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After my mother passed away, I barely got through high school living in the same house with him, and I wondered why she never left him. Thankfully, I got cosmetology credits through the high school program and was able to stand on my own two feet with my first job in a salon after graduation.
By the time I got my tent up, the streets had only gotten busier with cars and people. Sometimes I lost track of days, so it must’ve been the weekend. Since I was close to the theater district, the restaurants and bars would be full.
Before settling inside my tent, I watched the street for a while, taking note of my surroundings. I made eye contact with a couple of others who’d set up camp on the street tonight—one in the doorway of a business that had already shuttered its doors, and another who was using a large box as shelter. Groups of people passed between us, chattering away about their plans. I envied them sometimes because even though I knew it wasn’t necessarily true, it sure seemed like they hadn’t a care in the world. But I was old enough to know nobody’s life was perfect and what they presented to you on the outside didn’t always match the inside.
I’d pretended for years that Clint wasn’t callous and intimidating, and toward the end, when our arguments became more physical, I already had an escape plan in place. It just didn’t work out quite the way I’d pictured.
Burrowing inside my shelter for the night, I felt on edge and had trouble sleeping, so I unzipped the flap to keep watch as the bars began letting out.
Sometimes I could almost sense trouble brewing, and the hair at my nape tingled as I heard the drunk voices before they turned the corner toward us. It was a large group, at least eight men, heading in the direction of the parking garages.
I noticed how the man in the doorway pulled up his hoodie and tried making himself smaller so he’d be invisible to them. I scooted farther back in my tent and didn’t make eye contact as they walked by us.
“Look at these pathetic losers,” the loudest one said, and when a couple of others laughed, I stiffened. Not that I hadn’t heard that shit before, but we were outnumbered if they decided to pull anything. “Probably heroin addicts.”
I held my breath until the last man passed by, trying to hold my tongue, knowing it would only make things worse if I said something. Did he even realize how hard it would be to keep up such an expensive habit? Idiot. Not that some of us weren’t addicted to drugs, but alcohol and weed were way cheaper. Not to mention, if some people messed with our food “for fun,” I didn’t even want to imagine what they’d put in drugs simply to make a fast buck.
I was about to zip my tent, when I heard quickening footsteps, like someone was running, and then there was shouting. I shot out of the tent and spotted the man in the doorway now lying on the ground, writhing and holding his face in his hands. I looked both ways but didn’t see anyone else. “What happened?”
“He…he…” He was groaning and rubbing his eyes.
“Did he hit you?” My gut churned, and I tightened my jaw.
I glanced around again as the man from the cardboard box inched over to us.
“The man sprayed him in the eyes with something. I saw him.”
I crouched down. “What did he spray you with?”
“I don’t know,” he replied in an anguished voice. “Pepper spray or maybe tear gas?”
“Hang on.” I jogged back to my tent and retrieved a bottle of water from my visit to the shelter that morning. “Let’s flush out your eyes. Try to stay still.”
He lay as still as possible, his hands balled in fists at his sides and his lids screwed shut. As I poured the water, he blinked rapidly, allowing the liquid to help cleanse the irritant away. After a few more times, it looked like the sting had begun to subside.
“Did you see who did it? Was he part of that group of loud men walking by?” I asked as he sat up.
“He might’ve been,” the cardboard-box guy replied, and the assaulted man nodded. “But it happened so fast, it was hard to tell.”
What would possess someone to do that? But it was a rhetorical question I didn’t utter aloud. I’d seen more cruelty in my life than I’d ever dreamed of.
We exchanged names, then sat on the stoop practically all night, until his vision was mostly back to normal. Regardless, would any of us have truly been able to sleep? What if the assailant returned? Joe’s eyes remained red, and though Darius and I thought he would be okay by morning, we couldn’t be sure. But there was no way to take him to the emergency room, and even then, how would he pay?
