Dating : Richard

A street-person story

“Spare any change, sir?”

The first time I met you I was amused by your high voice that cracked as you spoke. Behind the scruffy, filthy look, gentle eyes peered through. They were brown and slightly bloodshot but soft and not scary at all. I would almost say inviting but I’m not sure what that means.

“What’s your name,” I asked.

Who asks a street person their name?

“Richard.”

I wondered what your story was as I fumbled in my pocket and brought out two two-dollar coins. I gave you one as I needed the other one for coffee.

“There you go, Richard.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s been a rough year. Anything you can spare would help and God bless you.”

A gust of wind forced your body odour down my nostrils forcing my hand to my nose. I’d rather have partied with skunks.

You weren’t getting my coffee money, buddy. I garbled something about having to go and fled, bile making its way up my oesophagus.

I wasn’t happy when you walked into my workplace.

“Richard, you can’t come in here. You’re scaring away my customers.”

“I’m sorry but I’m having a tough time out there. Can you spare some change? I haven’t eaten today.”

You were embarrassing me. I’m sorry that as I reached into my pocket, I walked toward the exit. I had to get you out of there. It was nothing personal. That’s a lie. It was personal.

You kept finding me. Like the time I was coming out of Food Basics and you ambushed me.

“Hello, sir.”

I almost dropped my phone.

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

It was no thanks to you.

“Do you have any change?”

“If you don’t mind me asking Richard, why are you out here begging for money? Can’t you get social assistance?”

“I can’t get social assistance because I’m homeless.”

“Homeless? Why?”

“I got kicked out of the last place I lived. It’s a long story.”

“So do you go to the Out of the Cold programs at night?”

“No, I don’t go to those places. You can get robbed or beaten up.”

I thought you were exaggerating.

“Can you buy me a tent? It’s supposed to rain tonight.”

Just because we had a bit of a conversation didn’t mean we were friends. There was no way I was buying a hundred dollar item.

“No. Sorry, Richard. Look, there’s help for you in the community. You’re just choosing not to use it. There are places you can get something to eat as well. There’s no need for you to be begging out here. I volunteer at Ray of Hope so I know there’s help out there. Why don’t you take advantage of it?”

I remember your eyes being replaced by eyes a cobra would be pleased to borrow.

“Do you think because you volunteer once a month that you know anything about me, and what I go through on a daily basis? Do you think I like to be out here, freezing my buns off? I’ve been to those places and I’ve been attacked to an inch of my life and the volunteers there couldn’t help me. I’m not a fool or a masochist. If you can’t help me just say so. Don’t proceed to give me advice on how to live my life.”

Ground, can you please open up and swallow me. It looked like everyone was staring at me disdainfully, judging me. I took a deep breath and turned, my jelly legs carrying me slowly back to work.

I was surprised to see you at Ray of Hope a couple of weeks later. I barely recognized you with your hair cut and clean-shaven look.

“This is my new girlfriend, Aimee. She likes to come here so I came with her.”

Of course. Only a girl can transform a man.

“It’s good to see you, Richard. Thanks for bringing him, Aimee.”

I was happy to see you because at least you were getting something to eat.

“I’m off the street right now. My social worker found me a place in social housing. It’s the same apartment complex as Aimee and that’s how we met. I think she’s the one.”

Throughout the evening I could see that you were really into her, stroking her back, giving her kisses on her temples, getting her an extra glass of water or coffee, and looking appreciatively at her. You were smitten with her.

I had no idea that the last time I saw you would be the last. If I had known, I would have done better. It was a snowy December morning. I had to hurry home to drive my wife to work. As I placed my wallet in my pocket, having just withdrawn $200.00, I heard you call.

“Sir! Sir!”

You looked terrible, similar to when we first met, disheveled, with matted hair and a scruffy beard. I noticed a sadness in your eyes and saw tracks of tears down your cheeks.

Your voice was so low I had to lean in to hear you.

“I’m hurting. I don’t know what to do.”

I hated this. People were looking at us. Two grown men standing there, one clearly a street person, and he’s the one crying. I was embarrassed.

“What’s the matter, Richard?”

“Aimee cheated on me. I did everything for her. I treated her right and she slept with my roommate.”

You were blubbering but I was more concerned with appearances than with your pain. I also had to get my wife to work so I didn’t have time to listen to your problems. I used that to justify the need to leave.

“Where do you live, Richard?”

“In the apartments on Kraft Avenue, number 902.”

“Can you meet me this evening at the Tim Hortons on Kinzie Street? I have to run so I don’t have time to talk now. Can we meet at around 8 pm?”

“Can you help me get something to eat?”

“Sure.”

At 9:30 pm you still hadn’t arrived. I wasn’t going to have a third coffee. You had your chance. I did show up to hear you out, and try to console you. As I drove home, I found myself driving toward Kraft Avenue. I didn’t know why; I just felt compelled to. A crowd of people gathered outside the apartment building, all looking up. I followed their gaze to see you on the balcony.

I didn’t get a chance to say I should have done better. I should have been kinder; I should have listened; I should have cared.

I didn’t get a chance to say I’m sorry.

You jumped.