For those who equate romance with sex, you may be disappointed. The romance is tangible, but the sex is implicit rather than explicit. CM.
Some lying bastard once told me that when you were at your lowest, the only way you could go was up. I would like to find that bastard and ram his words down his fucking sanctimonious throat. While I have been down here, I have had time to reflect on how the trickle down effect works. How a decision at the top of the food chain, made by someone who has had no experience of how that decision, on its inexorable way down the line, can have an increasingly devastating effect on those furthest from the source of that decision.
I am new to this part of town, new to this life, at least I think that I am. My previous life no longer existed in my memory so I have nothing to compare it with, nothing to relate to.
I appeared to be the youngest man in the queue at the soup kitchen. As I moved forward I noticed the routine that belonged here. At the beginning of the queue you grabbed a tray. As you progressed you grabbed a paper wrapped bundle of eating implements, then a plate on which you placed a slice of buttered bread.
The woman dishing out the soup was about my age. She had a nice smile and spoke to each of the men as she placed the full bowl of soup onto his tray. From her, the line collected a bowl that contained what appeared to be canned fruit and custard. At the final station the line took a mug of hot beverage, the tea had a teabag label hanging over the rim, the other, I assumed was an instant coffee poured from an urn. Each person took a couple of those paper tubes of sweetener and one of those little cups of milk before taking a seat at one of the tables. Little was said.
"I haven't seen you here before." She smiled at me. "But then I'm usually serving in the women's line."
"It's my first time." I mumbled as I pushed my tray to the next section.
I took a seat at one of the tables and slowly worked my way through this meal, my first in several days. I had resorted to dumpster diving outside a supermarket until told to move on by the police. Last night I slept in a charity bin. It was warm and comfortable, but I found it much harder to get out than in. I was going to have to find somewhere that doesn't cost much, that doesn't cost anything.
"You look lost." She had been collecting the trays and plates from the tables.
"Being lost presupposes having been somewhere before." I looked at her, my blank face so different from hers.
She sat down. "Where have you come from?" I think that she was expecting me to tell her that I was from another town.
"Over there." I said, pointing to the wealthy part of town.
"I'm sorry, would you like to talk about it?"
"Would you like to listen." Having someone listen to me would be a new experience.
"Why yes, I would." Her face agreed with her.
"I am trying to erase what little I remember of my previous life from my memory. I have spent the past two years recovering from a life that everyone thought was going to end, including me. As I slowly recovered, my memory of what I was missing was the driving force behind my recovery. I was looking forward to my old life, my job, my wife and kids, my house, my car. I had a good life. When I was released from the rehabilitation centre I was to discover that I no longer had a life."
"What do you mean you no longer had a life?"
"My job had been in the finance sector. The company that I worked for had been told that I had suffered significant brain damage and that the prognosis of a full recovery was not looking good. They found a replacement as soon as they could. My wife also found a replacement with undue haste. She told me that she could not put the kids through the trauma of watching the man that I once was, slowly die. I don't know who told her that I was going to die, but I think that she could have waited for a little longer before finding a replacement. He, I thought was a friend. I can understand her thinking that, with no income and with her rate of spending, she had to find a replacement before the money ran out."
"What happened to you?"
"I was bashed, the police never found the culprits, but it was a pretty thorough job they did on me. The damage to my face was extensive, so it was days before the found out who I even was."
"Hadn't your wife reported you missing?"
"She didn't know, I was in another city on business and wasn't expected back for three days."
"But your employer, when you didn't show up for appointments, surely they would have reported that something was wrong."
"I can't explain that. Anyway, here I am, talking to you, thank you for listening to my sad tale. I don't suppose you know where I can find a place to sleep tonight?"
"I do, but you will have to clean yourself up a bit before anyone will let you stay. I finish here in half an hour, what say I take you to a charity shop where you can get some better clothes and then we'll see about somewhere to stay."
"Why are you doing this for me?"
"I have my reasons, let's leave it at that." She picked up the plates and stacked them on the trays. "I tell you what, you give me a hand in the kitchen and I'll be finished quicker."
I followed her into the kitchen. There were a couple of women chopping vegetables.
"That's for the lunchtime rush." She told me. "Rinse those plates and stack them into that tray." She pointed to a tray that I assumed went into the big dishwasher. She was wiping the work surfaces with a cloth that had been soaked in a disinfectant.
"Julia, who's your friend?" One of the women asked. They waited for my answer.
"Winston, Winston smith, at least that's what my ID tells me."
I finished loading the tray and slid it into the washer. Julia hit the switch and the cycle began. She handed me a mop. "Give the floor a quick mop and when the washer finishes its cycle, slide the tray out and stack the dishes."
I did as instructed and was soon finished.
"That's it, we're finished."
I dried my hands and followed her out onto the street. We walked a couple of blocks before reaching a charity shop. She was obviously a regular. "Hi Julia, who do we have here?"
"This is Winston, he needs a complete change of clothes."
"You think?" One of the women said.
"Be kind Liz, you weren't much better when I brought you here."
We walked over to the racks of menswear. I found a pair of jeans and a couple of tee shirts, a jacket and a hoodie, a pair of sneakers. I changed in the changing room and presented myself to show the new me to the women. "How do I look?"
"A lot better." Julia said.
"That wouldn't be hard." Liz again.
"What do I do with my old clothes?" I asked.
"I'd say burn them." Liz said.
Julia and I left. "I suppose that your jocks and socks are not very pleasant. How long have you been wearing them?"
"How long's a piece of string."
"That bad. Okay it's time for new underwear."
"Why are you doing this for me. You don't get paid for this, do you?"
"I do, but not in money. I'm repaying a debt that I owe these people. I was like you not all that long ago."
"You're kidding me."
"I know, I look like I've had an easy life, and for a while it was, but then the wheels fell off big time and I found myself on my own with nowhere to live and no money. I wasn't used to asking for help, so for some months I lived rough. For a woman used to an easy life, living rough had me thinking about ending it all. You won't believe the number of men who wanted to take advantage of me, and how hard it was not to give into the temptation."
We had by this time reached a department store where I selected enough underwear and socks that meant that I could go for several days between washes. I had thoughts of washing them under the shower and hanging them over the rail to dry, but then I didn't have a shower.
We left the store after Julia had paid for my purchases. "Where to now?" I asked.
"You'll see." All very secretive.
It was a small house in a quiet neighbourhood. The front garden was tidy, newly mown lawns, neatly painted facade with a panelled front door with a shiny doorbell button in the centre.
Julia took a set of keys from her purse and opened the door. "I'm going to trust you to behave while your here. I will help you find a place to stay and take you through the process of getting financial support."
"You don't have to do that, I can sort it out for myself, all I need is time."
"Allow me to help, I insist." We walked through the small kitchen to a room at the rear of the house. It was small, just enough room for a single bed and wardrobe. "Put your things there and I'll get a towel so you can have a shower. We can't have you putting on clean underwear over a body that hasn't had the benefit of soap and water in I don't know how long."
"Do I smell that bad?"
"Bad enough. The bathroom's across the hall, chuck your clothes out when you peel them off and I'll take them to the laundry. If you aren't attached to that beard you'd better wash it and we can go out and fetch the implements to remove it. If not wash it well and we'll trim it."
"I'll be looking for a second opinion after I've washed it. If you don't like it, off it comes." I closed the door and stripped off my clothes, they were whiffy, before opening the door far enough to chuck them outside. A hand came through the door holding a towel. "Thank you."
The warm water washing over my body felt so good, I could have stood there for hours. I soaped up and rinsed off, giving my beard a second dose of soap, before stepping out to dry off. My reflection in the mirror lifted my spirits just a little. I decided to accept what help was available to avoid a return to where I had just come from.
Resplendent in my new second hand clothes, I walked to where I could hear Julia rattling around.
"My, you do scrub up well, don't you?" She took a couple of cups from her coffee machine and placed them on the table beside plates, each with a slice of cake. "This will take away the taste of that disgusting coffee we serve at the soup kitchen."
"Thank you for this, it's going to take forever to repay your kindness."
"I don't expect you to repay me, but if, after you've found your feet, you can see your way clear to help me run the centre, I won't say no."
"You run the centre?"
"Yes, it's my way of repaying the assistance that I got a couple of years ago. The people that used to run it were getting so tired physically and mentally, that I decided that the life that I was leading was not giving me the emotional satisfaction I wanted, so I took over the running of it."
"I gather from that you don't have a man to give you the emotional support you want?"
