Flurries

***

Shelly watches a man in a three piece suit pass a homeless man sitting on the ground, resting up against the wall; he has a long beard and holes in his shoes. The homeless man raises his Styrofoam cup for some change but the man snuffs him and proceeds past him in a hurry. Running late, he checks his watch and swiftly runs up the stairs to the street. Shelly stares at them both as the homeless man makes eye contact and innocently smiles at him.

Look at them

Digging through the trash

Lugging bags of cans

Looking disheveled

Wearing three jackets

Smelling like garbage

No direction or meaning

No family or loved ones

No stability

No possessions

No wife

Nothing but the rags on their back

How pitiful

I’ve got so much

Too much to lose

I could never be like that

I try to ignore them

And pretend not to see them

But I do

I really feel sorry for them

Look at them

Rushing to get everywhere

But not going anywhere

Lugging their briefcases to their nine to fives

Looking like it took them hours to get ready

Wearing their jackets and ties

No direction or meaning

Backstabbing friends and coworkers

Disloyal family

Living with their false sense of security

Living in denial

Because they could easily be in my shoes

With just a simple run of bad luck

Worrying about their cars

Sweating over their mortgages

Stressing over their girlfriends

So many things to worry about

How pitiful

I’ve got nothing

Nothing to lose

How liberatingM

Total freedom

Not held down by possessions

Or deadlines of any kind

I could never be like them

I see them trying to ignore me

Pretending I am transparent

But I know they see me

I really feel sorry for them

***

She glances across the street and sees some kid making a snowman. Upon further examination, she notices it is a little girl, and she is constructing the snow model with what appears to be her father. Her nose begins to run, and her father takes out a tissue and wipes it for her. The little girl smiles at her father and gives him a hug.

Brixx is immediately transformed back in time to a place where her father was actually present and involved. She recalls how he would call her his little princess and be so interested in everything she had to say, no matter how trivial or childish. She could not wait to get home from school to jump on his lap and tell him what she had learned that day in school or what projects she had made in her class. Any time she would get a certificate, she would wrap it tightly, to ensure absolutely nothing would mark or stain her prized possession on her long journey home from school. She would drool with anticipation of sharing it with her father, who would shower her with positive reinforcement and affection. Wow, does she long for those days all of a sudden with a vengeance. Once again, she reaches in her back pocket and removes her crumpled drawing. She always tells people who ask about her father that she does not care anymore. Whatever is her response more often than not when people pursue the subject. She acts nonchalant and apathetic about his disappearing act and nonexistence in her and her mother’s life now. However, secretly, she misses him deeply. This display across the street has ushered something up in her that is traveling like a roller coaster falling downhill then upward for a 360 degree turn; it is her breakfast. Suddenly, her stomach feels queasy and she has to bend over. Her hair falls from under her crooked hat. Nausea overtakes her for a brief moment before she finds the strength to push it down like a garbage man standing over an overfilled trash can after the holidays. Gabe notices this and shouts if she is okay. She waves him off while she breathes deeply, shoving her drawing back in her jeans without much care. She catches her breath, tucks her hair back under her wool hat, and looks one final time across the street. She inhales through her nose and exhales through her mouth, as the smoke rises past her teary eyes. The little girl across the street laughs and screams with joy as her father lifts her to put a carrot in the place where a nose should be. Together they stand back and admire the gift they have just created for anyone who is lucky enough to pass by that day. Brixx just shrugs her shoulders and looks away before it hurts too much. Nausea now turns to craving which quickly transforms into indignation. She digs in the ground with her shovel with such force that it strikes the sidewalk, and she feels the vibration go from her hand all the way up her arm into her neck. She cracks her neck and with that motion, strikes it all from her memory like a stroke of an eraser on a chalkboard. That is how in control of her feelings she is, or so she believes. She used to be loved like that, but to remember ancient times and not have it, hurts her to the core. Out of her peripheral vision, the snowman appears to be mocking her; she thinks to herself and stares back. What are you smiling at? Her breathing gets heavier as she begins to be consumed with violent thoughts. The snowman seems to be rubbernecking and will not look away. His grin turns wider and now he appears to be smirking sarcastically directly at her. For a brief moment, she thinks she sees him point and chuckle at her as in a pseudo mockumentary. As a result, before she leaves that street, she promises herself one thing. That snowman across the street, grinning from ear to ear is going to be decapitated before this day is done. Believe that!