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“I brought you a chocolate doughnut. Do you want it?”
He stared at me, then slowly turned his head to look at the doughnut. He held out his hand and I placed the napkin on it, then the doughnut. I put the bottle of water on the ground next to him.
Toby didn’t look well. He was a serious alcoholic and seemed to be withering in front of my eyes.
“We’re cleaning up the park. We’d like you to help. Maybe I can help you organize your cart?” Mostly, I wanted to see if I could get Toby to talk to me, to tell me how he was really feeling. He needed a doctor. He needed to stop drinking. I feared he was going to die, that I was going to walk by one morning and see the coroner driving off with his body, just like Bobby and so many others.
Alone. Lost. Forgotten.
Toby leaned back against his cart and closed his eyes, clutching the doughnut.
I got up and went back to where Will was giving volunteers instructions. Everyone wore gloves and had garbage bags. Two people wore thick work gloves: one had long tongs to pick up needles, the other carried a biohazard box. Gina had engaged several people to help, though many ignored us. We worked around them. I avoided looking at my mom’s tent.
“Something’s wrong with Toby,” I told Will. “I think he’s really sick.”
“I’ll check on him. He’s difficult.”
By that, Will meant that he wouldn’t accept any help or services, even a shelter.
Three men walked over to where we were standing. Two had been here on and off for the last year. They were veterans, but only talked to Will. I knew them as Dev and Jake, but that was it. Will told me that he’d get them to come around, but the VA had failed them and they were distrustful. Dev was addicted to painkillers, Jake an alcoholic, and both were dealing with severe PTSD.
A guy I had never seen before was with them this morning. He wore an army jacket over dirty tactical pants and three layers of shirts. His dog tags were around his neck. He was a vet, like Dev and Jake. But he was also different. He fit with them...but didn’t quite belong. Most likely he was new to the streets, but there was something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I stood aside, admittedly a little intimidated. Will handed out garbage bags and asked the three to help. Dev and Jake took a bag and went to the far corner, but the stranger said he’d join them in a minute. Then he and Will talked quietly.
Will obviously knew the new guy. I gave them space, walked over to Gina as she slowly—very slowly—picked up litter. “Where’s Fletch?”
“Talking to his brother,” Gina said. “They haven’t talked in years. But it’s his brother’s birthday and Fletch wanted to talk to him. They used to be close.”
This was a positive sign. If Gina and Fletch could reconnect with family, that was one big step to getting them off the streets.
“Are you happy about that?”
She shrugged. “Sure. I met Jerry a couple times. He seems to be an okay guy. A mechanic. Fletch worked for him for a while, but...” Her voice trailed off and she didn’t look me in the eye.
She didn’t have to explain. Drugs. It was the common theme.
“Will has someone from the city coming here today to help people get their IDs updated, apply for transitional housing,” I said. “Do you think you and Fletch might be ready?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Fletch is still really depressed about Bobby.”
It had been three months since Bobby had overdosed. “Talk to him. It’s not easy, but it’s better than this.” Anything was better than living on the street. But I didn’t say it. I didn’t say what I really wanted to: that she didn’t want to end up like Bobby. That she didn’t want to wake up to find Fletch dead like Bobby.
Gina looked around as if seeing the filthy park for the first time.
“Maybe.” She smiled at me, but her eyes were dull. “I’ll see what Fletch thinks. It’s just—I don’t know if I can.”
“I have faith in you,” I said. “We’ll help you every step of the way.”
“Yeah.” Gina nodded, then frowned. “We’ve tried before, but it just doesn’t seem worth it.”
I wanted to scream. What wasn’t worth it? To have a home? To stop killing your brain cells? To not worry about being robbed, raped or beaten every night? Being homeless was dangerous. They were preyed on by other homeless people, those under the influence or so far gone they didn’t know what they were doing or who they were hurting. This wasn’t living—this was barely existing. It wasn’t humane to let human beings live worse than a pack of animals.
“I think you’re worth it, Gina,” I said.
That was all I could do.
As I picked up trash, I looked over to the dirty blue tent with the zebra duct tape. It was still closed. My mom hadn’t gotten up yet. Gina worked parallel to me, not wanting to talk, but fine with just hanging out with someone. “Have you seen Jane lately?” I asked.
