Page 25 of Outlaw's Prize

CHAPTERNINE

Nine Months Ago

Everleigh

It had been two years since my dad died, 6 months since my mom died, and my dad’s side of the family took everything from me, claiming that my dad had worked hard for everything we owned and I didn’t deserve anything. I was an only child, twenty-two years old at the time of my dad’s death.

My dad’s family stopped paying for my college education. His mom had always hated us and had somehow made my dad’s father and siblings hate us too. Circumstances forced me out of college quickly. I couldn’t afford anything to eat, drink, or even soap. Plus, I knew I would soon be kicked out due to the piled-up balances I had.

I had three close friends. They were all female so their parents didn’t have a problem with me sleeping over at their house, at least two of the parents. I spent a whole week at one friend’s house. It was starting to feel awkward as I depended on them for every meal, and a roof over my head. During the day, I would go to hotels, bars, cafes, and some offices in search of a job but it never paid off.

By the end of the week, I started noticing my friend’s parents were treating me differently, looking at me with disgust and sometimes, they would eat while I was away. I moved out first thing Monday morning and went to my second friend’s house. My stay there did not last as long because they had talked and she had been made aware of my desperate situation. I moved out on the third day and tried contacting my third friend but she wouldn’t even pick up. She sent me a text telling me her parents would not allow me to spend a night in their house.

I didn’t insist. I dragged my suitcase, a backpack, and a handbag with me to the park where I spent the rest of the day. I had found nowhere to go by nightfall forcing me to spend the night in the park. I went under a tree, spread some of my clothes on the ground and laid on them, covering myself with more clothes. I put all my stuff in front of me, next to the tree I was facing. My hope was that would be the first and last night I would ever spend the night outside.

I was wrong. My misery had in fact just begun. All my bags were gone when I woke up the following morning. All I had left were the clothes below and on top of me, the ones I had on and twenty dollars.

I was heartbroken, and confused. I had no way of contacting the people I knew and the only phone numbers I knew off the top of my head were my parents.

My eyes surveyed the park, unsure of what I was looking for specifically. I knelt beside the tree and allowed the tears to freely fall. I was hopeless and helpless. I left the clothes I had used as blanket and run around the park, looking for any of my belongings while asking strangers whether they had seen someone take them.

Everything I owned was gone and the sooner I accepted that, the sooner I would figure out what I would do next. I dragged my feet back to the trees, arms helplessly swinging, face pale, and eyes red and swollen. I covered myself and cried for almost an hour. Part of me was hoping some concerned person would some and ask me what is wrong then maybe somehow help me in whatever means they could but no one came.

My head was aching and stomach growling by the time I got up. I didn’t know where to go or where to start looking for food. The life I had found myself in overnight was unfamiliar. However, whatever it took, I knew I had to find something to eat. I couldn’t hold on for long.

I neatly folded my clothes, tied them together using one and left the park. Aromas from restaurants and bakeries became stronger. I could see everyone who was chewing even at a distance and salivate on whatever they were eating. I was not sure how to use my twenty dollars and what would follow after using the bill.

Eventually, I concluded I was not going to starve myself while I did not have the knowledge on how the day would end.

* * *

One week later, I was living in an alley and begging for spare change from strangers. My presentation and attention from strangers upset the other beggars. I was kicked out of the street and told to “go whore somewhere else.”

I had changed into all my clothes and reeked of sweat. My hair was shaggy and my feet had developed sores from all the walking. My lips were chapped and my dry, dirty skin was starting to itch. I decided to ask for a second chance from my first friend’s parents but I was chased like a dog before I could even enter the yard. My life had lost meaning. Rooming in the streets under the hot afternoon sun on an empty stomach, I wished I would have died with my parents.

* * *

By the time a month had gone by, I was scavenging for food in trashcans around Nashville. I had turned into a being that everyone despised and couldn’t stand looking at. The few clothes I had left were starting to tear apart and some, I would tear to cover cuts gotten mainly from scavenging.

A dark, quiet, and lonely alley had become my home. The rocks beneath me didn’t hurt me as much as they did when I started sleeping on them. I would spend hours stargazing, wishing my life would take a different turn. During rainy nights, I and most of the other homeless people would spend the night on the subway. It was not comfortable since I was not used to being woken up by the train but I had to endure.

I had always thought that the streets weren’t safe, especially for women at night but I was wrong. No one ever laid hands on me. They would, in fact, stand up for me when a well-dressed person was rude to me even though they didn’t always use the best of tones with me.

I made a friend, June. We used to sleep on the same alley. She was not very talkative like I was but everyone was friendlier with her. She was unique, several face piercings, hair dyed partially green and she was always chewing. She loved wearing boots and pants, and whenever she could find one, a plaid shirt. She showed me some of her go-to places for cleaner and more delicious food and that was the best thing anyone had done for me in a long time.

* * *

By the time the second month was over, I had already gotten used to every aspect of being homeless. I opened up more to my group and they seemed to appreciate me since they started including me in their activities.

Some of my hair had fallen out. The remaining was shaggy and uneven. I didn’t, however, pay much attention to it. I had black patches all over my body. Whenever we got a chance, we would wash our hands and faces in a fountain mid-town and carry some for our friends. We would, however, be chased by security guards before filling our bottles and that was fun. Most my pants were torn around the hem and my shirts were faded. I had only two jackets and a blanket given to me by June.

There were nights I would cry myself to sleep wondering what I did to deserve everything I was going through. It was not my fault that I was born in a family where every detail was managed by my dad's family. My mum didn't have a family. For my sake after my dad died, she chose to endure until we could be in a position to take care of ourselves. I would watch her secretly cry after we had been verbally and sometimes physically abused by my grandparents. It broke my heart but there was nothing I could do. I had only three years to go before completing college, years that felt like an eternity. I hoped once I was done, I could find a job and move us in to an apartment together. It would have been just us, doing everything we felt we missed out on. But that ship has sailed along with my dreams.

"Why do you prefer to always have your piercings in rings and what's up with your hair color?" I asked June one night.

"Because these are the streets. I do what I fucking want."

"What else do you want to do in these streets?"