Readers:
This is a fictional story told in the first person, although there's nothing fictional about treating others with dignity and respect.
It's also longer than most of my stories. It takes time to understand the characters. Although there is some sex and a lot of nudity involved, it's not a quick-jerkoff piece. There are some very talented writers on here that can give you that. I only say this to save you time.
Again, although this account is fictional, I have personally helped the homeless in my life, although not to the extent of the main character in this account. I do believe there are some very decent people out there that simply need the right kind of help and motivation. They're the very small minority, to be sure, but they do exist.
*****
I'm Ted Archer. I'm 55, a former oilfield worker that was placed on physical disability leave when I was 50 because of a back injury caused by a work accident.
I have been a widower since I was 48. My dearly departed wife, Mandi, and I had just celebrated 25 years of marriage when a brain aneurysm took her life suddenly and unexpectedly.
I received a large settlement from my employer because of the accident. The accident was caused by two employees that were goofing off...and drunk...while working.
The company was found negligent because these same two employees had shown up to work drunk in the past and no action was taken. The company completely disregarded their own policies and procedures which would have been immediate termination for the two.
Because of their neglect, I was in the crossfire of their drunken games and ended up with a heavy bolt landing directly on my lower back.
Today, I am ambulatory but walk slower than before and with the slightest limp. That is permanent. After two surgeries, the pain is now bearable. There's been a heated swimming pool in my back yard for nearly 20 years. That was mine and Mandi's favorite hangout during the evenings.
Water aerobics has been a great way to rehab. Although I'm recovered as much as I'll ever be, the pool is still my source of exercise and relaxation. The physical therapists that have so patiently and tirelessly worked with me have told me that continuing the exercises would provide long-term benefits for my back as well.
Now, I work from home as a contributing writer for our local paper as well as an aspiring short story writer. My weekly articles focus on life around town; my experiences, both good and bad, are told in the first person with touches of humor and nostalgia.
Three years ago, I met a young man at a gas station that had been down on his luck. He asked me if I could go inside and buy him a couple of hot dogs and a bottled water.
I took him inside with me, bought him lunch, then stood outside and talked to him as he ate.
He wasn't the stereotypical homeless person. He appeared to be more educated than I had expected. He didn't appear to be a drug addict and he was completely sober.
His story? He was divorced. It was his fault. He cheated on his wife and she dumped him. Eventually, he lost his home then lost his job. He was too proud to ask for help, yet not too proud to ask for handouts. Living on the streets was somehow preferable to taking advantage of legitimate agencies in town that will help those that help themselves.
He was tired of making bad decisions. He was ready to make a change.
He had been on the street for three weeks, living off handouts of food and money. He had contributed to a problem that still exists around our town of 200,000 people...squatters.
They find homes that have been abandoned and/or for sale. They make their way inside and stay there. They are protected from the extreme heat and cold as well as a place to take showers and wash their clothes in the sinks.
As a manager for many years at work, I relied so heavily on my instincts rather than just the simple facts. My instincts told me to trust this young man in his early 30s.
I took Pete Alaniz home and let him use one of the spare bedrooms. He had his own room and bathroom. He lived rent-free for nearly a year. I furnished him with clothes and two suits for job interviews. My instincts about him were perfect. He just needed a little help.
He got a real estate company to give him a chance. They took care of his schooling while he prepared to pass the test to get his license. Within 4 months of getting his license, he was able to move out and make it on his own. With the money he made working part-time while living with me, he bought a used car.
He has taken advantage of the help I gave him and become successful in his field. I hear from him frequently. Each time he tells me how much he loves me and appreciates what I did. That's all the repayment I'll ever need.
When I see his face in the various real estate ads in the newspaper and the free magazines in stores and restaurants, I beam with pride.
A year ago, I met a lady outside a convenience store. She appeared to be in her mid-40s. Like Pete, all she wanted was some food and water. I asked her to come in with me, so she could choose what she wanted.
"They won't let me in there," she said. "Somebody earlier gave me 5 dollars and I went in to buy something, but they made it clear that they don't want bums in there. I'll give you the 5 dollars if you'll just get some potato chips and a couple bottles of water."
"Keep your 5 dollars. They don't deserve my business either, then. I'll go somewhere else and bring you back plenty of food."
"Thank you so much, sir. I'll stay right here."
Before leaving, I began to talk to her. Although clad in a heavy sweatshirt, with a hoodie, and baggy sweatpants, she still appeared to be extremely thin.
She wasn't too attractive. Her thin face was flanked on both sides by her long red hair that didn't appear to be washed in at least a week.
Other than possibly being a little underweight, she appeared to be healthy. She had healthy teeth. She wasn't a tweaker, a meth head. Again, using my instincts, I sensed that her story was interesting. I also sensed that she hadn't been on the street for a long time.
She only had a backpack and a white trash bag full of possessions.
"Sir, it's my fault. Nobody else's. First, I'm a recovering alcoholic. I've been clean for nearly 4 years. However, that problem cost me a good marriage to a very good man."
"My son is in the Army. He's now in his 8th year and he's making it a career. He hasn't said much to me since he blames me for the family falling apart. He's right. I can't fix that. I've apologized to everyone I've hurt, including my ex-husband's new wife. I'm not sure what else I can do but go on with my life."
"I was in an apartment, barely making it and working as a cashier and stock clerk at the Walmart just down the street from where we're standing. Out of desperation to pay my rent and have a few groceries in the cabinet, I stole 100 dollars from the register. Cameras caught me. I was terminated immediately."
"I'm just grateful they didn't press charges. I'm still banned from that store. I'm still sober, though. That's about the only good decision I've made."
"What about the homeless shelter?" I asked.
"I thought about that until I met Meg on the streets. I guess one of the supervisors tried getting inside of her pants and she ran like hell to get out of there."
"I've done some shit I'm not proud of, but I'm not going to have sex with some stranger just for a place to sleep and eat."
