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jazzysoul
Joined: 29 Oct 2006
Posts: 16
Location: Spokane, Washington
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 Posted: Thu Nov 02, 2006 01:37 |
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A short story I wrote
NOTE: This story, while in the first person narrative, is not about me. I tend to write in this form, and numerous people mistake my work for being non-fiction. SOME of my work is based on reality, but not all of it, and not this. I WAS homeless for several years, and did "live" down on that mall in VA, but the other aspects to this either came from my imagination, or from a friend of mine who passed.
I don't have a title for this.
Would love to get some feedback on this. Thanks
UNTITLED
by Gary Anderson
10-30-06
As I walk down the bricked over streets of the downtown mall, I look around at the empty space. During the day the area is filled with people walking in and out of stores, or eating at any one of the outside patios that sit outside the various restaurants. The noise of cars from the adjacent streets, the kids crying, and music playing would fill the air. Now, however, at quarter till three in the morning there is none of that. The occasional cricket, but aside from that nothing. Just the wind blowing leaves around.
I love the downtown mall after midnight. There’s something to be said for having some time alone to contemplate things. I mean, sure the people are nice, I suppose, but you can’t really enjoy anything when there are people milling around you and pushing past you as they go from one store to another.
Years before they had bricked over the street, and planted trees in the middle, all the way up the street. No cars were allowed on there, but there was a single street that drove through the mall, for the transit bus to go through and pick up those wanting to leave the mall after a long day of shopping.
I sat down on a black metal chair, that was chained to the table to prevent kids from taking them during the night. I lift my feet up, and prop them on a chair sitting opposite me. I lean back and close my eyes, and breathe in the air. God, I loved this.
It was just as well that I enjoyed spending my time down here, as there wasn’t really that many options. I mean, the city officials had passed the law basically outlawing homelessness within the city limits, but the cops that patrolled the mall during the night didn’t bother me. They knew I wasn’t a threat. I wasn’t a trouble maker. Occasionally there would be a new officer, or someone who was having to pull a midnight shift that didn’t know me would run me off, but that was pretty much it.
I had gotten used to it. This was essentially my home. Friends won’t let me stay with them out of fear. Shelters were out of the question due to their ignorance. It’s funny, but growing up we are taught that God loves us unconditionally. He loves us one and all, and is looking out for us. And when bad things happen to good people, we are supposed to maintain our unwavering faith in Him, in the face of adversity, knowing that things happen for a reason, and that there IS a plan, whether we can see it or not.
I keep that in mind as I am essentially shut out of the lives of the people I thought cared about me the most. I try to understand as one realty company after another refuses to rent to me. As homeless shelter after homeless shelter denies me entry. All because of four little letters.
The word is out, and I am a virtual pariah. People shun contact, and grab their children away from me. I don’t entirely understand their behavior. After all the money this government has spent to educate the masses, my affliction is still looked on as a ‘gay disease’. Never mind the fact that I’m not only not gay, but have never even HAD sex.
I was unlucky enough to contract it through a blood transfusion after I was attacked and left for dead, bleeding in a parking lot of the local Kroger’s. In a vicious bout of irony, I was attacked because these punks thought I was gay. Strange how that works out, huh? 19 year old male, with no visible female attachment. Combine that with a boyish appearance, and it culminates in a gay bashing of a heterosexual virgin.
You can blame the alcohol, which my attackers did, or a society that fears what it doesn’t understand. But it doesn’t matter. I have been killed by hatred. By ignorance. I’m not one to lay blame on anyone or anything. Television is filled with people who go on talk shows and blame their problems on someone else, or something.
Parents didn’t love me enough. Parents loved me too much. I’m an alcoholic, I’m a drug addict, a priest touched me, whatever. Who cares, really? No one cares why you are what you are, they only care that you are what you are.
A case of mistaken identity, leaves you fighting for your life, near death on a hospital bed, only to be given “life” by what will eventually give you death? Ah, who cares, all that matters is that you obviously can’t live in the same building as me. You can’t keep your kids around me, because despite the fact that this is a “gay disease”, apparently anyone can get it just by being in the vicinity of you for more than five minutes.
So, who do I blame? I have to blame someone, right? That’s the American way, isn’t it? Do I blame Ronald Reagan? I mean, hey. The man was in office for eight years, during the entire AIDS explosion, and yet he didn’t give his first speech or public acknowledgement of the epidemic until 1987, when his second term was almost over. By that time the deaths had reached over thirty six thousand. But hey, it’s not his fault, right?
He was in the pocket of the Religious Right, who was just beginning to wield power. At the time the only people that were known to have AIDS were homosexuals, so this was just God’s way of dealing with the homosexual population, if you were to hear them say it.
So, no one is to blame. The attackers who essentially ended my life on that summer evening. The courts that let them off with a slap on the wrist because they were juveniles. The people who know nothing about my affliction, and choose to run away, instead of embracing me.
Hell, even Ronnie Reagan isn’t really to blame. He’s just following orders. And the Religious Right? Well, they’re doing God’s work, aren’t they? So, I suppose the only person left to blame is God. But then again that goes back to always having faith, and realizing that He has a plan for all of us.
Some days that’s harder than others. Some days it’s damn near impossible, as I want to blame God for everything that’s happened to me. Other days it’s easy, as I meet people like myself who are struggling with the same problems that I am.
Some of them are way worse off though. I see the sores, and the bleeding, and I just wonder how much longer I have before that starts happening to me. Will I have the conviction to stay with it? Will I keep my faith in God, unwavering support and know that in the end, it will all make sense?
Or will I take the coward way out and refuse responsibility? Will I shift the blame on the problems I’m having, the sickness, and whatnot, and try to end my life? Will I?
Can I stand up against the unthinkable pain and suffering that I will eventually have to go through? I mean, there are new medicines every day, but not for people like me. I don’t even have a home, much less “Magic Johnson” type money that can buy me every drug cocktail invented.
I suppose then we’ll see what I’m made of. I will see what I’m made of. I just pray that He doesn’t make me go through it alone. That He will bring someone into my life that I can share my dark days and even darker nights with. Someone that will know what I’m going through, and will be able to give me inspirational talk, aside from just “it’ll be alright” and “everything happens for a reason”.
I pray for that every day. At this point, I don’t care if I have a house, or family members that don’t even care about me anymore since I became a “liability”. I just don’t want to be afraid anymore.
Is that too much to ask? Really?
_________________
"That's great. Now I'm depressed. Now I feel like killing myself, but luckily, I'm too depressed to bother." |
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Samiroquai
Joined: 13 Jul 2005
Posts: 1020
Location: North Somerset and Manchester, both in England
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| Posted: Fri Nov 03, 2006 00:03 |
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Interesting start. I'm really too tired to give you anything decent on it right now, but can you PM me with a reminder to have a look at this again over the weekend? I can do a proof-read (yes, I'll remember that you spell things differently to me over there!) and give you a hopefully-helpful amount of critical feedback if you'd like. I may even ask you to have a look at some of my stuff in return...?
Sam
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More fútbol argentino than you can shake a mullet at - Hasta El Gol Siempre |
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Supersonic1
Joined: 16 Apr 2004
Posts: 773
Location: Rio Rancho, New Mexico, USA
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| Posted: Fri Nov 03, 2006 02:28 |
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That's a very tragic piece, Gary. It's kinda like looking into a mirror as far as writing styles go. I'm a journalism major at college and this style is kinda what I do for my creative writing.
I think it's a well done piece. Just keep an eye out for punctuation. You got some talent.
_________________
"...I feel that Jamiroquai needs to be taken to another stage now. It really does. Otherwise, I have to be honest, I can see a situation where...there is a possibility that you become lost in the annals of acid jazz history." -- Jason Kay |
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jazzysoul
Joined: 29 Oct 2006
Posts: 16
Location: Spokane, Washington
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| Posted: Sat Nov 04, 2006 19:59 |
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thank you.
_________________
"That's great. Now I'm depressed. Now I feel like killing myself, but luckily, I'm too depressed to bother." |
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