Rich Homeless Broken But Beautiful Read online

  "Amen, Charles, amen," Linda liked the way Charles put things. She did not always agree with him, but she liked his analytical mind and methodical explanations and the fact that he always tried to go to the bottom of things.

  "There is, however, one thing, miss, that comes close to making me a believer." Charles was not done with the subject yet.

  "Oh yeah, and what may that be?"

  "Music, miss, music is the most thrilling and exciting thing that humans have ever created. When I hear a beautiful piece of music, it rushes through my being like a surge of electricity and then, I swear, I almost believe in God."

  "Oh really? Well that's an interesting way to put it. I'm sure that God would be happy to hear that." Charles chuckled, and they fell silent for a moment. Linda stared out the window, her mind wandering off.

  "I don't believe in God either, Charles. Sometimes I pray to this entity called God, but I don't believe in it. It's like talking to myself, you know? I guess we all need to validate our thoughts to something or someone. I think a lot of people probably don't want to know if God exists or not. It would screw up their lives either way. I think God is only a word, an expression to describe things that are beyond our comprehension. People need to believe, Charles; they need to believe in something, no matter how preposterous or unbelievable it might sound. It's as essential as breathing for them. It's strange, really, when you think about it. It makes no sense, yet it does, you know, in a way. Sometimes, it's so bloody confusing; it's easy to get lost." She turned from staring out the window and looked up; she could see that he was nodding his head gravely in approval.

  "Your sure right about that, Miss, it can certainly be confusing. You see, the way I see things is this, in a practical sense, I mean. The time we have, I mean the time that we are alive, well, that's the only thing that counts really, because that's all we have. We have the obligation to make the most of that and to be respectful of others and of all living things, including the planet. You know, I read a quotation once, and I cannot even remember from whom it was, but it struck me at the time. It went something like this, "Plan your life as if you'll live forever, but live it as if you'll die tomorrow."

  "Right on Charles, I can relate to that, believe me I can."

  "Yes you can, miss, you certainly can."

  They both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. Their conversations were the best part of their travels as they drove through the countryside. They always took the secondary roads so as to go through the small towns and villages at a nice slow pace. They had mutually agreed to abandon freeways and highways years before. Because they spent whole days in close proximity, they talked a lot, about every subject under the sun. Charles was an excellent conversationalist, and he was educated, brilliant, and well read. Linda was a good listener, and she could hold up her own on any subject. To the farmers and country people they passed along the way, they must have been a most unusual sight, a black foreign limo passing slowly by with a veiled woman sitting upright in the back seat, engaged in a vivid conversation with a large, broad-shouldered black man who was driving and gesticulating vigorously with his hands at the same time. Both of them, apparently oblivious to their surroundings and to the people they were passing by.

  "Have you ever been married, Charles?" Linda had ventured a personal question once.

  "Once, miss, when I was a young man. I was twenty at the time, back home, you know." Although Linda immediately felt that the subject was a sensitive one, curiosity got the better of her.

  "Well, Charles, what happened?" Charles looked at her one or two times in the rearview mirror before answering. The question had caught him off guard, and he was pondering what he was going to say.

  "Well, the short version goes this way, miss. We met when we were in our teens, and we really hit it off from the very first day. You know, love at first sight and all that. We were glued together, inseparable; we swore to each other that we would spend the rest of our lives together. That's the way things were and we got married right after our graduation. Nothing fancy, you know. We were so in love and so anxious to be a legitimate couple." Charles cleared his throat; his voice was higher pitched than usual; speaking about this chapter of his life was obviously stirring up some long-forgotten emotions. "Well anyway, the marriage lasted four years, and all seemed good and in its place, at least to me. Then one day I got home from work and she wasn't there and there was a note on the kitchen counter. In it she explained to me that she was gone for good because she needed to find herself and to start a new life. She admitted she didn't have the courage to tell me face to face, and she thought it would be easier for both of us this way. I couldn't believe she had dumped me, just like that, without a warning. I really hadn't seen that coming, and it hit me hard. I was shattered and devastated. It was only a few days later that I found out that she had run off with another guy, but she hadn't mentioned that in the note, of course. Nor did she mention that the other guy was my very best friend. Well anyway, I never saw either one of them again. It was the worst time of my life, miss, and the bitterest lesson I ever had to learn." Charles was staring intently at the road ahead, obviously disturbed by the memories of that time in his life. Linda knew she shouldn't ask the next question, but she felt compelled to.

  "You mean that you can never trust another woman ever again, in that way, I mean. Is that the lesson you learned, Charles?"

  "Well, yes and no, miss. Of course, I've had major trust issues with woman since then. I mean, who could blame me? You see, the most important thing I learned is to never take anyone for granted, because they could be there one day and gone the next. I know that now, but at the time, I felt only pain, and I suffered a very long time because of her." His voice was charged with emotion, and he seemed to be on the verge of tears. Linda moved into the seat behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.

  "What was her name, Charles?" she asked softly.

  "Susan," he whispered. "Susan Spencer," he repeated, his eyes glued straight ahead.

  "I'm sure that deep down she was a wonderful person, Charles, and I'm sorry that I brought this up. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

  "It's okay, miss, all that happened a long time ago now." They both fell silent; Linda patted his shoulder and returned to her seat.

  A bond had been created between them that day. Charles had revealed his most painful and intimate secrets to her, and Linda felt closer to him than she ever had before. He could have asked her about her own experience with love that day. After all, she was the one who had brought the subject up, but he hadn't, and Linda had felt relieved about that. She would have hated to have to tell him about her own sad saga and the seething pain it had inflicted on her so many years before. Thoughts of Richard flooded her mind, and with it came the memories of her broken heart and the countless nights she had cried herself to sleep. She found it painful to even think about the past, not to mention her present situation, which, in her mind, excluded anything that could resemble a relationship of any sorts.

  On the road they ate together most of the time now. Linda had pleaded with Charles intensely and he had finally relented. The small hotels or motels they stayed at always had a dining room or a diner nearby. Linda enjoyed those meals a lot. Charles had fine table manners and excellent taste, attributes that she appreciated greatly. They were having dinner in a small diner one night when Charles put down his fork and knife and cleared his throat.

  "May I ask you a question, miss?" Charles loved to ask permission to do things, even ask a question. Linda looked up from her plate.

  "Yes, of course, Charles, please do."

  "Do you have any idea how many more years we'll be on the road, miss? I mean, we've been roaming the country for quite a while now, so I thought I might venture to ask." Linda pondered her reply for a moment.

  "I don't know, Charles, but I promise you one thing. As soon as I do know, you'll be the first to be informed." Linda's deformed face broke into a half-smile under her veil, and Charles detecte
d a nuance of mischief in her tone.

  "Well, thank you miss that was a very enlightening reply. I will sleep better tonight now that you have shed some light on our mysterious wanderings." There was a moment of silence and then he broke out laughing, a loud, hearty laugh, and so did she. The other patrons of the diner turned their heads in their direction, but Charles and Linda paid no attention to them. It just felt too good to laugh. Of course, hidden in their outburst of laughter was the fact that Linda had not answered his question. The simple truth was that she did not know how long they would be traveling, but the question had been haunting her of late.

  They arrived in the big city after three weeks on the road-three weeks of back roads and rolling country, of quaint villages filled with simple people going about their quiet lives. Linda always felt that these incursions into the rural areas of the country were like a balm. There was something endearing and appeasing about it all, and in a way, it was reassuring for her to know that places and people like this existed. It felt good and wholesome, like a glass of cold, fresh milk at the end of a hot summer day.

  She and Charles had taken their time and made their way slowly toward the city, but now, they were there at last. It was a familiar city, the biggest in the country, embodying the best and worst of everything, and Linda's favorite. They had been there numerous times over the years, and although Linda loved the country, she needed the city more and this city, above all others. She needed its strength and its power and its vitality and its urgency. It was different from the other cities they had been to. It had its own essence and its own soul, throbbing with the effervescence and excitement of life in eruption, clashing against itself in an endless explosion of beauty and brutality and changing instantaneously, to the whims of its intrinsic complexity. It was dirty and clean, violent but peaceful, articulate yet dysfunctional, frightening yet reassuring. It was everything, and yet, at the same time, it was nothing but the sum of its inhabitants and their tumultuous, intertwining lives. When Linda was there, walking its streets in her homeless attire, weaving amongst its vibrant throngs and drowning in the dizziness of its din, she felt that it was like living inside a heart.

  They checked into the hotel at about ten at night.

  "Good evening, Miss Staunton, it's nice to see you again. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

  The hotel employee who had opened the car door was all over them. Linda remained silent behind her veil, and as usual in such circumstances, she let Charles do the talking.

  "A year, Henry, it's been a year. We want to check in quickly, Henry; Miss Staunton is very tired from the trip and wishes to retire immediately."

  "Yes, of course, Mr. Charles. We just need to get you signed in at the reception. It will take two minutes at the most, and you'll be upstairs." Henry directed them toward the reception, and Linda signed them in hastily, and then she and Charles headed toward the elevator. A few minutes after they had entered Linda's suite, there was a knock on the door. It was Henry with the luggage. Charles showed him where to drop the suitcases and then tipped him.

  "Thank you, Miss Staunton, Mr. Charles. I hope you have a pleasant stay with us, and if there's anything you need while you're here, anything whatsoever, I'll be glad to be of service. Good night now." He headed toward the door.

  "Thank you, Henry, good night." Charles had followed him and closed the door behind him. He walked back toward Linda.

  "Well, miss, if you don't need me anymore, I think I'll retire."

  "No, I'm fine, Charles, thank you and good night."

  "Good night, miss."

  The next day Linda called Peggy. They had been keeping in touch regularly, but they had not seen each other since Peggy's wedding.

  "Hi, Peggy, its' me."

  "Oh hi, Linda, it's so nice to hear your voice. How have you been?"

  "I'm good, thanks, and you?"

  "I'm fine-great, actually. The kids are driving me crazy, though, but apart from that, all is good." Peggy had two children. Mark was one and a half, and Carrie was four.

  "I'm sure you spoil them rotten and probably love them too much."

  "Yeah, I do. It's just that they're so bloody adorable, I can't help myself. I wish you could see them, though, I mean, besides the pictures and the videos, you know, like seeing them in person."

  "I will, Peggy. Someday I will, I promise, okay?"

  "Promises, promises," Peggy said sarcastically. Linda did not respond, so Peggy changed the subject.

  "So, what have you been up to?"

  "Oh, you know the usual. Moving around, discovering new places." Linda lied; the truth was that she'd been getting more and more disenchanted with her traveling life of late. There was a touch of melancholy in her voice, and Peggy quickly detected it.

  "Really," she said, sounding skeptical. "Well, I do hope you settle down someday. It would be good for you to have a home and a place of your own. You should be around people who love you, Linda. I worry about you. Don't you get lonely sometimes?"

  "Stop it, Peggy, will you? You sound like my mother, for God's sake. I'm surrounded by people, okay? And no, I don't have time to be lonely; there are always tons of things going on. Charles and I have our little routine. Believe me, we're very busy and everything is fine." She'd slightly raised her voice, thus revealing how sensitive the subject was. Peggy remained unconvinced.

  "Oh come on, Linda, how many times have you been around the country? Haven't you had enough of this constant moving around? It can't be good for you; you need to settle down, Linda. Promise me you'll think about it?"

  "Okay, Peggy, I will. I promise, okay?" They dropped the subject, but the truth was that Linda had been thinking a lot about abandoning the road lately. She was growing more and more restless with her bohemian life. It was not bringing her the satisfaction that it used to. She wasn't ready to share those thoughts with Peggy, though, and she didn't really want to admit to her that she didn't really know what to do with her life.

  They talked for over an hour, exchanging news about each other's families, Peggy was a talker, and she would describe even the smallest family incident with infinite detail. Linda loved to listen to her. She made her laugh, and not many people did that in her life. There were no boyfriends or husbands or children to talk about on Linda's end, and it was a subject that they stayed away from. They said good-bye after Peggy made Linda promise that she would visit soon, a promise that both of them knew she wouldn't keep. Linda didn't visit anyone. She didn't visit her family, and she wouldn't visit Peggy either. That's the way things were. The worst part was that the more Linda stayed away from them, the more she dreaded the very idea of having to face any of them ever again.

  The next morning was a bright and sunny summer day. Linda left the hotel early and took a taxi to the train station, carrying her used leather bag. When she got there she went into the restrooms and changed into her homeless outfit, putting her clean clothes into the bag. She walked out of the restrooms in the direction of the lockers for rent and rented a locker and put her bag into it. She then left the station and headed toward St. Mary's Mission, which was a few streets away. Her pace was fast, considering that she walked with a cane. Linda was in a hurry today, in a hurry to see her friend Janice, whom she had not seen in over a year. She couldn't help but notice how people balked and were repulsed by her as she passed them by. Linda couldn't have cared less, though; people's reactions to her appearance and her disfigurement didn't bother her anymore.

  St. Mary's Mission was a large four-story brown brick building that was located in the middle of the seedier part of the city. It was an area of cheap rooms and cheap booze, where prostitutes and junkies roamed the streets day and night. The buildings were decrepit, and the streets were dirty, like the inhabitants of the numerous missions and shelters of the area. Linda felt comfortable among them, the street people and the have nothing people. This area was their haven and their lair. It belonged to them, the hookers and the druggies, the lost and the abandoned, the mentally ill
and the winos, the idiots and the bums, the disillusioned and the misguided, the criminals and the rejected. It was strangely in places like these that Linda had reconnected with herself and where she had found her bearings again. They had become safe havens for her, and she felt that she was among her own.

  She made her way with difficulty up the stairs of the Mission. St. Mary's Mission was a shelter that opened its doors at 5:00 p.m. every day to those men or woman who needed a bed for the night. Everyone who showed up was given clean underwear, socks, a hot meal, a towel, and a toothbrush. No drugs or alcohol were allowed, and all had to take a shower before going to bed. Lights out was at 10:00 p.m. and wake up was at 6:00 a.m. Breakfast was served at seven, and at nine everyone was put back out on the street. No one was refused here; the nuns who ran the place welcomed everyone. The only time people were turned away was when the mission had reached its capacity. It was sadly something that seemed to happen more and more often of late, much to the chagrin of the nuns. If someone was intoxicated on anything, he or she was turned away. All the employees who helped the nuns run the place were ex-street people who lived at the mission full time. They knew their customers well and had a sharp eye out for troublemakers. Linda thought it was one of the best shelters she had seen, and she had seen many in the course of her travels. Not only was it clean, but it was also well run. People could say what they wanted about the nuns; they ran a tight ship and were dedicated and hardworking.

  Linda entered the cafeteria on the ground floor, which stayed open all day and served free coffee and cookies. There were a few people there, but Linda did not see her friend Janice. She headed to the reception, where an ex-junkie called Rick was tending the phone and shuffling some paper. Rick did not have a square inch on his arms that was not tattooed. His face was ravaged from childhood acne and scared from many vicious street and prison fights.

  "Hi." Rick didn't look up; he was staring at a document, obviously having difficulty with what it said or didn't say. Linda waited; she knew that impatience was not well accepted in this world. After a few minutes, he put the document down and got up. Looking in Linda's direction, he nodded his head, acknowledging her presence.