Frank

Frank shuffled down the red brick sidewalk, leaving a trail of loneliness, defeat and body odor behind him. The air was soggy and warming up fast. It would be another hot day. It was far better than the freezing cold, but why did spring and fall have to be so short? It seemed to Frank that the extremes were far more common. And if anyone would know, it was Frank. He’d been living on the streets for… some years… he’d lost track of how many.

He rubbed his eyes and paused for a few seconds to let the blur fade away. Then the most important thought of each new day: Where am I going to get the money for a bottle? I just need a half-pint to start. He felt deep into his pockets and scooped up everything that his fingers could find–mostly bits of paper and gravel. Thirty-seven cents in change. It was a start.

As his focus sharpened, Frank found himself looking at the Catholic Church across the street. It was a large, old building constructed of white stone with a big, sloping red roof. There was a marble statue of an angel in front, bathed in spotlights that were hidden by plants around its base. The building always seemed inviting, which is why he slept close to it. He felt safe with it near. A group of happy, well-dressed people–mostly couples–came out of the large, arching front doors. They were the same people who whispered about him as they passed on the sidewalks. Saddened, Frank continued on his way.

An attractive, younger woman was coming out of Starbucks with a coffee in one hand and holding a cellphone to her ear with the other. Frank paused to avoid a collision, as the woman showed no signs of slowing down herself. Though she was looking ahead, her eyes seemed vacant as she spoke into the phone. She didn’t seem the slightest bit aware of his presence.

“That son-of-a-bitch is gonna find himself in a lot of trouble if he pulls that shit with me!” She told the pink plastic box. Frank watched as she tromped across the street without looking for traffic. Miraculously, she avoided any cars, almost as if the statue across the street had planned it that way. Frank shook his head and continued down the sidewalk.

Further on, there was a woman standing in front of a building smoking a cigarette. The cigarette looked inviting, unlike the mottled lips from which it dangled. As he approached, the woman glanced at him nervously. He walked up a few steps and stood across from her in the entrance way, “Think I could bum one of them from you?” He nodded at the cigarette dangling from her mouth.
The woman eyed him momentarily, “Sure.” Shaking, she dug a cigarette from her pack and handed it to him.

“Can I use your lighter?” There was a hint of shame in his tone. He had nothing but the clothes disintegrating from his body and the ancient memories disintegrating from his mind.

“So, they pretty good about opening up at 8:30?” The woman asked, revealing a mouth devoid of all but a single, rotten upper tooth barely embedded in spongy, red gum.
Frank nodded, not out of any particular knowledge, but out of a desire to be agreeable. It was his way of showing gratitude for the cigarette. Gratitude for even acknowledging his existence.

“Good. I gotta be at work at 9am sharp. I ain’t gonna lose my job because the judge discriminated me.”

“Discriminated?”

“He said he knew I was a meth-head because of my teeth. I can’t afford to get ‘em fixed. I don’t do no meth. I got kids. I got busted with marijuana.”

Frank nodded, still not sure what she was on about.

“I did all my community service. Paid my fines. Then that lady said she knew

I was doin’ meth. I thought they wasn’t supposed to discriminate. I got a hundred dollars to give my lawyer. I’m gonna see about suin’ them.”

“What lady’s that?”

“That lady runs this place, I guess. I ain’t done meth in… years. I got kids. I got a job.”

Frank nodded agreeably. The scabs on her face stuck out like Pinocchio’s nose. Her blonde hair was as dirty as his, but not as long.

“What you here for?”

Frank looked around, then noticed the words “Midtown Correctional Services” on the door.

“Oh, I was just passin’ through on my way to the store.”
“I understand if you don’t want to say. Hell, my sister’s my supervisor at work.
Otherwise, I’d be in big trouble.”

Frank groped deep through the slush of his mind, trying to reach that person he used to be–the one who rarely ever drank alcohol. But he couldn’t find him. He wondered if that person would be able to make any sense at all of this conversation.

He was thankful for the sound of metal against metal that caught the woman’s attention. Then a click, then an older, normal-looking woman opened the tinted glass door. She glanced at Frank disapprovingly. Maybe she’s the discriminator. The blond meth-head flicked her cigarette away and silently walked inside. Frank decided to move on, worried that he might be the next to be discriminated.

Another stop at the intersection, waiting for the machine to tell him it was okay to continue. He sucked the last bits of life from his cigarette until it burned his lips, then tossed the butt to the ground. A dark-complected man, wearing mirrored sunglasses and a gold necklace, pulled up in a red sports car. Frank watched as the man looked over at him, then rummaged for something. The man waved a bill out the window, “Hey you! Clean my windshield!”
Frank looked around.

“Yeah you!”

Hesitantly, Frank approached the sports car. He eyed the bill–it was a ten, “Pardon?”

“Clean my windshield and I’ll give this to you.”

“I don’t have a towel or nothin’.”

Frank took off his tattered jacket, but the man grabbed his arm before he could begin wiping, “Don’t use your filthy coat! Here!” He handed Frank a silky white handkerchief from his own coat pocket. Frank began wiping, afraid he would do more harm to the spotless window than good.

The man pointed to a spot, “Just clean up that bug there,” he demanded, impatiently.

Frank rubbed down the spot thoroughly.

“That’s fine, here.” He handed Frank the ten dollar bill but pushed away his hand when he tried to return the handkerchief.

“Keep it,” he said, shaking his head as he sped off.

Frank was too excited to be humiliated. He’d be able to get a whole pint of whiskey now! With a renewed vigor, he headed for Berbiglia, only to be slowed by a sound in the distance. The sound of a barking dog. He’d heard plenty of dogs around town in the… however many… years he’d been on the streets. But something about the way it echoed managed to reach that place in his mind below the sludge and haze. A part of him that existed in a time he had long buried. A time when he had a dog and parents.

The memory fluttered in his head like the first impatient kicks of a fetus inside its mother. Frank pushed it back down deep, replacing the void it left with the warm comfort in knowing Berbiglia was only a block away.