Misjudged

Whistling in tune to the latest Ed Sheeran song on his iPod, Darren skidded round a couple, who were taking their time to select some cheese, so he could grab some milk from the next shelf. “Watch it,” the male half of the couple said, shaking his head when he realised Darren was just a kid. “Kids,” he continued muttering. Darren said he was sorry but the man just glared at him. Darren picked up a carton of milk and quickly moved on. Clinking the coins that were rolling around in his pocket Darren detected that he had enough money for four pints of milk, two more than his mother had asked for but he knew it would be used and would save his mother a trip back the next day, so he went back and replaced the smaller carton with a larger one.

In the checkout queue Darren was tapping his foot in time to his music as he waited for the old girl in front to pay for her shopping it seemed he was again annoying the bloke he’d nearly ran into earlier. “Impatient little so and so,” he mumbled to his wife not too subtly as they stood behind him. Darren ignored him this time, not wanting to antagonise anyone but he refused to stop tapping his foot as he turned up his music another notch. The little old dear in front was still counting out her change and the couple behind moved to another aisle in the hope of being served quicker. “Hypocrite,” Darren thought as his iPod skipped to Jessie J.

Forgetting about the couple he moved up in the queue and handed over the money from his pocket to pay for the milk. Shoving the carton into his backpack he thanked the cashier, giving her a flirtatious wink as he took his change and sauntered off. Checking his watch he noticed that he had already used up fifteen of the twenty minutes his mother had given him to do the errand. Being just eleven Darren’s mother would not ordinarily send her son out on his own but she’d had no other choice, being ill with the flu, barely being able to function and having a screaming, thirsty, three year old, with no milk in the house. After Darren had offered she had reluctantly given in and let him go. Picking up speed he was almost floored when he tripped over his shoelace just outside the automatic doors of the supermarket. Groaning he bent down to tie them up, hearing his mother’s nagging voice in his head. As he looped the strings he was distracted by some shopping, tins and fruit, rolling around up ahead and he wondered who could have lost all of that and not have noticed. Standing up he now noticed a dropped carrier bag with a distinct hole in the bottom with more shopping lying in and around the bag.

Walking closer to the dropped load Darren now saw a woman, collapsed on the floor. He rushed to her side but not before seeing how people were looking but not stopping. As he started the basic first aid training he had been given at his Cubs group he found it difficult to comprehend that grown adults would continue to walk past like there was nothing they could do. Using his training he established that she was unconscious but breathing. A bang to the head as she had fallen had caused her to be knocked out. Ignoring the ignorant passers-by, he pulled out his mobile phone and called the emergency services. The operator asked him what service he required and he told them. As he waited he pulled his hat out of his pocket and used it to apply pressure to the wound the lady had received when she had fallen. Within seconds he was explaining to a man at the end of the phone what he thought had happened and what he thought was wrong. He sounded so grown up that no-one asked him his age and just told him he was doing a great job and paramedics would join him shortly. Hanging up he dropped his phone back into his pocket with his free hand, his other one still applying pressure to the cut on his patient’s head. His left leg had gone numb but he didn't dare move in fear of restarting the bleed that he seemed to currently have under control under his right hand.

Still no one had stopped to help or even offer assistance despite being nosy enough to slow down and take a good look. Yet he, a selfish little kid had stopped to care whilst the so called adults had walked on by.

The ambulance was finally pulling into the supermarket car park and Darren, who now had two dead legs, was grateful to see them. A young blonde got out of the driver’s seat whilst a slightly older red head got out of the back lugging a huge medical kit behind her. On seeing him crouching on the ground next to their patient both paramedics did a double take. Seeing their looks Darren just shrugged his shoulders and said, “No-one else would help her,” before looking away, afraid he would go red and embarrass himself. The women however were no longer worried about him and moved next to the woman lying on the ground. Firing questions at him as they worked he told them all he knew which wasn't actually that much. The wound, they said, was superficial and they hoped it wouldn't be long before she regained consciousness. “Keeping the pressure on that wound was clever stuff young man. Where’d you learn that?”

“Cubs,” he mumbled.

“Well young sir you showed maturity beyond your years today and looks like you saved the day along with it. This lady will be just fine. Now get yourself home and make sure you tell your parents how great you were today.” And that was it. He was dismissed. The professional had taken over and he was surplus to requirement. He picked up his backpack and broke into a run knowing his mother would now be really cross about how long he’d been.            

Boxed In

Boxes were usually useful for packing or storing or both. Staring up at me was a large brown storage box which I had laced with a measly, thin, tartan blanket that I had found earlier that day. My lovely, large brown storage box for packing or whatever was, for now, my home. It was ripped on one side but if I angled the torn side to the floor it wouldn't be a problem, I hoped. My box was littering a far corner of the multi storey car park for the town’s shopping centre. I hoped the security attendant would not find me, having spent the last few hours hiding from him before the car park closed. I tipped the box onto its broken side and slid inside, trying to create a cocoon with the blanket, but no matter how hard I tried I could not cover all of me. Fortunately at least the box just about housed me if I forced myself into a tight foetal position. Once I was as snug as was possible in these vial circumstances I felt around until I found my pocket and retrieved the orange I had managed to swipe from a skip earlier. Trying to ignore the cellulite ridden looking skin which showed how old the fruit was I peeled it and let the wrinkled strips drop to the floor of the box. It might keep a toe or two warm later, I thought to myself wryly. As I snuggled further into the box, as best as I could, I thought about the day behind me. I wondered if my quick, rash decision would come back to bite me considerably hard on the backside in the days to come. I had at the time thought I had no choice but had I?

     I’m here in my new makeshift home because I had yet again refused to leave school at the tender age of sixteen before my exams had finished and get a job, subsequently funding my father’s habit of abusing alcohol, amongst other things. Him being much more keen on pouring said substance down his throat, punching me when I couldn't replenish his stock and hitting on anything with a pulse not caring that his sixteen year old daughter, me, was witnessing his every disgusting move. Since mum had passed away any strumpet would do. Today’s argument had been like all the others, starting out because his latest stash of vodka had disappeared and his benefits with it. All his doing of course yet it was anybody’s fault but his. Being a Saturday I had been at home reading, studying for an upcoming exam but this was not good enough. I should have been out earning money. Feeling braver then normal I had said, “You’re a fine one to talk. There are plenty of jobs out there you know and once I finish school I’ll be better equipped to get one too.”

     “A little scrubber like you can clean bogs without needing the likes of these fancy exams you insist on sitting,” was his drunken response. When I ignored him the book I was turning the page of was wrenched out of my grip leaving me with one page still in my hand. Then he had launched the book at me and told me to “sod off until you come back with enough dosh for a voddie and a chippy tea,” before going back to chewing off the face of his latest blonde stick insect.

     A piece of ice brought me back to the present, causing me to shudder for more reasons than just its coldness. It had fallen into my box and I flicked it away as I tried to utilise the small blanket to warm as much of me as possible. The wind was picking up and neither the box nor the roof of the car park was doing much to shield me from its sharp wrath. It was racing round the building, showing off as it accelerated through the open gaps in the walls, screeching in mockery as it dared me to try and sleep. My teeth chattered as my body struggled to get a grip on how cold it was. I could feel the hairs on my arms standing on end as goose bumps invaded the skin, covering every available inch. Closing my eyes and edging my head further inside I tried to ignore how low the temperature felt, encouraging myself to sleep so that I no longer had convince myself this was not all a big mistake. It was a big mistake, I knew that, but so was staying, like the last time and the time before that. I got thrown out on a daily basis and usually sat on the front step until things had calmed down or some buddy or another had come round with a four pack of beers swapping those for a stint on the couch to watch some filth or other on the television. I usually got called in at that point to put the kettle on or the oven as his lordship was too lazy to do it himself. He would have got a shock tonight when I didn't answer his shouted demands. I wouldn't be missed for longer than the time it took for him to get over the fact that he would have to do something himself or go without.

     Tears stung my eyes like salt to an open wound as the horrid truth hit home once again. It was a hard concept to grasp as my family had at least always been a unit until my mother had died and then my father had fallen to his knees and never properly stood up again. Now I had to stand tall and fend for myself as any sympathy I’d had left for my father had disappeared when he’d used his anger against me once too often. Today’s attack had been mild but it took the times I got off lightly to realise how bad it could be next time. Hence my decision to leave and rather than sitting on the steps waiting for the next time to be used and abused I took off. Walking to the end of the road had quickly led to walking out of the village and before long two hours had gone by and I had managed to walk the seven and a half miles to the next town. I had never intended to walk that far but the further I walked the more I realised I didn't want to go back. I couldn't go back. Yet I had nothing with me and what about school? Wasn't that the whole point of the argument with Dad? The reason he bullied me was because I wouldn't get a job until I finished school, but if I stayed away like this I could hardly go to school could I?

     My toes were freezing. It felt like little lumps of ice were stuck to my feet. The blanket was doing nothing to warm them, partly because I was using it to warm the rest of my body but my feet only had thin pumps for cover. This was another decision that I could have thought a bit harder about if I’d been thinking at all. My stomach growled fiercely then, the orange having barely filled a hole. I hadn't eaten before that since breakfast and that had only been a piece of toast.  I tried to block out how hungry I was by listening out for sounds that might let me know if anyone was coming. I didn't want to be caught sleeping rough in a car park. I hoped I had positioned the box and settled far enough within so that anyone looking this way would just think that it was an empty box left as rubbish. To be fair there was plenty of other litter lying around. Perhaps nothing such an eyesore as a huge box but still enough to think that people left their rubbish wherever they thought they could get away with it. I wrinkled my nose as I tried to distinguish the smell of the rain over the smell of urine where someone had obviously felt the need to relieve themselves in the nearby corner. I heard the sounds of drunken laughter in the street below and the constant flow of traffic over the rain drenched roads. Despite being so late by now there were still plenty of people out and about. I tried to block all the noises out and get some sleep but the cold wind was freezing me to the bone and I felt sore and consequently I felt sorry for myself. I was uncomfortable. My legs were getting cramp and my arm had gone numb from my lying on it. Lying crouched up small was not keeping me warm and was not making it easy to sleep. If this was going to be a long term thing I would need to rethink my sleeping arrangements. A bigger blanket for a start would be good. Out in the distance the sound of a metal bar or something similar hitting the floor made me flinch. This wasn't safe. Anything could happen to me. Why did I feel that this situation was more acceptable than going home? How was it fair that my own father scared me so much I’d rather be here then there? Tears fell down my face. I missed my mum and I missed the man my father used to be. He’d always been lazy, granted, but he had turned into an angry drunk and his violent streak was out on a mission. Another thud of metal hitting concrete made me jump again and I edged further into my box hoping nothing would happen until the morning and I could take the day and the advantage of daylight to find somewhere a little better. I tucked my head under my arm and closed my eyes. The noises were still there, the wind, the traffic and the idiot insisting of kicking metal pipes about. Sleep was a far off concept but at least I was ok. For now.

    Obviously I had managed to sleep after all and was dreaming as I could smell coffee and bacon. My tummy rumbled loudly at the thought. Within seconds though I was alert and on the defensive as I heard someone say, “What’s your name love?” I retreated further into the box pretending that no one was there. I was going to be carted back to Dad’s and I’d only managed one night away from it all. Although the last few hours had been hell, going home was a worse concept to comprehend. The voice floating down to me though was kind. “Come on love, it’s just a coffee and a bacon sandwich. It’s yours if you want it. Just tell me your name.” The pull of food was too great so I edged out so I could at least see who my breakfast benefactor was. I panicked as I saw that it was the security attendant I had been hiding from the day before. I burst out of my box and jumped up onto my feet. “I’m s…sorry,” I stammered. “I’m off now.” I turned to leave but the coffee and the bacon was still staring at me. The guy was still holding it out to me. I hesitantly held out my hand and he placed the coffee in it. I reached out for the bacon sandwich with my other hand. “Carly, and thank you,” I said.

     “Lee,” he replied. “I saw you come in last night but I was on duty so I couldn't help you then. I’m sorry. Although unbeknownst to you I kept an eye on you to make sure you stayed out of harms way. I work here to earn a bit of extra dough but I also work at the YMCA and if you’ll let me I’d like to see if I can help you.” And there it was. A spark of kindness. No blame, no condescending look, no need for explanation. This man was willing to help before he knew what my deal was. Also unbeknownst to me he had seen people like me many times before and was one of the few who worked for an institution that was willing to help. I’m a lucky one. By the end of my first night I had someone who might be able to get me back onto the right track. Others, I later found out, didn't get help until their one hundredth and first night or their five hundredth and first night. And some… never got the help they deserved, because they were never asked, or simply never took it or they just never made it at all.

I wrote the above in light of a charity event that the YMCA are running which my sister is a part of. This is the Sleep Easy campaign where members of the YMCA are sleeping rough so others don't have to. This is to raise awareness of homelessness in the young. If the above means anything to you and you would like to donate then please do so at the following address: 

http://my.artezglobal.com/personalPage.aspx?registrationID=454640&langPref=en-CA