Homeless, part four

"What time is it?" Leta asked, although she was wearing a watch.

The man she had spent the night with was standing outside the bedroom door where she had just been dressing. While there was only one window in what passed as a living room in this small apartment, and the drapes were pulled tight, fairly sealing the residence from the outside world, Leta could see him better and more clearly than she had at the drinking establishment where they connected the previous evening. Plus, she was sober now, or nearly so.

He was dressed in the same clothes in which she met him. They weren’t plain, working man’s clothes, as she had first believed. They were shabby. His shirt was torn in the pocket and on one sleeve, missing a button where his belly protruded, and had several stains. His pants were once black, she supposed, but washing and wear had faded them to a dull gray with worn spots on his thighs and tears in both knees. His eyes were still blue, but bloodshot, and she could smell his breath. He had already had a drink or two since he rose from the bed only twenty minutes earlier.

He burped and didn’t excuse himself. His breath churned in the air so thickly she thought she could see it.

“Around noon,” he answered, inspecting her the same way she had been inspecting him. “Do you want to get some breakfast? I don’t got any food here.”

“Sure,” she answered but immediately regretted her response. What in the world was she thinking? This man held no interest for her? Why was she agreeing to have lunch with him? Shouldn’t she just tiptoe away and forget she had ever been here? Where was her dignity?

She must have grimaced, because her companion looked at her inquisitively. “Are you all right?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, showing a slim smile, “I’m fine.”

“Then let’s get a move on,” he said. “I’m starving.”

He turned and headed toward the door. Before opening it, however, he abruptly turned back and put his hand up to prevent her from moving forward.

“Hold on,” he said. “I need to see if the coast is clear.”

He opened the door cautiously, and pushed his eyes into the hallway.

Up until that moment, she had mostly been feeling wicked and ashamed, but now she felt ridiculous. Her companion was a grown man, at least thirty years old. He was responsible for his own livelihood and morals, but instead of behaving with maturity and confidence, he was acting as though he needed to hide his transgressions, but from whom? His neighbors? His landlord?

“Maybe I should—“ she started to say, but he turned quickly and shushed her, pushing her back with his intensity. She simply stood there, like a statue for a few moments. She could almost hear someone in the hallway, maybe a door close.

Her companion turned to her. “Okay, let’s go.” He stooped slightly, as if trying to make himself smaller. Then he took her hand and led her into the hallway. “Be quick now,” he whispered. He quietly closed the door and led her to the stairs. Leta did not realize she had been walking on her toes until they reached them. They were on the third floor, but were out of the front door and on the sunny street before she took another breath. Once safely on the sidewalk, he relaxed completely.

“There now,” he said, as if he had just completed a difficult task. “The restaurant is just a few blocks down the street.”

After their late breakfast, Leta accompanied him to another blind pig, and before she knew it, she was tumbling out of his bed on Monday morning to make coffee before he went to work. When he returned from the shared toilet down the hall, he looked sluggish, and she felt the same. He barely drank a cup before he was grabbing his hat and heading for the door.

“I’m off,” he explained, stating the obvious. “You can take your time this morning, but be sure to turn the water faucet completely off before you go. It’ll drip if you don’t.”

Then he was gone, and Leta was left with the memories and feelings she had been avoiding all weekend—regret, frustration, disappointment, anger. She washed her face and then looked at herself in the mirror.

When she left her home on Friday, she was more concerned with making sure that the children had what they needed. As for herself, all of her clothing and keepsakes were still at the house—Leech Hoose’s house—and she needed to retrieve them. That must be her first task. In fact, she sat down at the table with her cup of coffee and made a list of the things she needed to do:

1.     Get clothes

2.     Find a place to live

3.     Get job

4.     Get children

“There,” she said aloud. “That looks easy enough.”

To be continued.