Night in at 'First steps'

A night in with ‘First steps’

I looked up at the sign ‘First steps’ scrawled in large black lettering, running due to the rain, on a clothed canvas hanging casually above a warm inviting doorway, enticing me to go in and feel straight at home, feeling more pushed rather than welcomed in a strange uncomfortable kind of way, and dry off from the freezing rain outside.
The warmth from the doorway mixed with a curious spicy scent made it almost impossible to resist. Darkness blanketed the night sky and the air still thick with wintry rain pelting hard over the dark rooftops of Dublin.
The rain washed away months of crusty dirt, like camouflage on my face, that helped sort out a few hygiene-related issues but I still needed shelter from the cold and a place to stay. My greased hair unwashed for month’s plastered to my skin; in tangles like dreadlocks.
At once, as I entered the bright atmosphere: the light from the dazzling hanging bulbs instantly blinded me used to lurking, hiding, in the darkest corners on the streets of Dublin, away feeling as safe as possible from the predatorily manic crazies wanting to hurt me. I was trapped in my personal prison, out on the streets, with perilous danger lurking around every corner. But oddly enough, amongst strangers, I was trapped outside where I should have felt free.
I was instantly interrogated by a blond woman smiling blinding me with many brilliantly white teeth and wearing an unflattering green open-weaved cardigan. ‘I used to have better taste than that’ I thought to myself. ‘Well when I had money’.
I tried to smile back but I was too embarrassed: my teeth black due to neglect another example of the harsh reality surrounding homelessness. I could tell she was trying to avoid my obvious musty unwashed scent and I admired her politeness but she still seemed very condescending as she spoke down to me.
“Hello dear” she greeted loudly. “Won’t you come in? We’ve got coffee/ hot soup, Christmas dinner, a place to stay and somewhere to warm yourself. It must be blowing a blizzard outside; I’m praying you haven’t lost any toes to frostbite. You would’ve been the third case tonight”. Her bedside manner was practically absent.
“We’ve also got a special treat for you tonight dear.” As she uncomfortably gestured me, with one hand hovering over my back making it obvious she’s avoiding touching me, towards a long line of unwashed vagrants wearing many greasy over-sized dirty jackets. All thin, barely maintaining any warmth, and holy due to, what seems like, years of ware.
“We have a special treat for you tonight, Spiced mulled wine with your turkey and trimmings”. The turkey looked moist less but better than bin disposals.
“It’s cook’s greatest triumph a blend of exotic spices to excite and tantalise your senses on this day, a day we’ve all been blessed to witness the birth of our saviour Jesus Christ. He’s so proud of it our cook. It’s made him the envy of ‘First steps’ and you’re going to love it”. She eyed him softly, obviously more there than meets the eye, whilst almost making his praises sound like an order.

I was mesmerized by her words. I didn’t have a clue how to respond, it was quite the speech and definitely had me hooked. Or possibly due to the extreme pain constantly there at the pit of my stomach; hunger slowly devouring me from the inside out and it certainly beats scavenging for scraps behind the trendiest restaurants in town, where I used to eat, for the past few months. The embarrassment alone is detrimental enough; falling from society’s grace.
Standing patiently in line, trying to act as polite as possible in this desirable resort that deserves no reframed decorum, I eyed a man. I found him curious: his wild mousy hair and beard, fierce and free, signifying his untamed nature out in the wilderness of the streets. He looked very appealing to me. This definitely wasn’t the ideal time or place to romantically corner a stranger or even merely fantasise about a bit of hot sex but I still found him intriguing.
“Hello...” I slowly approached him: my hands shook and breathing quickened at the thought of possibly getting some with this guy. I had never felt this alive in a long time: frozen inside as well as out the icy conditions outside on the streets encasing me frozen in a block of ice trapped still forever. ‘Why has he got me so curious? Was it his warm sensual eyes? What is it about him that breaks through my icy exterior?’
“Hello” he replied, his response low and dark. He was so cool. He’s ensnared me already as he took breathed in deeply the insipid popular mulled wine: his eyes rolling back in response and mouth-watering. ‘It must be good’ I copied him; he must have thought I was some kind of weirdo but then again we’re both from the streets; surreal behaviour’s considered pretty normal. I still need to get used to this way of life. It’s taken me so long to see myself degraded like this: an urchin from the streets and thrown out in the cold away from my warm loving family. My home with my husband and all the small, what seemed as, insignificant homely comforts I took for granted. I know I deserve better than this. I just need another chance to re-enter civilised society away from my new-found brutal violent home and back in a more stable existence.
If it wasn’t due to my husband running off with the neighbour in the heat of the night and leaving me in an irreparable amount of debt then I wouldn’t have had to. I can still picture her, the neighbour, my supposed best friend, the way she’d stare straight through me, her eyes glazed over with nothing behind, like a glass vase as if I were invisible and cold in response to my future. She couldn’t care less.
Her trademark luminous hot pink velvet tracksuit and peroxide hair in rollers, where the roots I must say were a little dark, were legendary. Every weekend while I was away on a business trip or even a quick stop down at the hairdressers probably making his blond beauty jealous, he’d be in bed with her. She obviously made him very happy in the physical sense, sexual chemistry wild and hot between them; well I doubt it was due to her wit.
But what’s to become of me now. A glass case, empty, everything I used to be, everything I’d stand for dissolved, metaphorically disembowelled torn from my body, by the man I lost to that soulless heartless wench. I often wonder who’s won who is better off now, even though we’re apart and I’m better now than I ever was with him, even on the streets, who’s triumphant because I can’t imagine the loath of my life and his trophy misses in the gutter like me.
“Nice place here”. I turned to look the opposite way. Embarrassed by what I just said, I screwed my face up. ‘Why did I just say that?’ I thought dazedly looking around trying to find something else to talk about. It’s not like I can talk about the weather, now that’s a saw subject.
“Don’t know about you but I’m ready for a bit of turkey. What do you say?” I asked him, giving him the evil eye, burning with severe passion, slowly undressing him with my eyes. ‘Perhaps that was a little too much but hey we’re both children of the streets, what’s too much?’ He must think I’m some kind of harlot. He’s bound to find an excuse to disappear. But still I think he’s hot, he’s the best thing that’s happened to me in over a year and I don’t even know him. It must be life on the streets: these past few months, living it rough, have left me a little hot-headed more brazen. But it’s not my fault; it’s not like I’m in the right situation to allow anyone to find my defrost button. I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to anyone. Perhaps, I’m turning out just like my husband’s current misses, that stone-cold Barbie, blissfully vacant to all, if things couldn’t get any worse.
He looked at me curiously up and down. I stepped back; feeling overtly anxious. I didn’t know what to expect next. This was a bad idea. He could be some kind of schizoid ready to go off on one. That’s the problem with homeless guys. They’re too unpredictable.
He smiled and that made me more wary. I stared at him; my eyes blazing with worry. I was expecting an icy recepetion. He’s probably trying to be polite. Hoping soon I’d get the hint and disappear, evaporate into the atmosphere, so I can spend much time alone warming up by the radiators. Chilblain’s a definite probability. This festive endeavour was going to be a success. There was something about him that I couldn’t resist. I felt like I was on heat; setting fire to the flame. I was in dire need for a cold shower. I needed to cool down.
I leaned in closer; pushing my chances, hoping for a positive response, for some hot action. He smiled. I thought I was definitely in here. I took a shot.
“Fancy a bit?” I quickly asked; throwing away last traces of dignity. Well assuming there were any left. My eyes were wide and I felt hopeful at the time.
He stepped back, smiled, shook his head and disappeared. ‘Talk about your cold shoulder’. I thought to myself. The entire support team stopped and starred at me in a trance. Shocked and embarrassed by my rude obvious flirtation. I guess I have changed. I must have gotten a lot tougher. I turned and left ‘First steps’ knowing I had ruined any chance for a decent Christmas, out in the cold, and for the first time in over a year I could imagine my husband, Rory, and his misses looking down at me even though I’ve hit rock bottom; roughing it out on the streets.