The Long Path (part 6)

  I had thought I knew where to go. Everywhere I walked I thought was the "right" direction. I would bump into who I thought were gutterpunks, only after a veiwing assessment, would realise that they were too clean, if that can be understood, to have anything to do with being homeless. I ran into alot of this. Weekend punks. The kids who worked their blue collar jobs or lived off their families trust funds. Got all dressed up in their brand new designer boots, put their earings back in, and doused their locks in hairspray. They went out in droves on the weekends, to what ever bars that would play the occasional Misfits or Agent Orange song mixed in with whatever mainstream music was popular on the airwaves for that month, only to wash off the fake anti-social attitude, put their studded jackets in the closet, and got to bed early on Sunday to get back to their jobs, what ever they might be on Monday.
  Most of the homeless I did run into, were the usual slighty insane, slightly misplaced older people, dressed in rags, pushing shopping carts full of cans or personal property, the poster children of homeless America.
  The few gutterpunks I did come across were either too high, too inebriated, or too angry looking to warrant a conversation. I had to start looking at the city as I should have from the beginning, as in, where would I go to find a place to sleep? Probably not the best idea in hindsight, to go walking through the more rough sections of the city, where dilapidated buildings began to show more than the nicer, cleaner parts of the city.
  Night was apon me, and after walking aimlessly, I realised I had become lost. I tried to backtrack the path I had taken, but nothing looked familiar. I traversed down a dark alley, where ahead of me I could see a trio of people, standing underneath a roofed enclosure, an outside light hiding them in darkness.
  I made my way towards them, even if they weren't homeless, maybe they could point me back in the direction of the downtown section of the city. Two of them were laughing, as one of them blew smoke into the air, and before I could ask my question, they had spotted me walking down the alley. They stopped what they were doing and the cigarette smoker pointed in my direction.
  When I was in spitting distance, they came forth out of the shadows. I then realised my folly, and experienced that gut wrenching feeling as they stood before me. White laces on black combat boots met denim bluejeans with the pantleg hems rolled up in neat cuffs. Thin red suspenders over white tank top tee's and gleaming shaved heads underneath the street lamp. Skinheads. I stopped walking immeadiatly and I'm sure I felt the same feelings a that of a sheep that has wandered to far from it's flock, only to find itself surrounded by wolves.
  I tried to think of an exit plan but they blocked me from one end of the alley, and there was no way I could run to the other end without them pouncing on me. I tried to think of something to say, just to break the tension, but at the moment nothing had come to mind. They advanced towards me slowly, arcing out in a semi circle, smiling and grinning huge smiles that were anything but friendly.
  "you homeless?"
  "uhh" was all I coud mutter.
  "You look homeless. Homeless people don't come down here to our part of the city, you know why? Because they know better. Homeless people are no better than a nigger or a jew, destroying what honest hard working white's have worked so had to create and protect! You look like a faggot too, guess we're gonna have to make you understand, faggot!"
  And they were apon me. After the second punch, I was on the ground, instinctively curling up in the fetal position, hoping my arms and legs would take most of the blows. My mind drifting off, my body only feeling the pounding of fists and steel toe boots, knowing the pain would definately be felt later. After what felt like an eternity, they stopped kicking me, and I dared to see what they were doing. They had taken my backpack, spilling its contents on the ground and rifling through them. My nose was bleeding and I could taste blood in my mouth. I could allready feel the ache in my muscles from where they had kicked me, and my head started to swim. Hoping that the skinheads had their fun and would be gone, was quickly lost to dread as they found the knife in my backpack. Pulling the sheath off and discarding it, the blade glinting in the light, they were deciding whether they should carve a swastika, or the word "FAG" in my forehead, when someone behind me started screaming. As out of no where, people I could not see had entered into the alley behind me, and had advanced on the skinheads. Baseball bats, lead pipes, and chains swung. The one holding the knife, caught by surprise, hit the ground with a wet thud after someone weilding a swinging chain connected with his mouth. He had fallen with his head facing me, eyes closed, mouth ajar. I didn't know if he was still alive or not, but I secretly hoped he was dead. The chain, had removed all of his front incisors and after seeing them gone, I felt a little better inside. His companions did not recieve less of a beating. Thirteen people stood over the two other skinheads, swinging weapons from high overhead down apon their bodies, those that didn't have weapons kicked. An unfair advantage of strength in numbers.
  After the new attackers, (my saviors?) had their fill of beating the skinheads, they helped me to my feet. Blood in my eye from a head wound made it hard to see. Someone gave me a hankerchief to wipe my face off with. To my suprise, I found the very people I had been looking for all day. A rag tag group of gutterpunks and streetkids. One of them had swept up my belongings into my backpack and handed it to me. Another asked if I was okay. The shock of the beating of me and then of the skinheads still had me dizzy. My nose was still bleeding, and even though I could hear their questions, the sound of blood rushing through my ears made them barely audible. They stood around me, but all I could focus on was a girl, still next to the unconscious skinheads, going through their pockets, then wallets, taking what ever was of value. When I thought she could find no more, she produced a razorknife, cut through the laces of their boots, and removed the from thier feet. Someone came and stood next to me, pulled my arm over their shoulder and helped me walk down the street, out of the dark alley.
  Still clutching the hankerchief to my nose they lead me down streets, stopping every few blocks to make sure I was indeed okay, quizing me if I could move my feet, my fingers, was anything broken, did it hurt when I breathed, and so on. After finally being sure that I could stand on my own, I followed them and asked their questions as best as I could. I told them I was indeed homeless, the story about the train, and that I was looking for people I thought might be in the city. They offered to let me stay at their squat, and off we went.
  The squat was an old machinist building, windows and doors boarded over. They lead me in through an entrance from behind the building, up a flight of stairs onto the second level. There were other people allready here. Some were asleep, some drinking and talking. Few voiced concern for my well being, they merely sat and staired. Waiting for those that had been walking with me to finally come to them to explain what had transpired. I was so tired. Someone gave me some floor space, helping me down onto an old matress that was on the floor. After awhile, an older woman came over and asked if it was okay to look at my head. She checked the wound on my forehead, which she said was just a scrape, but was more concerned with the back of my head and the temples. Certain that everything was fine, and that I didn't appear to be suffering from a concussion, they let me lay down, where I soon fell asleep.

  I awoke to the sounds of people fucking. Slightly unerved by the noises of flesh smacking apon flesh in a steady rythm, the squeals of delight of a woman, the light moaning of a man, only interupted by dirty pillow talk was enough to bring me about quite suddenly. A girl, maybe about age fourteen sat near the foot of the matress I had been sleeping on, and with a sheepish grin, explained that "they" had been going at it for a long time. I sat up more straight, and introduced myself, and she did the same in return. She said her name was Cat, with a "C".
  I took in my surroundings. Light came in through one side of the building through dirty dust stained windows, where there were windows that is. The floor I was on contained the one huge room Cat and I were in, and a doorless frame gave sight to a hallway with various rooms branching off from it. I assumed that's where the sounds were coming from. The main room that I was in, matresses had been layed about in no discernable order, as did blankets. Empty liquor bottles lined the floor where they met the walls. Someone had rescued a huge stuffed rabbit, from the looks of it from a fire or someones trash bin, and it sat across from me on the floor, missing one of its plastic eyes and an ear.
  Cat explained to me that Sasha had gone to find some food, and had asked her to keep watch over me. I got up , and stretched my legs, which were still sore from the previous nights beating. I checked my nose, which didn't feel broken and breathed a sigh of relief. I asked Cat where I could relieve myself, and instead of telling me, she lead me downstairs. Everything on the first floor was black and charred, from a fire no doubt. I assumed the previous owners had abandoned the building. Cat said I could pee into the alley, but if I had to "poo" someone had left an old Port-a-potty outside to the left of the building long ago. Sometimes they stole toilet paper to put in it. It smelled really bad, she explained, but they kept the top of the seat clean, or so were the house rules. After relieving myself, we went back inside and up the stairs, to the sounds of silence. Appearently the duo down the hall had achieved their mission, but were still no where to be seen.
  I was lost in going through my backpack, to see if everything was there, when a chubby girl with a chelsea haircut dyed pink, from the "duo" I figured, emerged from the hallway and introduced herself as Cheese. She asked if she and her boyfriend Rascal had awaken me , I lied and said no. She then asked me if I could read, confused I explained that I could, then she asked me if I could read to Cat, who even though at age fourteen, could not read for herself and it was something to do to pass the time until Sasha got back. Cat, who was all smiles after I agreed to read to her, disappeared down the hallway and returned with a weather beaten paperback book, that had been abused with countless dog-earing of the pages, the spine was warped, and someone had wrote something like a phone number at one time on the cover.
  The book was "Elsewhere" by Will Shetterly. I asked Cat if I should start at a particular page, but she liked to hear the tale from the beginning, and so that's where I started from. After the first five chapters, I could see why the book was popular. It revolved around a modern fantasy world, where that land of elves suddenly appears in the modern day world. A boy runs away from home to the land of elves and magic, and lives on the streets, searching for his brother. The elvish world mimics our own, with elves and humans live as gutterpunks, stay in squats, beg for food, and get drunk. After long, I found myself wanting to hear the tale more than maybe Cat did, who sat there, attent on every word, even though I was sure I wasn't the first, or would be the last, to read it to her.
  Before long the one named Sasha returned, announcing their presence long before coming upstairs.
A thin, slightly younger than me boy stood before us, catching me in mid sentence much to the dismay of Cat. He had a plastic bag full of bread loafs, dougnuts and Slim-Jim beef jerky sticks. The chubby girl Cheese came out of the hallway and tried to rummage through the bag Sasha was holding. He whirled about, trying to keep the bag away from her, howling that guests should get first dibs, in which she would retort that she doubted that I was goin to fall in love with him regardless if Sasha gave me first dibs in the foodbag or not. All their whirling about made them spill the contents on the floor before Sasha could continue the arguement. Cheese scrambled on the floor like a kid who just cracked her birthday pinata, scooped up Slim-Jims and bread and then disappearing back down the hallway.
  I ate what was shared, and said thanks to Sasha in doing so. Cat, who shrivled up her nose at the meat sticks, took some doughnuts and left the room without a word. Sasha and I conversed as we ate quietly, and he voiced concern over my well being. I didn't know if it was genuine concern, or if he had some type of motive after the comments made by Cheese. I wouldn't say the thoughts of having sex with someone of the same sex had never crossed my mind, but I had never persued it. Or given the oppourtunity to, but I didn't feel the need to start now.
  Me and Sasha exchanged histories, and after, I asked if he knew of anyone named Raven, Otter, or Pug. He said the name Raven was familiar, but not the other two. He looked a little dismayed, but told me he didn't think he knew the same girl I was looking for. He told me "Raven" was a pretty common street name, but would keep an ear out if anyone fit the description. After eating, we gather up Cat, and headed of to downtown, in the attempts to "spange" or beg for money. The word spange is just a play on the words "Spare Change".
  Once downtown, Sasha left Cat in my care, but something told me she had enough street smarts allready to take care of herself. But, she showed me the best places to start. I inquired her to where Sasha was off too, a better spot to spange in? She just kinda looked at me and shrugged. We found a nook of a building to sit in front of, asking most of the business people who walked by us for change. I got a lot of pocket change, Cat got a lot of paper money. I guess she knew how to turn on the charm. After a few hours Sasha showed up and asked how we were doing, and after pooling mine and Cats money together, I guess we had about thirty-five dollars, which is a pretty good haul. I asked Sasha how he had done. With a big smile he produces a hundred dollar and a fifty dollar bill from his pockets. Shocked as I am, I ask how the hell did he manage to pull that off, but I'm left with nothing as his reply is just "You know...". No I don't know. He explains that during the day, sometimes certain business men need thier "release", and chuckles after explaining it to me. Images of old dirty hairy men with maniacal grins, sweating and groping the fair skinned Sasha fill my mind. I throw out blame and acusations about him sleeping with men for money, and he's allready on the defense for his prostitution. So he prefers the company of men, and if some men want to pay for his company , then who cares? He says I can argue it further over some burgers and fries, his treat. After getting our food, I ponder about it. Is it wrong to me because I have been raised to believe its wrong? Would I do the same, if I had to? I guess maybe I was more upset with the idea of someone getting hurt. Putting yourself in the private company of another, you might just find the one killer or psychopath among the many. He explains that he knows that. He doesn't just jump into any car that comes by. He's been doing it enough that he has a regular roster. Still unsure of it myself, I don't pester him about it further. Who am I to judge the actions of others? I think of the money and food I stole on the bus, and realise I can't judge anyone.
  After eating, we stop at a convenience store to buy beer, cigarettes and food. The guy behind the counter doesnt look twice at us, even at the sight off two men with a young girl, buying beer and cigarettes. I question Sasha's appetite for alcohol. We've bought maybe six bottles of whisky. He explains it is my gift to give to the people at the squat, yknow, he continues, the ones that saved your ass the other night. I thank him for the gift, and he just smiles at me.
  We get back to the squat and more people are there than when we left, maybe fifteen people all together. I get scrutinized over, but the looks on peoples faces change when I start handing out bottles of booze. I get introduced to Tot, Craven, Wolf, and Goon. The only four that are present from the other night. I try to say thanks for them helping me out. They say it was just luck that they found me when they did. They would do it for anyone, well, anyone who wasn't a rascist. We drink. We drink a lot. I share what I got, they share what they got. The one called Goon comes up to me with something in his hands and gives it to me. Its a chain with a padlock attached to one end and a carabiner clip on the other end. He shows me how to wear it, with the padlock in my back pocket, the carabiner clip holding the chain up, clipped to a belt loop above my front pocket. "Its a Smiley" he explains. Why is it called that? "When you hit someone with the padlock, the "U" shaped part of the lock leaves a smile shaped bruise" he tells me. He says I can wear this all the time, that the police don't consider it a weapon, because it just looks like a wallet chain. Now you can always have a weapon on you. I'm amazed by this simple ingenuity of it. Everyone agrees it looks good when I put it on.
  Between mouthfuls of whisky I ask around the room if anyone knows a girl named Raven. Most agree that they do, but none fit the description I conjure up. I figure it's a lost cause at this point. They go on laughing and drinking. I'm lost in thought if I'll ever see the Raven I'm looking for again, when Tot bumps into me hard, and screams at me, "It's not a party unless everyone is drinking!!", and shoves a bottle in my mouth. Caught unaware, I try to get the whisky in my mouth, but it pours out the sides of my mouth, and everyone points and screams "Alcohol ABUSE!!" I grab the bottle back and chug it, taking in huge mouthfuls. Everyone cheers, before arguing that I'm drinking it all.
  After drinking all I can take, memories blur. I remember flirting with a cute girl. I remember someone produces a CD radio and we dance aroud the room, listening to the MIsfits. I remember puking up cheeseburger and whisky, before passing out on the floor.
 
  I wake up the next day with the taste of rotten death in my mouth. Hungover, I light a cigarette. Someone else who is already up hands me a bottle of warm water. I drink long from it, and hand it back. Its the girl named Wolf. I remember her from last night.
She has this grin from ear to ear, and says it looks like someone got some last night. I turn to the left and see Sasha wrapped in a blanket on the matress I was passed out on. I wrack my brain for answers from last night, but it doesn't give any clues. I look to Wolf and she explains that before anyone else wakes up and tells me different, all I did was make out with Sasha before passing out. I looked pretty drunk, she tells me. I don't know how I feel about it, or maybe she's just pulling my leg.
  I get up and go downstairs to the "bathroom", after coming back up, Sasha is sitting up talking to Wolf, and apon my entrance both quickly quiet up, and turn ther heads in my direction, staring with shit eating grins. That's all I need, I think to myself.

  I stay in town long enought to make some friends, but decide finding anything out from Otter, Raven, or Pug is a lost cause. I get shown where the train yard is. I stock up on water and cans of food. I say my goodbyes to everyone I have met. Sasha says he will take me to the trainyard. We talk along the way. He asks where I plan on going. I don't know. Maybe back home? Maybe somewhere else? Where ever I end up is where I'll be. We end up at the yard and after asking a few conducters where they're going, I decide on a train thats going south, through to Richmond , Virginia. Its not going anywhere for a few hours. Sasha hassles me about our drunken kiss, like he has done all week. He reveals that we never did, but he wishes we had. Before I know what I'm doing, I grab him close and kiss him. The Devil doesn't show up. The sky doesn't fall. I'm amazed by how soft his lips are, how even softer his tongue is. Something in me burns with excitement, the thrill for doing something wrong. Something I was raised not to do. I enjoy it. After the kiss Sasha is all blushing and blunders. He mouths the word "wow", but no sound is emitted. He turns and walks away before I can say anything, and we just leave it at that. Before jumping a train, I write down my adventure in a compositions notebook, the kind that looks like speckled cow print, which now is always in my bag. I wait for the train to start rolling along, before running beside it, looking for the "grainer" car, like I was taught to. It takes forever to get to Virginia.
  It takes even longer to make my way back "Home". It takes me a day to work up the courage to talk to my mother, but I go home and knock on the door. When she answers, she doesn't recognise me for a second, but then its all hugs and kisses. I come in. We talk. She's been worried about me. She says she spoke with my father, he called after I left his house in Ohio. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I stay for awhile. I wind up getting a job in walking distance from my mothers house, moving furniture at a retail store. I try to save up all the money I can, but I fail to do so. With each payday come and gone, I spend my money on useless stuff. I'm bored in this town. Those who I did consider as friends don't understand when I tell them about my travels. They don't want to hear about it. I keep Sasha's kiss a secret. I'm not ashamed of it, but I know what might happen if I tell it to people.
  The summer comes an goes. The fall brings Halloween, then my Birthday, followed quickly by Thanksgiving. I don't make it long enough to have thanksgiving dinner with my family. I have been fighting with my family these last few months. Getting a better job, getting my own place once I turn eighteen, getting a drivers liscense, a car, getting a life.
  A huge arguement gets me kicked out of the house again. It's brutal cold out. A huge blizzard has hit the east coast. I hang out all night in a Denny's diner, writing my frustrations and musings in my journal. I go to work and pick up my last paycheck. I go to the greyhound bus station. A man with one of those winter hats with the ear flaps on the sides sits behind the counter,throwing darts at a dartboard hung on the back of a door. There is a huge map of the United States on the wall to the right of me. I look at it, trying to decide where I should go. I decide it needs to be somewhere that isn't cold, somewhere where it doesn't snow. I borrow a dart from the man behind the counter. His nametag says his name is Gus. I think he looks exactly like someone who is named Gus should look. Goofy looking. I throw my dart at the map, and it hits the state of Texas. All that flashes before my eyes is cowboys on horses, big ribeye steaks, and bible thumping women with towers of hair. I don't know enough of Texas to know if I'll like it there. I scan he map , and hit the first town going east of Texas that I know a little about. New Orleans, Louisiana. Gus agrees that I should go there. Mardi Gras is almost there. What's that? I ask. I hear it is a huge festival that lasts for a long time, remarks Gus. I buy a ticket. Soon the bus arrives, and I start my journey again.