the end in my hand, I grabbed it and stabbed him once in the stomach in one swift motion. I watched as he fell to his knees.

“I returned the picture. Why did you do that?” He pleaded. “Please, take me to a hospital”.

“I did it because you are a piece of shit who doesn’t even deserve to live on the streets. You deserve a place in the ocean with the fish and the other trash”

“You’re just like me, don’t you see. I’ve been here longer so I’ve done more to survive, but we are the same.” He said through hollow breathing.

Without thinking I grabbed the knife again and stabbed him three more times. I felt the warm blood from his body splash onto my face as the dull blade entered his body and it gave me a sense of power. For the first time in a long time, I was in control. I stood back and watched the scene as though I had not just been a part of it. He was still alive, but he’d be dead soon. I kept a close eye on his face and saw the moment that death escaped his body and I fell back onto the ground as a smile came across my face. I dropped the knife and looked at the picture of my son.

“No one will ever come between us,” I said to the picture as I began to return to the situation at hand.

Part 5

After remembering that I was out in the open with a body that I had just killed, it dawned on me that I needed to be careful, even though I was surrounded by trees and silence. The party had broken up because of the gunshots, but that didn’t mean that everyone would stay away, which meant I needed to act fast.

There was a river a short distance from where we were. I knew that my best option would be to dump the lifeless body there and to hope that no one ever came looking for the man. I decided to search his pockets to see what he had and I found a few valuables. A watch, some pictures of random people, but the last thing I found was a chain around his neck with a picture in a cheap gold locket. The picture was of a woman with a big smile on her face and hope in her eyes.

“Was that his wife?” I wondered to myself as my gaze could not be broken.

I sat there for a moment thinking about what I needed to do next. I didn’t want to simply dump the body in the water, I wanted there to be no chance of anyone knowing who he was. I grabbed the knife and attempted to cut the man into pieces but the knife was too weak. I sat there until it started to rain and decided that no one saw me do it, so I should be safe. I also knew that the value we have as people depreciates the longer we are separated from humanity, which meant that his body would swim with the fish without anyone ever caring.

The body was heavier than I thought and I had to stop a few times as I dragged it, but it didn’t take long for me to get it to the edge of the river beyond the trees. I looked down at the man who had wronged me with a mixture of pity and wrath and I knew I’d made the right decision. I felt like a warrior looking down at the enemy that had just been killed with a sense of pride that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

I sat down along the edge of the river as I caught my breath and gazed out over the dark water and wondered how many homeless bodies had been buried there. I thought for a second before shaking my head to rid myself of those thoughts before I decided to get up and leave in search of my home for the night.