Rich Homeless Broken But Beautiful Read online

  "Hi, what can I do for you?" Linda's deformities and appearance did not seem to disturb him in any way.

  "I'm looking for Janice-you know, crazy Janice." Linda looked upward, imitating her friend.

  "Yeah, I know Janice." They called Janice that because she walked the streets of the city looking up, never down, never ahead, but up. Although her upward gaze never flinched, she would never bump into anybody or anything, which was, all things considered, an amazing feat in itself and quite a sight to behold. People had nicknamed her Crazy Janice ages ago because of that peculiar habit. Everyone took it for granted that she had lost her mind. Linda knew better.

  "She was here last night, left early this morning." He looked straight into Linda's eye, gaze unwavering, obviously not intimidated by her, as a lot of people might have been.

  "Do you know where I can find her?"

  "Yeah, I suppose I do." He answered, saying nothing else. Linda knew that obtaining information in this world required trust.

  "I'm an old friend of hers, and I haven't seen her in a long time. I've been away, you know?" Linda pointed with her thumb behind her in the direction of the street and looked upwards, indicating by these gestures that she'd been somewhere unpleasant and on an involuntary basis.

  "Oh yeah," Rick nodded with understanding eyes, certain that Linda had just been released from jail or from an asylum, which made her trustworthy in his book. "She's usually in the park about noon; she goes there to feed the pigeons."

  "Thanks." Linda smiled to him; he did not return her smile but sat back down and resumed what he had been doing.

  Linda made her way to the park. It was still early, and she sat down on a park bench enjoying the warm summer day. Everything was green and lush, and the birds were chirping about noisily. She breathed in deeply and closed her eye for a few moments, absorbing the odors of the park and the noises of the city. Although she was a stranger here, Linda felt like she had a bond to the city and that it was like coming home in a way. There was something about being here that filled her with excitement, and there seemed to be an inherent promise of fulfillment built into its very fiber, and it felt good to be back.

  Linda stayed a few hours sitting on the park bench, taking in the nature and watching people go by. Then, a little before noon, she saw Janice approaching from the other side of the park. Janice wore a knee-length green wool coat and beige leggings; her shoes were black and had thick two-inch heels. They were hand-me-downs from the nuns and made a distinct clicking sound when she walked. She wore the same attire she had on when Linda had last seen her over a year before. She walked with one hand clinging to the top of her coat, as if she were cold, and the other one buried deep in one of her coat pockets. Her long brownish hair was disheveled and fell below her shoulders; she was tall and wiry, and one could sense in her gait that she had an uncommon nervousness about her. She walked briskly up the path, humming to herself, as was her habit, her pale blue eyes fixed upward and steady. She stopped when she got near the fountain and pulled out a paper bag from her coat pocket. She fished some breadcrumbs from the bag and began to throw them all around her. Soon the pigeons were flocking at her feet. Linda observed her for a minute or two, and then she got up and slowly made her way to where Janice was standing.

  "Come on, my little babies, there you go. My God, you're hungry," Janice was encouraging her friends, the pigeons, as they noisily devoured the breadcrumbs. She was looking at them affectionately. Her head was in a normal position when she was not walking. For some reason, she only kept it up when she walked.

  "Janice," Linda now stood a few feet behind her; Janice turned and looked at her and then returned to feeding the pigeons.

  "Where've you been? I thought you were dead or something." Janice spoke with her back to Linda, and there was a taint of reproach in her voice.

  "I've been away, Janice, you know ... away." Linda hesitated for a few seconds. "And you, how've you been?"

  "Okay I guess." Linda's laconic explanation seemed to satisfy her. Janice knew all too well that people were often sent to jail or to institutions for extended periods of time.

  "Hey, Janice, want to come and sit with me on the bench over there? I've got some sandwiches, and we could share them if you want." Janice continued to feed the pigeons and did not answer. After a few moments she turned around and said,

  "Okay," she pointed her head upward and began to walk toward the bench that Linda had indicated. Linda shuffled behind her. They sat in silence for a while, eating the sandwiches and observing the noisy feeding pigeons.

  "So, you okay now?" Janice asked, turning toward Linda.

  "Yeah, I'm okay. I'm good." Linda smiled, and Janice turned to look at the feeding pigeons again.

  "Good, I'm glad you're okay."

  Janice had spent her life in and out of mental institutions, ever since she had been diagnosed at twenty-one as a schizophrenic. For over twelve years, she had been going from the street to an institution and vice versa. Linda had noticed her the very first time she had come in the area, and she had approached her. Janice had taken no heed of Linda's condition, and they had become friends, spending a lot of time together. Linda had been secretly helping her for years. She gave money to the nuns for Janice, and they made sure that she always had the things she needed when Linda was away.

  "You gonna be around for a while this time?" Janice asked, with a touch of anxiety in her voice.

  "As long as I can, Janice, I promise, okay?"

  "Okay, sure."

  "What about you? You doing okay?"

  "Yeah, I guess so, Linda. I like to feed the pigeons a lot, you know. They're nice, and they don't make fun of me."

  "That's good, Janice; it's very nice of you to take care of the pigeons like that."

  "Do you think they recognize me, Linda?"

  "I'm sure they do. You bring them food, and they know that. They must love you very much, Janice." Janice shuffled her feet and looked to the ground, as if she was embarrassed by the thought that anyone or anything could love her.

  They passed the rest of the afternoon together. Slowly Janice opened up and told Linda all of the latest stories of the very particular world she lived in-the one around her and the one inside her head. Linda loved to listen to Janice. She was sensitive and a lot smarter than most people in her surroundings imagined she was. Her descriptions of the characters of the street and their lives were unique and filled with nuances and savory details. Although some chemical or electrical imbalance in her brain had made her different, she could be brilliant and articulate and was far from stupid. Linda was convinced that her looking up routine was just that-a routine and a defense mechanism. It was her way of keeping undesirable people away from her. Janice and Linda had been friends ever since they met. They both felt comfortable in each other's presence, and neither one of them was bothered by the other's particularities. Linda looked toward Janice affectionately and smiled. Janice smiled back, and Linda put her scared and deformed hand on Janice's white elongated one.

  "I missed you, you know." Janice smiled and stared to the ground, moving her feet about nervously under the bench. Linda slowly got up.

  "I've got to go now, Janice."

  "Oh yeah," Janice got up too. "Will I see you tomorrow, Linda?" she looked toward her with a worried expression on her face.

  "I'll come and see you feed the pigeons, I promise, okay?"

  "Okay then. Bye now, see you tomorrow." Without another word, Janice looked up to the sky and walked away at a rapid pace, her green coat flapping in the breeze and her thick black shoes attacking the pavement methodically as she went.

  Linda began to walk away slowly, and she did not see the man across the park that had been observing her. Charles had seen everything, but then again, he had been observing Linda's incursions into the worlds of the homeless for many years now. He knew all about her daytime activities, about where she went, who she knew, and who she gave money to or tried to help. Charles was a meticulous man, and
he considered it his job to know everything about his employer. He had never told Linda that he knew about her double life out of respect for her. She had chosen not to tell him, and he would never let on that he knew. If she wanted to communicate this information to him at any given time and for whatever reason, or if she decided never to tell him, that would be fine by him. He would deal with either situation with circumspection and professionalism. In the meantime, he considered it his job to follow her around and to make sure that no harm came her way. Linda entered the train station, and Charles, who had been following her at a safe distance, took a different direction and headed back to the hotel.

  Two months went by this way. Linda would see Janice every day at the park, and she brought her food and gave her small amounts of money. They chatted and fed the pigeons together. It was the best part of Linda's day. When she was with Janice or out and about as a homeless person, she felt whole and alive again. She was filled with a sense of freedom and came as close to feeling happy again as she had ever been since her accident.

  At night, however, alone in her luxury suite, things were different. She was crushed and suffocated by her loneliness, and she had come to dread the evenings she spent alone. She would take a few glasses of wine after dinner to try to alleviate her turmoil, but because of the medications she still took, it had an adverse effect on her. The alcohol compounded her misery and brought her immense solitude to the surface, invading her as suddenly as the powerful waves of a tsunami coming into shore, flooding her with its force and rummaging about her soul as a relentless tormentor. The pain inside her would make her stand up, because she found it difficult to breathe, and she would engage in an intoxicated monologue, addressing the heavens and herself.

  "All the luxury and wealth in the world can't take the place of a human being, Linda," she shouted. "What's life without love, Linda? Not much really, is it now?" She took another sip of wine, her intoxicated gaze frozen on the city below. "What is life if you can't share your emotions and dreams with someone you love? Good question, eh, Linda, good question; nothingness, emptiness, and solitude, Linda, that's what you've been served. That's what you've been given and nothing else." The glass of wine slipped from her hand and fell with a thud on the thickly carpeted floor, splashing the blood of the earth unto the rich carpet. Tears began to pour down her face, and her body began to shake as the pain hit her in relentless waves. She looked upward toward the star-lit sky and wailed, "Please, God, show me the way. I can't do this anymore, I just can't." The tears kept coming and the melancholy that inhabited her invaded her heart and soul and took control of her broken body with the viciousness of a predator finishing off its prey. She slowly made her way to the bedroom and fell writhing on the bed, whining like a hurt animal, consumed by her pain, until finally blissful sleep came to deliver her from her immeasurable misery.

  The phone woke her; it seemed to have been ringing forever. Linda turned on the light and looked at the clock. It was 5:00 a.m. She was still fully dressed from the night before. She picked up,

  "Hello." Her voice was cracked and laden with sleep and alcohol.

  "Hi, Linda, it's Veronica."

  "Veronica, its five a.m., what's going on?" Linda became worried; her sister calling her at this hour was most unusual.

  "It's Mama, Linda, she's sick, very sick and now the doctors say she won't make it. You have to come right away, Linda. You have to come as fast as you can." Veronica broke into tears, letting out a low whining sound.

  Linda sat up. She was fully awake now.

  "Veronica, what are you talking about? She was okay when I spoke to her last week."

  "No she wasn't, Linda. She didn't want you to know, that's all. She's been sick for three years now. She has cancer, and they treated her, and for a while it was looking good, but in the past months things have turned for the worse. The cancer has spread very rapidly in the past few days, and now she's in the hospital. They admitted her last night, and they've put her on morphine, you know, for the pain. You have to come quickly, Linda." Veronica's tear-filled voice left no doubt about the urgency of the situation.

  Linda was in complete shock. She could not imagine the world without her mother, her guardian angel, her everything, she who had always been there for her and had protected her and nurtured her through her darkest hours; she who had put her into the world with her pain; she who was her flesh and blood; she without whom she would be as a rudderless ship. The very thought of losing her felt like the end of the world to Linda. She began to tremble on the edge of the bed, and she felt queasy and weak.

  "Oh God, Veronica, oh God," Linda began to cry too.

  "I'm sorry to have to break this to you this way, Linda, but the hospital called me an hour ago and told me to expect the worst. I went over to Mom's house and found this hotel number to call you. She's asleep now; I'm going back over there in an hour. Please come quickly, Linda."

  "Okay, I'll be there as fast as I can, Veronica, okay?"

  "Okay, Linda, fine. I'll see you in a little while then."

  "Yes, bye now." They both hung up, and Linda dialed Charles's room. The phone rang twice, and he picked up.

  "Hello," his voice was hoarse.

  "Charles, hi, sorry to wake you, but we must pack our bags and leave immediately. My mother is very sick. I have to get there as quickly as possible. Please hurry."

  It took only a split second for Charles to understand the gravity of the situation; the professional in him took over quickly.

  "Yes, miss, give me thirty minutes, forty-five at the most, and we're out of here."

  "Thank you, Charles." Linda hung up, and she got out of bed and began to pack with incredible speed. "Don't let her die, God. Please, don't let her die until I get there. You owe me that, okay? Don't do this to me; just let me get there, okay? Just let me get there." Linda kept repeating the same thing out loud as she hastily threw her things into her suitcases.

  Chapter 4

  COMING HOME

  The seven-hour drive from the city had been very silent. Linda and Charles had left the hotel suddenly less than an hour after Linda had received the phone call from her sister. Linda was nervous and agitated and had a knot in her stomach. The prospect of seeing her mother diminished and dying made her feel nauseous. At about one that afternoon, Charles hastily parked the car near the hospital's front door; Linda had decided to go there directly. She adjusted her hat, veil, and scarf and got out of the car. As hastily as she could, she made her way up the steps and headed toward the reception. Charles followed her a few steps behind.

  Her mother was in a room at the far end of the fourth-floor corridor. The door was open. Linda stood in the doorway, hesitant, observing the scene for a moment. By her mother's bedside were Veronica, Dawn, and Derek. Dawn was the one who saw her first, and she walked over to greet her.

  "Linda, it's Linda." Dawn took Linda's hand and placed it on her cheek and smiled.

  "Oh, Linda, I'm so glad that you're here." She let go of Linda's hand and took her in her arms. Linda remained rigid; it had been years since another human being had hugged her.

  "Come quickly, Linda, she's been asking for you," she guided Linda toward the bed where her mother lay. She was a sorry sight to see. Her body had shriveled, eaten away by the cancer, bones stuck out everywhere from under her whitish blue skin, and her cheeks and eyes were sunk deep into her head; she was obviously dying and in the last moments of her life. A flicker of light came into her eyes when she recognized Linda.

  "Linda," she managed to say, her voice was feeble and more of a croak than anything else. Linda sat on the edge of the bed and took her emaciated hand in hers; she leaned down toward her and lifted her veil.

  "Mama, Mama, I'm here now, I'm here." Linda smiled to her and held onto her hand tightly.

  "I love you, Linda, I love you," she managed to say with her extinguished voice.

  "Oh, Mama, I love you too. Why didn't you tell me, Mama, why?"

  Her mother didn't answer;
she smiled and let out a long sigh and life departed from her body for eternity.

  "Mama, Mama," Linda cried out, "Mama, Mama, no," she leaned forward and took her into her arms. She held unto the still-warm corpse tightly and began to cry softly, whimpering as waves of pain passed through her body. A doctor put his hand on Linda's shoulder, and in a gentle movement, he closed Linda's mother's eyes. He leaned toward Linda and whispered in her ear, "She's gone now, she's gone." Linda slowly let go and pulled herself back up. She replaced her veil and got up. Veronica and Dawn were right behind her. The three sisters threw themselves into each other's arms and broke into tears. Soon the tears became uncontrollable sobs. Derek just stood by the bed and wiped a silent tear from his cheek. Charles, who was outside the room in the corridor, understood by the sound of the woman's weeping what had just happened.

  The passing of her mother was the most difficult time in Linda's life; it was as bitter and as heart-wrenching an occurrence as the accident that had shattered her life. She felt like a part of her had been torn out, brutally and violently. She felt cheated and mad and was inconsolable for days. She had not felt like that when her grandparents had passed away one month apart a few years earlier. She had felt detached from their death for some reason, yet she had loved them both dearly, especially Grandma Flo. At the time she had felt unable to grieve. It was as if she had been so hardened by her own life experience that nothing could touch her. She had sent flowers but had not gone to the funerals. Her mother had been very angry with her about that at the time. But now, faced with the finality of her own mother's death, she felt like she had been savagely attacked by a cruel and invisible enemy. It was as if someone had plunged a knife into her entrails and was prying it about inside her body. She had difficulty moving about, and her bones hurt like they had not hurt for a long time, and the pain that had flooded her heart and soul overtook her body in waves of inextricable pain.