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“Yep,” Dawson agreed. “IED exploded under our vehicle. I walked away. Most didn’t. Not sure why.”
“Why you walked away?”
“Yep,” he answered, holding his hands out near the fire. “Being stateside again hasn't been what the government promised it would be.”
“Meaning?” Henry asked, fully engaged in the conversation now.
“I guess it means living any kind of respectable life. The recruiters make these promises to get young boys to sign on the dotted line, but when you return from serving your country, they forget about you. The healthcare system is overwhelmed, there's no affordable housing for veterans, especially veterans with disabilities, and all those promises they made about paying for school are nowhere to be found when push comes to shove. Maybe if you have a support system to help you assimilate back into society, then things are different. I don't know. I know that too many of us are in the tent city every night.”
“Tent city? Where is that?”
Dawson's laugh was tense, and he shook his head. “As if I'm going to tell you. Doesn’t matter much now, I suppose. With the weather getting colder, we'll have to find shelters or truck stops to sleep in. I like to avoid that when I can, but Michigan weather doesn't care about those of us on the streets either.”
“Wait. You're straight up homeless?”
“I'm not sleeping in a tent city for fun. I've been on the streets for almost three years now. Would I love to get an apartment so I could get a job? Yes, but that's not happening for me.”
“Son, you gotta get a job first to get the apartment.”
“In theory,” Dawson agreed. “The problem is, if I want to get a job, I have to give them an address. If I don't have an address, I can't work, so I can't get an apartment.” He drew a circle in the air with his finger. “Never-ending.”
“I didn't realize that was the case.”
“Most don't,” Dawson said with a shrug. “I applied for housing here.” He hooked his thumb toward the building. “Even volunteered to sleep in the broom closet and do all their custodial work for free. I want to apply to the school district for grounds and custodial work, but again, I need an address. Irving offered me work around here this past summer and paid me in cash. Probably from his pocket, but it helped me prepare for a winter on the streets again.”
Henry was quiet for some time before he spoke. “Doesn't seem right that you served the country, were injured, and still came back to nothing while we all go on about our lives.”
“It doesn’t seem fair, but it’s not an untold story. Nearly seventy thousand veterans live on the streets, and over half are disabled. You can understand why it’s difficult to get services or help when the need is beyond what the federal government can handle.”
“You’re saying the individual states need to do more?”
“It would be a start. I’m thinking about grabbing a bus to Minnesota. They have a better program in place for displaced veterans. I hate to leave my home state, but you can only do this for so long before you find a more permanent way out of the situation, if you know what I’m saying.”
“That’s not a solution,” Henry said with a shake of his head. “I can help.”
I raised a brow at Irving, who appeared to be equally as shocked as I was by what was unfolding before our eyes.
“I know the city crew is down a man. Going into winter, that's going to stretch them thin.”
“I don't think you want me driving a snow plow,” Dawson said, pointing at his eye patch.
“Can you drive at all?”
“Sure can, but a snow plow would be tough. That's a two-eyes kind of driving experience.”
Henry nodded along. “What did you do in the service?”
“I was a polyglot.”
“A what now?”
“A polyglot. It means I speak multiple different languages.”
“Still?” Henry asked in shock.
“I think so,” Dawson said, glancing around, but I noticed the smirk he was trying to hide. He said something in a language I didn't recognize before he smiled. “Yep, still got it.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
