SS38:
"Lost And Found" (holiday tribute #5)
*****
Here then is a bittersweet but touching lebbi heartwarmer, especially for those of you more sentimental Sapphiles. It's a little on the lengthy side, so I apologize if the Reader feels it takes a tad long to reach the intimate portions. It has a character crossover from my first holiday tribute, "Home For Christmas"—though that was a hetero story, so the crossover may go unnoticed—but anyway, do please enjoy, and Very Happy Happy Holidays.
*****
Wednesday, November 26th, 2014, 9:53 a.m.
The given day of the week would far more accurately be described by altering its pronunciation to "Winds-day." Harsh gusts ripped effortlessly through the crisp late autumn air, one steadily after another. A few additional layers of bundling up only slightly hindered citizens' daily business if at all. Activity proceeded as normal otherwise. Daytime's friend Sunny Ray rose proudly in its circadian arc above, watching over town. A normal, especially chilly day, like any fall holiday eve.
The level of business and pace thereof naturally varied from individual to individual, and residence and vocation locale played a hand. Those working and living out nearer the prairies and pasturelands farmed, herded and enjoyed their simple, modest lifestyles. Higher-end folks who settled in downtown logically lived life in the proverbial fast lane. Offices brimmed with busy, hard-laboring workforce members. Retail businesses—especially superstores such as Wal-Mart, Target, Costco and so on—went into turbo mode, in preparation of the upcoming stampede-like Friday. Many would today work their laborers to noon and let them go for the rest of the day, or held a festive Thanksgiving party, rehearsing the act of devouring everything in sight.
Certain townspeople, however—a forgotten minority—had little or downright naught to celebrate, having not been dealt such a fortunate hand. One of those folks was Cecily Helmsley. She was 34, woefully unemployed, and a street person. It had all begun when mandatory layoffs edged her out of First Parties, the company to which she'd given ten of the finest years of her life. To make matters worse, she had poor credit, was denied benefits when she applied for them, and found herself locked in a lose-lose situation. The slope sadly only steepened. Any luck she had left was drained, as inability and failure to pay rent prompted foreclosure on her. Her property and car were seized, her accounts were frozen, and she was evicted.
She'd lost her parents one by one a rough decade ago, who were already in their 40s when they had her. She was an only child, and the closest living relative, her Aunt Pippy, was fifty miles away. Which still wouldn't have been a problem, if Cecily could only have gotten in touch with her. By the time this happened, she'd the same issue contacting any friends to ask to stay with them. Like all else, her cell service was cut off, so she was on her own.
She'd been homeless for close to four months now, which for some could go by like a railroad train. But for poor Cessy Selena Helmsley, they were the four longest months of her unlucky life. She was quick to learn firsthand that the outside world could be less than compassionate to the homeless. And she was forced to take a look at her own behavior in comparison to those around her as this new development unfolded. She had neither cardboard nor a marker, but somehow didn't see a sign making a great deal of difference. Back when she was on her feet and saw a homeless person panhandling with a cardboard sign, she regretted that she didn't stop to offer food, money or a ride. It wasn't that she didn't care, it was just that...well, she needed her own funds. She was living paycheck to paycheck, like anyone else. This was the dilemma, she realized. For the broadest part, the people who cared were unable to really help, and the people who could really help...well...frankly, didn't care quite so much.
She wasn't prepared for this, but well, she thought, how could one be? She had $61 in her purse at the time of the bank freeze, and rightly determined she must put this money to exceptionally wise, frugal use. Only the absolutest necessities could be accommodated now, which were...food, food, and...food. Even if she could've afforded a vacancy for a night, the fee would've eaten up her entire tiny budget. And while she'd enjoyed a reasonably solid middle-class living as a child, lower-quality food was better than no food at all—provided it was still healthily edible. And so in this compromising state, she was willing to settle. The problem arrived at nightfall that first solemn day. Fortunately for her, it was July, warm outside, and wouldn't get dark until about 9:00. But she still needed to formulate some sort of plan.
The idea of locating a shelter hit her early on, but...how did she do that? She started walking towards the nearest library, which was about twenty blocks away. The trek already tuckered her out. Lucky for her, it was early on, she wasn't that disheveled or downtrodden just yet, so others weren't disturbed by her presence. She logged on one of the computers and searched.
Yikes
, she thought. She knew homeless shelters weren't exactly as ubiquitous as 7-11s, but the closest appeared to be...
good Lord
...way too far. Just the thought of making a trip that long sucked away her leftover energy. She slumped back in the chair and tried to hold it together.
Well, she thought, she hadn't many options. She could start walking in the direction of this shelter, and attempt to thumb a ride along the way, or she could...figure out something else. There were employment opportunities, but on an application, the fact that she had no residence and no means of contact was not a huge advantage. In her more sorrowful moods, it seemed everyone and everything were against her. She didn't know what to do. So when she wasn't sleeping in and around the woods or under a tree, trying to appear inconspicuous, she just...kept walking. She walked, and walked, and walked some more, innumerable autumn leaves crunching under her feet.
Her tummy ached and gurgled for nourishment. The situation called for only impeccable moderation in metering out her money. She did, one August afternoon, get a little luck tossed her way when she happened upon an all-you-can-eat buffet. This was a case in which she could toss a few pennies around without guilt. She gratefully paid her way in, took two plates, piled them high and deep in just about everything the restaurant had to offer, bibbed herself with a napkin...and slowly, thankfully savored one of the
best
meals she'd had in a long time. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually said a quick blessing before digging in.
This buffet experience was so wonderful, she found a place to sleep under a grove of trees nearby, came back the next day and dined again. The fact that the management and wait staff worked in the service industry played in her favor. Customers were always right, and so they refrained from indulging curiosity as to why she'd come in two days in a row, wearing the same ratty clothing, in the same stale state. Cecily prayed she didn't have to explain her misfortunes. She'd be lying if she said she didn't want any sympathy, but she also didn't want to dampen anyone's day with her burdens. Eventually, however, she predicted she'd have to sooner or later, if she were to have hope of surviving the rough days ahead.
As glorious as the buffet was, she couldn't just stay and keep eating here, for a couple of reasons—one of which was she was running short of cash. She already knew if she offered plastic it would be declined. She had to move on. So on her last visit, as she left, she addressed the woman behind the front counter with a personal message.
"Excuse me, I'd just like to thank you so, so much for being so good to me and allowing me to eat with you. The time I've spent here's meant a great deal to me, and I know you reserve the right to refuse service and all that, and I just want you to know how grateful I am for you not turning me away. You've really, really helped me. Thank you all again."
Her voice cracked in the last ten words. She left before she started crying. Once she got out the door and past the sightline of anyone inside, out came her tears of gratitude.
The greeter/manager to whom she'd poured out her thanks was a bit bewildered, but appreciative. She'd left out being homeless, again, not wanting to stir up any unnecessary scenes. She didn't know how folks would react. But she did know this was the plight of the homeless. The random casual observer would (most likely) presume the street person in question would accept any handouts and run—not walk—straight to an establishment with a liquor license. And while Cessy enjoyed a fine wine now and then, this was simply not true in her case. She looked back into her personal history for a comparable example, and found one.
*****
Eleven years earlier
Monday, October 13th, 2003, 1:25 p.m.
Once upon a time, at the much richer—on several levels—age of 23, Cecily emerged from a store, bag in hand. She was just about to reenter her car when footsteps approached behind her, accompanied by a gasping, "Excuse me, ma'am!"
She turned to see a young, frazzled-looking woman about her age hurrying towards her. Her belly bounced as she approached, prominently noticeable. She was dusty, dirty, and panting.
"I'm really sorry about this," she said. "I don't mean to impose on you, but...I'm...
"...I'm, well...I'm homeless."
Cessy's face filled with empathy hearing this news.
"...And, um...I
so
hate to ask you this, but...is there any possible way you might be able to...help me out with...some...money?"
Cecily was torn. On one hand, her folks had warned her growing up about financially indulging the homeless. They could be lying, cleverly reinforcing by dirtying themselves up. If she gave a street person money, they told her, said person would head straight to the bar. This part of her mind was inclined to say no. Just on the chance this girl was lying to her, she could lie back, and say her wallet was empty. Or she could simply flat-out refuse, and get in her car, cold as that option seemed.
The other part of her mind countered by reasoning that first of all, she could tell this girl was pregnant. No portion of her was obese or overweight, but she was showing. And
how
. That was either a very large baby in there, or a very small medicine ball. So Cesse followed the logic that if this girl cared at all about the and well-being of her child, she wouldn't be touching a drop of booze. Or any other harmful drug-like substance. And as much as her parents had warned her about homeless people, they'd
also
