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Recovery [Excerpt]
The wind whipped across Grant’s face as he pulled his jacket tighter around his torso. His gloved fingers twisted in the woolen fabric of his scarf as he held it further up his face, puffs of fog leaving his lips and floating up to the heavens. The dim streetlights did little to illuminate his path and the slushy snow-mostly-ice covering the ground seeped into his boots and left an ache in his bones.
Grant didn’t live in the most glamorous part of town, but he loved it just the same. He’d never been one to aspire to live within the city and preferred the quietness of the rundown apartment buildings and the friendly faces of the local store owners that greeted him each morning as he walked to the train station. Brooklyn had always been his home. Even when he got the “big shot” job in advertising in the city, he never once considered leaving this dilapidated stretch of sanctuary that shielded him from all of the fast-paced hubbub that clogged the streets across the river.
Grant rubbed his leaking nose with his glove and shut his eyes against a particularly strong gust of wind. The walk from the train station seemed never ending tonight. He’d had to stay late at work in order to finish up his latest project for a presentation in the morning, and the late January’s icy hands had a full grip on the night. As he walked along the cracked slates of sidewalk, he huffed out a weary sigh and rubbed along his arms in hopes of catching a little more warmth.
The toe of his boot caught on something sturdy, tipping him forward into an ungainly sprawl. Dirty slush immediately filled any exposed openings in his clothes. A grunt sounded in his ears, but it took a moment to realize it didn’t leave his own lips.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” a gruff voice said to his left.
Grant turned and could barely make out a man sitting on the ground with one leg pulled close to his body to give his chin a resting place. The other was extended out into the sidewalk, even still. His long, unkempt hair knotted and swirled in the evening wind, and his eyes, though almost indistinguishable in the shadows, seemed to pierce right through the object of their gaze. The dim yellow street lights cast an eerie glow on the figure and Grant shuffled into a sitting position, moving further away from the glaring man.
“Sorry,” Grant said as he rubbed his sore palms.
“Just because ‘m homeless doesn’t mean I can be treated like the ground you walk on,” the man spat, right hand coming up in an attempt to push his hair from his face.
“I’m sorry,” Grant repeated. He collected his bearings enough to push himself to his feet. “Did I hurt you?”
The man grumbled around a full-bodied shiver.
“Do you—do you want me to take you to a shelter? It’s cold out tonight.” After a moment’s thought, “I could, uh, use the company as I walk? I live near there.”
The man stayed silent. It was difficult to read his expression in the dark, but the way his eyes rested on Grant’s face made his skin feel stretched over his bones. He tried not to fidget. The wind picked up again and Grant wrapped his arms around himself, though to shield himself from this stranger or from the chill he couldn’t say.
“I don’t need no charity, kid,” the man said eventually. He pulled the leg that had tripped Grant up to his chest to match the other and curled protectively into himself.
Grant hesitated, wanting to escape the tension growing in the space between them. He should heed this man’s words and leave. Right now. He has, after all, just stumbled upon yet another homeless man late at night and he’s heard plenty of horror stories about these men being deranged and aggressive.
But as he stood there, stupidly frozen to his spot, Grant couldn’t help but study the hunched figure on the ground. The guy didn’t look violent. No, he just looked cold and irritated, and like the world had beaten him down so much that the last thing he needed was to be stepped on by someone in passing and abandoned with a quick apology.
“Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to talk to strangers?”
Grant let out a shaky breath and couldn’t help the half smile that spread across his face. He thought of that beautiful blonde woman, with round cheeks and a rounder belly singing to herself in the kitchen as she made apple pies and gazed at the leaves turning colors in the trees. No, she hadn’t told Grant to avoid strangers, God rest her soul. She’d offer any extra money or stray morsel she had to someone who may have needed it more.
“No,” Grant said with a soft chuckle. “She told me to help those around me.”
“Get lost, kid,” the man said as he scratched along the scruff of his beard with his right hand. His left stayed steadfastly tucked between his legs and his chest, covered in thick fabric and a glove. “Said I don’t need no charity.”
“If you’re sure,” Grant answered as he scuffed his shoe on the pavement, his mind whirling. “Well, uh, have a good night then.”
“Hmm.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Grant called as he turned away down the street. The man grumbled, and Grant couldn’t quite bite back his smirk.
As he made his retreat, Grant thought of his small apartment where the heating was finicky, the plumbing only worked on a hope and a prayer, and the stray neighborhood cat shrilled at night until it was let in and given a spot on his couch. His home wasn’t anything grand, but it was still a luxury compared to sleeping on the sidewalk on a night cold enough to freeze your bones.
When he finally reached his apartment – and after saying his hello’s to Mrs. Mable down the hall with her soft white hair and an insatiable desire to know everything about everyone – he walked straight to his linen closet and pulled down his extra pillow and the warmest blanket he owned. Placing them on the chair by his door, he gave a satisfied nod. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.