Henry Schweizer III walked along Division Avenue with intention. His thick soled black wing-tips struck the hard pavement with resounding clicks as he descended the valley between downtown's canyon-like office buildings. It was a somewhat chilly late afternoon in September, coercing him to close his billowing wool trench coat with his free hand. The other rested securely upon his leather laptop case that suspended from his shoulder. Though his head faced forward amidst the stream of eager bureaucrats returning early to their homes for a scotch (or two or three) and a daily dose of television, his eyes looked to the bottom of his Eddie Bauer sunglasses and the sidewalk. As he left the paper-pushing half of the emptying downtown and towards the slowly filling commercial portion dominated by Oleanna University, the sidewalk bore Eisenhower dollar sized black splotches from smashed gum and innumerable undated sidewalk-chalk advertisements urging him to see a concert or vote for the city council election two weeks ago.
His eyes faced forward as he came to the more unfamiliar sector. Spotting a few young girls in short skirts and guys in shorts, he laughed with certain superiority, allowing his coat to open just slightly as he adjusted the newsy cap upon his head. Henry had checked the forecast and knew of a snow storm coming later. Compared to the ignorant college undergrads, he was overdressed for the moment. In the corner of his eye he vaguely saw a couple dozen such underdressed young persons in a small grassy common with placard signs bearing the phrase "SLEEP-IN FOR THE HOMELESS" and also a few tables with food. Demonstrations like these were ludicrously common in this hotbed of liberal activism so he thought nothing of it and freely entered Free Trade Coffee House. Their door was open to allow the steadily electrified fresh air to circulate.
Even though the coffee shop's patrons could be counted without taking off your socks, he reserved a seat by removing his jacket and placing it upon the table. Out of caution he did not relinquish his lap top. He stepped in line and examined the colored chalk sketched variety of trade barrier free coffee harvested and cured from the culled rain forests of Brazil. Most of it was absurdly expensive nonetheless so he merely ordered a dark roast with an extra shot of espresso. He sat in a padded chair facing the back of the shop so his wandering eyes would not venture to the front window and distract him from the work he was doing. As a graduate student of business, the leader of the College Republicans, and intern at the State Capitol, his work never ceased and coffee-shops, provided he wore his noise canceling headphones, were the best place to do it.
In a total work state of mind two hours later, he did not notice the door close when the first chilly gust raced down the street. Nor did he notice the wetly frigid air surround him every time a patron entered with white capped shoulders and hair. The flakes of frozen water melted against their joining strands and dripped like cold sweat into their stunned eyes.
"Wow, that just came out of nowhere!" one particular girl exclaimed to the shop owner. "I don't think anyone saw that coming!" Conditions worsened and mere hours after the storm began, cars were mucking about in brown slush as they struggled to drive down the blanketed Division Avenue. The first time the chill bothered him he inattentively groped for his coat and put it on as he continued reading the latest e-mails from possible speakers for the CRs' Veterans for the War panel. The city was approaching a useless referendum demanding what his side called "cut and run" but he hoped the panel would be a symbolic gesture reminding the pinko city they shared the country with conservatives. The campus had more than its share of anti-war activism and he and his friends thought it a good plan to at least create some debate even though the local liberal media had already decided what the public thought. His lone cup of half drunk coffee, long since cold, stood sentry as his soft fingertips typed competently on his flat keyboard for over five hours. The glowing screen received his undivided attention. A finger delicately tapped him on the shoulder. He removed his headphones and looked perturbedly at the intruder who turned out to be an employee.
"Sorry but we're closing early because of the weather," he said with efficient ease since Henry was the tenth patron he informed. Henry looked quizzically at the youngish looking blond undergrad but kept his hands at his headphones just in case it was a false alarm. "It's getting real bad out there," he explained more naturally to the bewildered customer. Henry turned his torso around and finally saw the blanket of white. He smiled smugly and told the employee that, apparently unlike everyone else in the room, he checked the weather forecast and had prepared accordingly. The young man smiled weakly to Henry but chittered his mouth in mock confrontation as he turned away. Henry, smugly satisfied with his forethought that got him quite a few laughs when he went to class and work that morning, assembled his things and left into the cold.
Henry's frozen breath came back at him as the sharp wind forced itself into his nose and throat, and the flakes stuck against his glasses. He passed the snow coated common but stopped when he heard furious yelling between a man and a woman. His heart quickened. He carefully removed his gloves and put his hand into his pocket, grasping his small knife as he cautiously stepped closer to see if the woman was being assaulted.
"Don't go! We're making a statement here!" he heard her yell into the white night.
"But it's fucking freezing!" the male voice shivered. "I'm all for supporting the homeless but this is too much!"
"Exactly! Imagine not having a place to sleep tonight!"
"Who gives a fuck about the homeless! It's always something with you! I've had it!" he shouted with finality and noisily ran opposite Henry's direction. Satisfied it was not an assault, Henry nearly turned back to continue the excursion to his car but curiosity made him continue to the unseen woman.
"What's wrong?" he sounded as non-threateningly as possible to the slowly clearer figure.
"Whose there?!" she asked forcefully but with a quiver of fright or cold—probably both.
"I was walking by and I heard your argument with your boyfriend and I was concerned..." he trailed off when he finally saw her. Dressed in the disaffected vogue of a shabby black hooded sweatshirt atop an army of other layers, she wore an accompanying camouflage skirt modestly protecting her black nylon covered legs which were buried in black high heeled combat boots. Her arms crossed underneath and lifted her small masked breasts. Her hair, brown at the roots but raven black in the rest, was bound carelessly at the crown of her head. A few rogue strands in front swayed with the fierce wind, highlighting the minute features of her red cheeked and pierced face. Burning in the white darkness were two cat like eyes.
"HE'S MY EX-BOYFRIEND NOW! IT'S SO EASY TO SAY YOU SUPPORT SOMETHING WITHOUT ACTUALLY DOING SOMETHING ABOUT IT!" she turned and yelled behind to her long gone boyfriend.
"There were more of you earlier. What were you trying to do?" he asked sympathetically remembering the demonstration just hours ago.
"More like what am I trying to still do!" she yelled as she brought her fiery glare to the freezing sky. "We're here to raise awareness for a homeless shelter for this coming Winter!" she stomped the hard ground angrily, "By sleeping outside we hoped to do that but it snowed and they all chickened out!"
"It seems Winter already came," he joked. "You should have checked the Weather Channel this morning," he said with a superior smirk. He could not help himself.
"Yeah, yeah, I suppose. It's just that the winters've been coming later and ending sooner with global warming and things so I guess I just anticipated rain at worst when I planned it." Henry's smile faded. He hated that buzz phrase bred from scientific half truths crafted by liberal scientists and paid for by alternative energy lobbyists but he decided not to correct her carelessly adopted leftist indoctrination. Wishing not to make a scene, he smiled again (however falsely) but unbeknownst to the woman who had not noticed the first one either.
"They were right in one thing though. You should come in, you'll die out here without a tent and sleeping bag."
"But homeless people don't have tents! They usually don't even have blankets! And city laws say they can't panhandle in front of businesses anymore!" she shouted to the sky in unthinking rage. As far as Henry was concerned, the homeless, mentally ill or not, were a plague and their begging was bad for stores and and the university when prospective students toured the campus. Though he did not want the bums to die, he certainly would not miss them if they did. "But just in case, I did bring a sleeping bag," she offered diffidently with a small pout.
"Where?" he asked searching the ground. Her foot ventured under the layer of white and kicked a snow camouflage sleeping bag a foot over, uncovering virgin pavement. "Yeah, you're coming inside," he laughed. She protested indignantly but her quivering and bashful smile betrayed her words. She quickly grasped her bag, shook the snow off, and accepted his coat when he draped it over her back.
"Thanks," she said appreciatively with a slight shake in her pierced bottom lip. He kept his arm draped over her shoulder as he escorted her back to the gradually emptying but still open coffeeshop. The woman behind the counter looked at them sternly and grunted.
"She needs something warm, she's been out in the cold for hours," he started compassionately to cool the woman's attitude, "so stop looking at me like I've asked an unreasonable favor," he added to guilt her. He turned his head to his charge and looked into her light brown eyes, "Get anything you want, it's on me." She looked at the signage, picked a soft apple cider and a vegan brownie, but stepped between him and the counter to prevent him from paying for her. He protested but the register's bell and clanging drawer drowned him out. They sat down.
"You know I would have gladly paid for you, you know..." he began right as they adjusted in their seats.
"I don't like owing men much of anything. I feel like a prostitute or something."
"A prostitute?" he laughed, "What about a gift from a stranger?—I'm Henry by the way."
"Anya—but anyways. Think about it. Prostitution is money for service. With men, he gives a diamond ring and a dinner and she fucks him. That's the deal. It's almost the same thing." Henry was not used to that kind of language but he tried not to show his discomfort. "And then there's that whole thing with women owning their bodies through prostitution which," now looking resolutely into his eyes and venturing her hand from his draped coat to condescendingly point her finger at him, "by the way is utter bullshit since they're doing men and indulging the patriarchal complex that dominates the world..." she trailed tangentially as if it were the conversation's logical conclusion and a given assumption between two like-minded people.
"But I'm not trying to have sex with you, I'm trying to be nice," he calmly corrected her.
"Yeah, but it's the principle of the thing," she did likewise and took a bite of her vegan brownie. Her piercing clicked against the cider cup as she sipped the food down. She drank until it poured warmth down her throat and collected merrily into her stomach.
