Hunger

Jake woke up in a dumpster. The thunder outside and the rain pounding down on his face momentarily disguised the pain in his head, but his attempt at covering his eyes forced it out of hiding. The hunger pangs chimed in soon after. Groaning, he sat up and attempted to get his bearings.

Okay… sitting in something that looks like old Chinese take-out. Not good. I should probably be grateful it’s raining so the smell doesn’t bother me so much.

Struggling to pull himself over the lip of the rusty metal container, Jake managed to fall out of the dumpster and take the hit on his shoulder, before rolling onto his back again.

Well, it’s a start.

Pulling his dirty coat tighter around himself, Jake shuffled back against the side of the dumpster in an attempt to get out of the worst of the rain, and looked down at his knees. Fighting back tears, he thought, How did it come to this? I’m the only bum on Peachtree without a real sob story. But then, maybe that makes my story the saddest.

Angry at his own self-pity, Jake shook himself and stood up, forcing himself to leave his alley and walk out into the rain. Penance. As he walked, he absently scratched at his scalp. Damn… he’d have to go to the free clinic again for another de-lousing. Must’ve gotten too close to one of the oldsters at the soup kitchen again.

Jake made sure to avoid the streetlights as he made his way down Peachtree Street. Despite being slim to the point of emaciation, Jake was a boy of nearly 18, with naturally clean features and thick, luxuriant black hair that drew the wrong kind of attention from passersby at this time of night.

The fact that he wasn’t exactly dressed to impress (a surplus Navy pea coat, stained jeans that had long since lost their knees, a black t-shirt that was so faded nobody knew what band it endorsed, and old converse sneakers that surprisingly were the right size) had never seemed to put off the freaks and perverts one ran into around here. Jake had gotten accustomed to the disturbing propositions he received, if not exactly comfortable with them. It was the times they didn’t take no for an answer he hated.

He’d been lucky so far, but that was because he’d learned early on to hedge his bets… he kept an old straight razor in his pocket and was quick to brandish it at the first sign of trouble. The older men who usually prompted such a reaction generally avoided someone with the will and the means to fight back.

Jake started scratching at his scalp harder. This is a bad one, he thought. I think this is the worst it’s ever been.

Jake started moving faster, picking up his pace. After a few blocks he debated using the last of his carefully hoarded cash to try to get a cab to the clinic. After all, after they shaved him bald he could probably sell the hair to a wigmaker. He’d heard a few of the other homeless people discussing that at the clinic last time, and he knew hair like his would probably fetch a decent price. Of course, the cab fare was less money to go to food, which was just about the most precious commodity around. He started scratching harder, and the itching on his head began to feel more like burning.

Screw this… never find a cab at a time like this anyway. Jake started jogging, and soon saw the clinic up ahead, through the now lessening rain. As he approached, he reached up again to scratch his scalp and felt a few strands of hair come away in his hand. Looking down in the light shining through the doors of the clinic, he saw the hair wash away from his hand in the drizzle, along with what could only be blood.

Jake shuffled in, surprised to see that there were a few people in the waiting room. He strode up to the counter and the tired-looking, elderly woman behind it. Thick, horn-rimmed glasses were perched on her nose and a chain hung pendulously down from them to drape around her neck. She barely glanced up at him before picking up a clipboard and beginning to scribble on it.

“Name?”
“Uh… Jake. Jake Revard.”
“Do you have any insurance?”
”No, ma’am.”
“What’s your situation?”
”My scalp itches pretty bad… I think it’s lice.”
“Sign here. Alright… have a seat.”

Jake went to sit in one of the old, molded plastic chairs and tried valiantly not to scratch at his head. He didn’t want to pull any more hair if he could help it. Jake started looking around to find anything to distract himself from the discomfort, and so he saw the silhouette through the rain-spattered doors before the figure walked into the clinic’s lobby.

The black man was tall… huge even. Jake wouldn’t be surprised if he topped six and a half feet. He was a gaunt figure, with sunken, yellowed eyes and rawboned features. He wore an old, moth-eaten suit of brown corduroy, and a ratty felt fedora of the same color, with an incongruous orange feather tucked into the hatband.

Jake knew, as one always knows in these situations, that the man was going to come and sit next to him, despite the fact that there were easily a dozen empty chairs, none of which would be uncomfortably close to someone who obviously didn’t feel like engaging any oversized strangers in conversation. And with the dread one feels when watching a morbidly prophetic vision occur before one’s eyes, Jake watched the man walk up to the counter, murmur, and then turn and approach Jake’s seat.

Just as Jake felt he was going to be harassed, the lady behind the counter raised her voice.

“Jake Revard? The doctor will see you now.”

Jake didn’t even bother hiding his relief as he rose from his chair, and gave the jolly brown giant a wide berth as he passed him to enter the door next to the counter. He’d been here before, so he knew that they’d leave open the door to the room they wanted him to wait in. Besides, it wasn’t like there was much chance of getting lost… they only had two examination rooms.

Jake entered the first, seeing that the room was open and unoccupied, and sat on the rickety, padded table. Doing everything in his power not to scratch, Jake thought to himself, Whoever said it’s lonely at the top should’ve spent a few days on the bottom.

Looking back, Jake tried for the thousandth time to determine exactly why he’d ended up where he was. He knew what he’d done to get here… just not what prompted the decisions he’d made that had set him on his downward slide.


* * * * *

Jake opened his eyes and sat up, wiping at his face. After a few moments, he grinned and hopped out of bed. It was his seventeenth birthday today. And while it was a year later than the more privileged kids at school, Jake felt sure that today was the day his parents would gift him with his own wheels. Freedom.

Jake rushed through his ablutions, brushing his teeth and shaving off the three hairs that had finally sprouted on his cheeks with a will his parents would’ve been glad to see him apply to more academic ventures. He quickly dressed himself and ran downstairs to the kitchen, practically falling into his seat at the table.

Jake looked around curiously. “Mom, where’s Dad?”

His mother looked up from the counter where she was assembling Jake’s plate of food. “He’s gone to work, Jake. You know he has to be there by seven.”

“Oh… okay. I just thought…”

“Oh, honey, I know… it’s your birthday. Your father wanted to be here but he had to get there early today for the morning meeting. You know he has one every Monday.”

Jake said nothing, simply looking down at the plate his mother slid in front of him. His bright, cheerful day had suddenly become drab and colorless. Jake knew that if his parents were going to give him a car, it would be on his birthday. If they gave it to him today, it would be in the morning, so he could drive it to school. If they were going to give it to him this morning, his father would be here. So no father, no car. No birthday. Another year of walking.

“Jake, honey? Eat your food, dear, before it gets cold… you’ll miss the bus if you wait too long.” Looking up, she smiled at him. “Oh, Jake… your father will be here for dinner and we’ll do your birthday then, okay?”

“’Kay.” Jake scooted the food around his plate, only eating a few bites, before he looked up at his mother. She didn’t care about him. She was oblivious to his plight. A 17-year-old… seventeen… riding the bus… it was pathetic. And she wondered why he never went out on dates. No girl would date a guy who had to ride the bus to school.

Angry at his parents for not taking their son’s life into consideration in their busy schedules, Jake got up and stalked from the house, barely avoiding slamming the door. As he stormed down the driveway, he muttered to himself “Why must things never go my way? Getting a car at the same age as everyone else in the country gets one… is that too much to ask? I’m not asking for a sports car or a limo… just something that rolls!”

Jake realized he’d been shouting, and stopped in his tracks, fuming. All he wanted was a little freedom. What was it his father used to say about freedom, when he was feeling patriotic? “Freedom wasn’t given to us… we earned it. We took it.” Well, Jake would take his own freedom. He stopped at the end of the street and looked right, at the bus stop. He could see the other neighborhood kids, all fifteen or younger, standing around giggling and being stupid and immature. He looked left, and saw the road that led to the interstate, and into Atlanta. He didn’t even have to think twice. He stepped away from the curb and turned, letting the children’s laughter fade behind him as he stalked away from his horrible life.


* * * * *

Jake rubbed his eyes and realized he was crying. God, he thought, I’m such an idiot! How could I have believed that that life was bad enough to run away from?

Jake had talked to a few of the other bums in his area… people who’d had abusive spouses or parents, people who’d been molested or were running from the law or had lost their battle with drugs and had lost their families in the process. And he’d run away because his family wouldn’t buy him a car. I deserve everything I’ve gotten.

He glanced up at the clock and saw that he’d been in the room for almost 15 minutes with no doctor. Why do they tell you the doctor’s ready when they’re not? Why don’t they just say “The doctor’s ready for you to go into a different room and wait some more?”

Glancing just below the clock, Jake blinked in shock as he realized that it was his birthday. He’d been a runaway for one year today. Wow, he thought, what a great birthday present… a de-lousing.

The thought made his scalp itch even more, and Jake was just about to give up and go at it when he heard heels clicking down the hall.