Yesterday I decided I needed a mattress cover for my bed.
I have been thinking of purchasing one for well over a year now, but yesterday I made the decision to head to my local Home Goods store and finally buy one.
I live in a fairly affluent area and it is extremely rare to see homeless or transient people loitering in retail areas. That is why I found it so shocking when I saw a young man and his small dog sitting outside Home Goods with a suitcase and a sign that said. "Anything Helps".
I knew this young man.
He was my son.
I couldn't bear to look at him because although he wasn't actually my son, he was someone's son and he was homeless, dirty, and on drugs.
I tried to scurry past him as quickly as I could but he said "excuse me, do you know what time it is?" "A little after 5," I said. He looked at me through sagging eyelids and said "thanks."
As I was choosing my mattress cover I was secretly praying that he would be gone when I came out. 'Maybe he asked the time because he is expecting someone to come pick him up,' I silently hoped.
I found myself repeating 'please be gone' over and over in my head. Looking at him was agony. A pain I haven't felt since I saw my own son wither away with drug use.
Not all the chanting in the world was going to help though, because when I walked out he was still there. I got in my car as quickly as I could, put it in reverse and I couldn't move. Hunched over and completely high he began to fall sideways. He did this 5 times, catching himself an inch from the ground every time and sitting back up. His small dog stared at him with concerned eyes and I began to feel ill.
This could be my son.
I put my car back into park and turned it off. I took a deep breath, opened my door and walked up to him.
"Hi there," I said, "what are you doing sitting out here?"
"We had a very long walk today," he replied.
"Do you have anyone who can come pick you up? Any friends or family?" I asked.
He proceeded to tell me that his family has disowned him and his only friend is his dog, which he picked up and hugged with all the energy he could muster.
"Why would your family disown you?" I asked.
"Drugs." he said, flat out and without hesitation.
I crouched down a few feet away from him and asked him if it was worth it, drugs instead of family. He told me he doesn't have a choice. Rehabs don't work and nothing can keep him sober. He told me that nobody understands what its like and that there is no way to escape it.
"People yell at me from their cars. They call me a piece of shit. They tell me they are calling the police. But you know what? The police never come. And you know why? Because nobody cares. The rehabs let you out after 30 days because they know you can't stay clean on your own so you'll be back and they can make their money all over again. They know that nobody is going to hire us, they know that we have legal shit we can't ever get taken care of and they know we'll be back. But not me. Not anymore. I'm done with that shit. This guy right here keeps me going (still holding his dog) and we manage just fine. Nice people help us eat and we have each other."
"You remind me of my son," I said, "he died from a drug overdose."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied, "but that was his only way to escape, you know that right?"
I smiled at him and began to cry.
"My son was worth more than this and so are you," I said, "I know you have people that love you and want you to have a better life."
"This is my life now. This is as good as it gets for people like me. Tell me again, how old is your son?" he asked.
"My son had just turned 20 when he died," I said.
"Thats young. He got out young. I'm 23," he muttered.
"You are young," I said, "and worth more than this."
I stood up to leave and asked him if there was anything I could do for him.
"We have all we need right here," he said.
I began to walk away and heard him say, "god bless you ma'am, and god bless your son."
"Thank you," I mumbled under my breath as I tried to stop the tears from taking over.
"He is still with you, ya know, your son. He is still with you."
"I know," I told him, "but I'm going to leave him here with you for awhile."
