1
State Street 19732
Someone, I believe it was Karl Marx, once said, "the health 3
of a society can be determined by the size of its middle class."4
This was never more apparent to me than on a summer day5
in 1973. I had traveled to Chicago to go to a concert and see6
what sort of excess I may discover in the big city.7
The trip was a success as debauchery had met me at every8
turn. I had broken some of man's small laws as well as the9
moral laws of society. I had done so with no lack of gusto.10
The young women of the city had welcomed me with a great11
reverence for youthful abandon. There seemed to be a new 12
adventure around every corner in this urban jungle.13
I awoke in a strange apartment with stranger company.14
A breakfast of aspirin, amphetamines, and coffee had done15
much to restore me. I was cruising State street in search of 16
the next adventure when I spotted a head shop. Never one17
to pass up such an establishment, I passed the next hour 18
shopping. Reeking of incense, I emerged with some screens19
and a Frisbee of a weight and color I had not found elsewhere.20
The afternoon was warm, and my spirits high, so I just21
walked. Near a small park, I happened upon a street person.22
She was mumbling to herself as she pushed a shopping cart.23
Her apparel consisted of approximately seventeen layers of24
cast-offs. Even the cat, perched atop her belongings was 25
wearing a sweater. For some odd reason, I was enraptured 26
by the sight of her. She scratched at her arm, pushing up all 27
the sweaters. This exposed the tracks of her addiction. The28
skin inside her wrist looked like poisoned oatmeal. I was29
struck by the irony of the portly stature and apparently30
robust health of her cat. The cart was laden with cans and 31
cans of cat food.32
The obvious questions haunted me.Did she have children?33
A family? What had brought her to this? Had she been 34
abused? She must have had a normal life at some point.35
Why was she existing devoid of human company?36
The pop cans and bottles clattered as she made her clumsy 37
way down the asphalt grime that was her home. It struck me 38
that we ignore the feral humans in our midst. They had39
been invisible to me as to most in our consumer driven40
society. As she stopped to hold a conversation with her41
cat, I reflected on the values we embrace. 42
She looked over at me and smiled and a light poured out.43
The madness of her circumstance died in the gleam of 44
that smile. I mustered my courage and approached her.45
She shrank from me at first, but smiled again as I scratched 46
her cat behind the ears and its motor began to purr. " For47
your dinner," I said, slipping a five into her hand. "You are48
a good boy", as she granted me one more smile.49
An hour later I was in search of my next adventure,50
miles away. I couldn't get the image of the homeless51
woman out of my mind. I drove back to her neighborhood52
and searched until I found her. She was on the nod in an 53
alley. It seemed my five spot had found it's way into her54
bloodstream. I emptied my own pockets and slipped my55
net worth into her outside sweater pocket. It seemed too 56
low a price to buy a conscience.57
That was the last time the homeless were invisible to58
me. As time went by, the veterans began to join the ranks59
of the homeless army. The irony of society's failure to60
care for those broken by their perceived duty haunts me.61
It was many years before I realised on that day on State62
street the real gift was for me. The homeless woman had,63
with her smile, given me the compassion that I hold dear64
to this day.She also gave me dark humor, and a taste for65
abstract messages. She gave me this with an image that66
lives on in every poem I write. The grocery cart that was 67
her home, her vehicle, and the conveyance of her net68
worth was the one with the wobbly wheel.69
70
Author notes
This is based on a poem I wrote and a real life occurence that changed me forever. I would encourage the reader to open your eyes to the plight of the homeless. The third world is here. I'm sorry if this reads as clumsy. This is my first attempt at a short story.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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A beautiful write and much better than my first attempt at a short story. I felt that the sentences were a bit to uniform, but it added a poetic quality to the story. A good write; I look forward to more stories by you.
~Mnemosnye
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I really really like this. The beginning was particularly captivating and the rest of the story was equally interesting. It really left me thinking. Very good choice of theme too.
beginning: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5.
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Worth reading again- and again..
This has been extensively and well reviewed by others and deservedly so. I can only acclaim it as they have and add my voice to your long list of fans . SweetPea says you 'touch people'- and he's right.That's a great gift among the many others that make you not only powerful but succinct - a real writer and poet. That 'wobbly wheel ' thing - great !beginning: 3, language: 4, plot: 4, overall: 7, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 4.
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This is wonderful, I love your style. Its so free, like this bird pushing itself through the leaves and it pulls out, muddy, wet and leaves protuding from its beautiful feathers. But remains beautiful. Shit, I am a corny sentimental loser hey? I just really love this style you have, it was like a song to me it was so bloody good. keep up the fantastic style and work.
-quinn -
An awesome experience, Rob, and one that can hopefully expand the awareness to others regarding the plight of many in our country. You done good with this being your first short story!
I'd go off on a rant here, about the homeless, but it would be like preaching to the choir.
peace
doug
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I suppose that I've been more sheltered than some, but I've not really seen many homeless people. I never pass them up when I see them, though. I know what it feels like to have nothing.
This is very well written for your first attempt at a short story. I'm glad you chose this subject. It does need the attention of all, and I really don't think it's getting through. I believe that our media is showing us very well how to ignore that our beloved America has its own third world country within it. With the mad race to the department stores between Thanksgiving and Christmas has to tell us something.
Thank you, Rob, for your fine entry to my contest. Hugs, Patricia -
This story means a lot to me, Rob. The plight of the homeless has been one problem that has nagged at my heart for a very long time. It is a kettle of worms and then some, but compassion always hits me first. I'm so glad you entered. And for every person on the street, there is a life that holds many stories and experiences. I have seen in your poems a reflection of this existence. Your story is a good one.
lassy
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Nuhhh uhhh...We aren't, either...What can I say??? My mama raised me right...
Ohhh, alright...she did try...
Great first story, Rob...
Sweet Pea
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You are all much too kind.
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Indeed, her Gift to you was of the grandest variety, Scribe...she opened your eyes to the World around you, something every writer needs to become the true Poet they are...let alone making you aware of the humanity we all share...You gave her a rather fine Gift, too, Rob...You showed her someone still cared, & cared a great deal...You know the old adage about 'may entertain angels unaware'??? Perhaps you both did, my Friend...This is a beautiful short story, Rob...The fact that it's your first is amazing...I remember the poem you mentioned, as well...You entered it in the first contest I ever held & I was struck by the immediacy & power of it...In fact, a Friend of mine had read all the entries at that point & said yours was the only worthy one so far...You touch people deeply, my Friend, know it or not...Something you've written or said, even in passing...someone may read it without your even knowing they had...& it might just change their life...This is exactly why I've always loved the movie, 'It's a Wonderful Life'...it shows us how necessary we all are, even if we can't see it...Wonderful penning, Scribe...Good luck in the contest...Your screen name takes on a whole new depth, my Friend...just how many angels are dancing there??? Sweet Pea
Edited on Dec 27, 10:40 because ''. -
I think this has to be the first time Ive ever read a story by you hubby but now that Ive had the oppottunity to read this, my mind is just blown away....literally. What makes a short story so great is that fact that you gotta compress everything into one box meaning you have the bottom of the hill, the very top(climax) and finally, the going back down the same hill too. In this case you've not only done that but surpassed it especially with the messages that very evident and tony22 said it best as well.
And I think you could post this either at the top of your story, the bottom, hell can even post the quote in your comment box
quote:
“Homelessness is not just an isolated social evil. It is the catalyst and the breeding ground for other problems such as marriage difficulties and family breakup, stress, unemployment and alcoholism..”
~Eva Burrows
Rae -
People sdhould read this!
"How the other half lives" is a poisonous phrase used by too many in the middle classes. Your message is immediate. Your writing style is generally superb. It draws the reader in without the usual blood, guts, sex etc that some people crave for reading entertainment. You are a thinking person's writer. I encourage you to think of prose as well as poetry. Lyndon. -
Wow. Understandable message. I too have had encounters with homeless people and it really does open your eyes to the way this society operates. Thank you very much for opening my own eyes. Tony.
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