Homeless, part three

Leta was sitting in a blind pig in Toledo, drinking her grief to silence and immobility. She had earlier that day left her husband Leech Hoose, and more importantly, turned over the care and responsibility of her two children to their father, her first husband. She had no other plans for herself. She had just finished her third whiskey—in one gulp—when she heard a man’s voice.

“Hey, now, little lady, that was one powerful sip.”

After the quick alcoholic rush that made all her skin feel warm, she turned toward him.

“Good evening to you,” she said and smiled.

“Would you like another?” he inquired, gesturing toward the empty glass.

Leta gave him a quick once-over. He wasn’t dressed very nicely; his clothes were plain—a white collared shirt and some grayish brown pants. The clothes were worn, and not very clean. Perhaps, she considered, he performed some manual labor and had stopped here on his way home from work. But then she corrected herself. It was rather late in the evening for him to be coming directly from work. Maybe he ate somewhere first. He had a pale face and a rather large head, balding, as many men his age tended to be. His nose was slightly misshapen, as if at some point in his life it had been broken. His beard looked rough, like steel wool. When he smiled, she saw that he was missing two teeth—both canines—on the right side of his mouth. So she looked at his eyes—blue like hers.

After two more whiskeys, she agreed to go home with him. Neither actually said a word about it. They had both finished their drinks at the same time. He sighed and slapped his hand on top of her own. As she slid off her bar stool, he continued to hold it. She felt a little unsteady, and he assisted her by putting his arm around her waist. She grabbed her pocketbook and together they walked out of the joint. The ache of grief had fully retreated, and Leta desired comfort.

But the next morning, as the cloudiness of the alcohol was decreasing, and she was left alone in this strange man’s bedroom to dress and then leave, she could feel her grief swelling inside her. This time it brought with her the anxiety of where she should go next. After all, she only had three dollars.

She missed her children. She wondered if they had slept well or had they spent their night in unhappy tears. Were they angry with her for deserting them? Were they happy to be rid of her? While Leta had little faith in their father to be a good caregiver, she knew that his mother—their grandmother—with whom they were all now living would fill their bellies. They might not get the love and affection only a mother could provide, but they would have plenty to eat, nice clothes to wear and a warm bed to sleep in every night.

Most importantly, Vivian would be safe. A stab of regret and guilt pierced into her heart, and her body went numb. She was not sure how long she stayed that way, but the emptiness—a false peace sort of peace—was interrupted by a slight rapping on the bedroom door.

“You awake?”

The voice belonged to her host. Her companion? Her night’s comfort? She had no words to describe the fellow. Was he a comfort? In any case, she knew that it was time for her to dress and leave. The day was at least half over. She stood and opened the drapes. The sun was fighting for room with a moving cloud cover, but it was high in the sky. The light helped her find the rest of her clothes.

A few moments later, rumpled, but dressed, she emerged from the room.

To be continued.