Steve

A young man.

Depressed in a world that doesn't notice me.

What else will I ever be, to anyone, or even to myself?

A stupid English assignment. A memoir of myself? What the hell?

Aggrivated at my cruddy beginning, I crunched it up. A less sadistic approach, perhaps?

Growing up in San Francisco, I had never known anything but city life... Alright, so that was a lot worse. I threw it away as well and stood, looking out the window of my room. I needed some inspiration somehow. My mother was gone, probably with another of her "clients", and my father...well, who knew where he was.

I walked out of the house, and began walking down the side walk. Good ol' San Francisco. I'd lived here almost all of my life. I don't know if I would've had it any other way, either. I loved it here, besides school of course.

People had always thought to try and push me around. I was small for my age, and a redhead, so I guess I seemed vulnerable to them. I wasn't emotionally, although I wouldn't have been any good in a fight.

Back to my original plan. This English assignment, a memoir about me. Who would want to read about my life? It stunk! I guess my teacher did. Maybe she was worried, who knew. Maybe she had planned it before and I hadn't seen it coming. Maybe I just wouldn't write it.

Rounding the corner, I saw man on the street. He had a piece of cardboard that said Will work for food. It haunted me, to know that people were starving on the streets of such a large, seemingly prosperous city. As far as people went, San Francisco had always been a load of crap. Lots of gangs, bums, people who didn't try to work. And then there were people like this guy, that had no choice.

I fingered a five dollar bill in my pocket, thinking. I could give it to the man, but, who would know where he would use it? How was I supposed to know he was earnest? I stopped walking. Maybe I could take him to the fast food joint down the street and buy him a burger and fries. Then I would know he was feeding himself instead of buying crack cocaine, or using the money for cigarettes.

I turned around and approached the man with slight caution.

"Sir?" I asked.

"Yes,kiddo?"

"Can I buy you lunch?"

"I would sure appreciate that."

I smiled as caringly as I could, and nodded. "Let's go to Pete's then, and I'll buy you a burger."

So, I took this poor man to Pete's. I bought him a burger and fries, and sat with him as I sucked down a strawberry shake. That was when he began to tell me his story.

"My wife left me two years ago for another man. I don't know what I did wrong. She kicked me out of the house, and right after that, I lost my job." he said, "Your kindness means a lot to me, kid, how old are you?"

I felt my icy blue eyes tear up slightly. This man had had some stroke of misfortune. "Fifteen, sir."

"Do you have a job?"

"Yes sir."

"Do you have parents?"

"Yes sir."

"Are they good to you?"

I had to think about this for a second. If I answered honestly, I could get my parents into trouble. I chanced it anyways.

"No sir. My mom is an illegal prostitute and my dad is an alcoholic businessman." He had told me his story, and I had told him mine, fair and square.

"They shouldn't take a heart of gold likes yours for granted. What's your name, son?"

"Steve."

"I'm Ken."

After a little longer, he got up to leave. He said he was going in for an interview to try and get a job, and I wished him luck then decided to head on home. I had an idea for my memoir now.

As soon as I got home, I sat down at my desk with my notebook in front of me and started writing.

My name is Steven Michael Fredricks. I go by Steve now, and have since I can remember. I was born in Downtown San Francisco, in a car comign across the Golden Gate Bridge.... I liked the way it sounded. And it was completely true. I continued on until I reached my current life, then stopped to think. What was important in my current life?

Then, it occured to me. I needed to give Ken some recognition for my inspiration. His honesty, and will to live despite what his wife had put him through was enough to inspire even the coldest heart to do something nice.

April 13th, I was trying to complete an assignment for English class. It was a memoir about myself. I couldn't seem to come up with any ideas, so I got up to go for a walk. It wasn't long before I saw a man with a cardboard sign that said 'Will Work For Food'. Instead of giving him money, I bought him lunch and he told me why he was in the position he was in. His wife had left him, and he had lost his job. The way he said it, so sincerely, inspired me to write down the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in this memoir of me, and I dedicate this entire work to him.