handed him a ticket. “Give that to the woman over there and then you can go through the line to get a meal. Beds are on a first come first served basis so I’d suggest that once you’re done eating you go and select your cot. Do you have any questions?”
Andrew shook his head. He’d been here before so he knew the rules. He could hear the pitter patter of the rain landing on the sidewalks outside and was thankful that he was inside. Meanwhile the woman watched as Andrew rubbed his hand against his arm. She let out a soft sigh. She hated this part but it had to be done.
“Andrew,” she waited until he looked at her again. “There’s absolutely no using in this facility. You must stay clean while in here. If you’d like assistance with quitting I can offer…”
“NO! I don’t need assistance. I’m fine,” he replied angrily, walking past her towards the food line.
He wanted to turn around and leave, but he was hungry and it was wet outside. Finding a place to sleep out of the rain would be nearly impossible. He would need to swallow what little pride he had left and stay. He handed the woman the food ticket and proceeded to pile up his plate with all they had to offer. He wasn’t sure when he would eat again so in spite of his anger he ate, everything. He then watched the doors until it was time for them to enter the sleeping quarters.
Andrew wasn’t as particular as other people were in regards to where he slept. Some men wanted the exact cot they had before, while others needed to be near one of the exits, while others would fight to be near a family member or friend. Andrew passed a few people that smelled particularly bad and settled on a cot near a woman and her young son. The boy smiled at him as he sat down.
“Hey, little man,” Andrew said casually. The boy looked down as if surprised to be spoken too.
Andrew watched him a moment and then pulled out his sketchpad. It wasn’t anything expensive, just something that he had picked up in the dollar store a few days ago, purely on a whim. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to buy the sketchpad and pencils in the first place but he did. He tore the paper off of it and shoved it in his pocket before digging for the pencils in his bag. He stared at the paper. It had been a long time since he had drawn anything.
“Do you make pictures?” the little boy asked.
He was standing right next to Andrew to his mother’s horror.
“Miquel, get over here this instant,” his mother said frantically.
Miquel found himself underneath his mom’s arms very quickly. Andrew almost told the mom it was okay, but that wouldn’t help the young boy survive on the streets. He needed to learn that he shouldn’t talk to people he didn’t know; it was dangerous. At least Miquel’s mother handled it better than Andrew’s parent’s had. He closed his eyes and winced at the memory of the beating he had received when his father had found out he had approached a stranger.
“What kind of pictures do you like?” Andrew asked.
The boy was quiet. He looked to his mother for guidance. She glanced at Andrew, assessing his level of dangerousness. He still looked like a boy to her, a boy with sad eyes. She wondered how long he had been on the streets. She smiled at her son who was watching her expectantly.
“Go ahead, Miquel. You can tell the man.”
“I like Spiderman,” he said turning to Andrew. “Do you know who that is?”
Andrew smiled slightly and nodded. He remembered that in one of his placements his roommate used to read the comic books all the time. Andrew had teased him about it but in truth he had read them late at night when he couldn’t sleep.
“Do you have any pictures of him?” The boy asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, what do you have?”
Andrew shook his head. “Nothing, I haven’t drawn anything yet.”
“Miquel, that’s enough. Stop bothering him.”
Miquel nodded at his mother and turned to face her. They talked softly to one
Andrew shook his head. He’d been here before so he knew the rules. He could hear the pitter patter of the rain landing on the sidewalks outside and was thankful that he was inside. Meanwhile the woman watched as Andrew rubbed his hand against his arm. She let out a soft sigh. She hated this part but it had to be done.
“Andrew,” she waited until he looked at her again. “There’s absolutely no using in this facility. You must stay clean while in here. If you’d like assistance with quitting I can offer…”
“NO! I don’t need assistance. I’m fine,” he replied angrily, walking past her towards the food line.
He wanted to turn around and leave, but he was hungry and it was wet outside. Finding a place to sleep out of the rain would be nearly impossible. He would need to swallow what little pride he had left and stay. He handed the woman the food ticket and proceeded to pile up his plate with all they had to offer. He wasn’t sure when he would eat again so in spite of his anger he ate, everything. He then watched the doors until it was time for them to enter the sleeping quarters.
Andrew wasn’t as particular as other people were in regards to where he slept. Some men wanted the exact cot they had before, while others needed to be near one of the exits, while others would fight to be near a family member or friend. Andrew passed a few people that smelled particularly bad and settled on a cot near a woman and her young son. The boy smiled at him as he sat down.
“Hey, little man,” Andrew said casually. The boy looked down as if surprised to be spoken too.
Andrew watched him a moment and then pulled out his sketchpad. It wasn’t anything expensive, just something that he had picked up in the dollar store a few days ago, purely on a whim. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to buy the sketchpad and pencils in the first place but he did. He tore the paper off of it and shoved it in his pocket before digging for the pencils in his bag. He stared at the paper. It had been a long time since he had drawn anything.
“Do you make pictures?” the little boy asked.
He was standing right next to Andrew to his mother’s horror.
“Miquel, get over here this instant,” his mother said frantically.
Miquel found himself underneath his mom’s arms very quickly. Andrew almost told the mom it was okay, but that wouldn’t help the young boy survive on the streets. He needed to learn that he shouldn’t talk to people he didn’t know; it was dangerous. At least Miquel’s mother handled it better than Andrew’s parent’s had. He closed his eyes and winced at the memory of the beating he had received when his father had found out he had approached a stranger.
“What kind of pictures do you like?” Andrew asked.
The boy was quiet. He looked to his mother for guidance. She glanced at Andrew, assessing his level of dangerousness. He still looked like a boy to her, a boy with sad eyes. She wondered how long he had been on the streets. She smiled at her son who was watching her expectantly.
“Go ahead, Miquel. You can tell the man.”
“I like Spiderman,” he said turning to Andrew. “Do you know who that is?”
Andrew smiled slightly and nodded. He remembered that in one of his placements his roommate used to read the comic books all the time. Andrew had teased him about it but in truth he had read them late at night when he couldn’t sleep.
“Do you have any pictures of him?” The boy asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, what do you have?”
Andrew shook his head. “Nothing, I haven’t drawn anything yet.”
“Miquel, that’s enough. Stop bothering him.”
Miquel nodded at his mother and turned to face her. They talked softly to one
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