Page 5 of Keeping Denver

"That's wonderful. I knew you would. Did Mr. Hawk give you a hard time? I promise he's not all that bad once you get to know him."

I fiddle with the strap to my backpack as we step out onto the sidewalk. I shiver the instant the cold hits my skin. "Mr. Hawk was fine." A gust of wind picks up, and I wrap my arms around my waist.

"Child, where on earth is your coat? You're going to freeze to death out here," Frances hedges, her voice full of concern.

"Oh, I'll be okay. Stupid me forgot it this morning."

"Do you want me to give you a ride, Denver? I hate to think of you walking in the cold."

I wave her gesture off. "I can catch a cab. It's no problem."

"Well, if you're sure." Frances gives me a worried look.

"I'm sure." I start to walk away. "I'll see you in the morning, Frances."

"Bye, Denver. See you tomorrow."

Later that night, after taking a shower at the shelter, I sit on the edge of my cot and inspect my feet. Blisters cover almost every toe and the sores on my heels have started to bleed. Lucy, one of the shelter workers, sits down next to me and passes me a bottle of peroxide and some band-aids.

"Here you go. You don't want your feet to get infected."

"Thanks." I give her a small smile.

"What size do you wear?" Lucy asks.

"Seven."

"What have you been wearing?"

I point to the shoes on the floor. "Those are a six."

Lucy winces. "I'll keep an eye out for something in your size."

"Thanks, Lucy. I appreciate it," I smile.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I wake to find a man crouched down next to my cot with his hand on my backpack. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The man startles but quickly recovers. "I wasn't doin' nothin'."

The alcohol on his breath washes over my face, and I nearly gag. "Get away from me." I snatch my bag away from him and hug it to my chest. Nothing my ass. I know what he was doing. He was looking to swipe my bag. When I think about it, it's not like I have the right to be angry at the man. I'm a thief myself. That alone makes me just like the drunk man currently staggering away from me as he makes his way back to the opposite side of the room.

I continue to lay there for the next few hours while sleep evades me. The time allows me to reflect on what I want out of life and how I plan to get where I want to be. So much has happened in recent months. Up until a couple of days ago, my future was looking bleak. I started to doubt if there was a light at the end of the tunnel. My motto has always been to take one day at a time. Try not to worry about tomorrow. Focusing on the here and now, remains my main concern. I know better than anyone how life can change in the blink of an eye. All it takes is one bad decision or, in my case trusting the wrong person to have a somewhat comfortable life turned upside down. My life before was far from perfect, but I had a roof over my head, a steady paycheck and food in my stomach. Through all of this, I still refuse to give up hope. Hope is what keeps me going. Despite the shitty hand I was dealt, I believe my hardships are happening for a reason. God never gives us more than we can handle, or that's what I remind myself of daily. I haven't given up hope that God has a plan for me. Not yet anyway.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. My stomach decides at that moment to let out a loud growl. I still have that bag of chips, but I'm desperately trying to hold on to them. When my tummy growls for a second time, followed by a cramp, I give in to my hunger and dig the potato chips out of my bag.

As I open the small bag, I start thinking about where my next meal will be coming from. At work, I noticed a small pack of crackers on the counter in the employee's lounge next to the coffee maker. Maybe tomorrow I can pocket a few and hope nobody will notice or even care they are missing.

On that thought, I savor the salty flavor as it explodes across my tongue. I've mostly been surviving on peanut butter when I can save up enough money to buy it. It's either that or Ramen noodles. A couple of times a week, the shelter feeds us, but like with the clothing donations, it's a first come first serve. There are times I have stood in line for two hours only to get turned away because they ran out of food. And bless her, on the days Lucy volunteers, she makes it a point to set aside a plate for me. That's not something she is allowed to do but she does anyway. I suspect she has a soft spot for me because we are the same age. Lucy comes from a great family and is a college student. What Lucy does for the other people who frequent the shelter and me is not out of pity, but out of compassion. The world needs more people like her.

4

I walk into work fifteen minutes early with a bit of trepidation swarming in my gut. The office is quiet as I stroll past Kelly's desk finding it empty once again. When I reach my desk, murmured voices coming from Mr. Hawk's office catch my attention. I'm usually not a nosy person, but when I hear Mr. Hawk mention my name, my ears perk up. Setting my bag down on my desk, I look around to see if anyone is watching before I make my way over to his office door, which is slightly ajar. The next voice to speak is one I recognize; Frances.

"I don't see the problem, Callan. You needed an assistant, so I hired one."

"The problem is you didn't run it by me," he barks.

Oh, God. He's going to tell Frances to fire me.