I Made It Chapter 1

“I made it!” I scream over the sound of the waves and the seagulls screeching as they dip down to get their dinner from the ocean. After two long years of stealing, dealing, dodging, sleeping under bridges, and lying to everyone I know, finally, I am here—the southernmost point of the United States of America, only ninety miles from Cuba: Key West, Florida.

I follow the crowds as they all gather to Mallory Square to watch the infamous sunset. As I sit on the concrete edge, I notice the sign ‘No Swimming’. I wonder how many people have jumped in the water. How many people, like me, couldn’t contain their excitement about being right here in this spot. The couple beside me stare and whisper. “Wow, ever heard of soap?” I know they are talking about me, I haven’t had a shower in two weeks. You can only clean so well in the sink of a gas station bathroom; only to put dirty, stinky clothes right back on. I don’t let them kill my joy. I simply slide over a few inches and fix my eyes on the miracle in front of me.

The sun seems to expand over the entire sky. It feels so close. Like someone with a paintbrush, colors spread like water colors all around the sun. Strokes of blues, pinks, oranges, golds, transform the sky into God’s abstract art. People of all walks of life watch in total awe at the beauty before us. The ocean surrounds us as far as the eye can see. I feel like I am on the edge of the Earth.

After watching the sun disappear completely, I try to burn that image into my mind forever. People that had been sitting beside me, on either side, had long began to stand and leave. A voice behind me had me standing as well.

“I can’t hear you!” A crowd of people began to cheer and holler as the voice prompted them.

I walk towards the voice, but can’t see who it belongs to. A crowd of at least a hundred people swamp the voice—more coming still.  Instead of trying to push my way closer, I decide to walk further away, up a slight hill, in hopes of seeing the show. I pass by a restaurant with outdoor seating and a band. The smell of fresh baked potato and flame broiled steaks fills my nose. My stomach aches for just a bite. The last time I had a real meal…well, honestly, I can’t remember. The last thing was scraps of a sandwich someone had thrown away in a trash can at a bus stop. I had to choose between food and a bus ticket to get me the rest of the way here. The ticket won.

Finally, though still not very well, I can see the source of the voice. He looks to be about twenty five with dirty blonde hair, currently dripping with sweat. I can’t see if he has any facial hair, but I can tell he is standing on a board that balances on a barrel. Without his shirt on, I can see that he has several tattoos, but I can’t tell what they are. Behind him ships, bigger than I have ever seen, seem to be coming in to join the crowd. “I need someone from the audience to help me.” Three dozen or more hands lift high in the air begging this stranger to allow them to help him, and they don’t even know what he wants them to do.

To my right, I notice that the iron fence, surrounding the restaurant, has two white cement columns on either side. With little to no energy, I use every bit of the strength I can find, to pull myself to the top of that column. Dozens of people, every shape, size, and color walk under me, only a slight few even notice me here. “Okay, sexy now throw them to me!” I look back to the guy on the barrel. A tall, skinny red head with the face of a porcelain doll, starts to throw the huge knives at him, as he balances, over handed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, throw them underhanded doll! I don’t want this to be my last show.”

The crowd laughs. They croon as the guy catches all four knives tossed to him, juggling the sharp blades. I hear him explain that he has grown up on this pier. He has lived in Key West his entire life preforming for travelers, and visitors since he was only five years old. He even included personal details like “This is my one and only source of income, so please, as I pass this old pillow case around, every dollar helps.” I watch as people push each other to get to his pillow case. Fighting to give him money. It was the most amazing thing I have ever seen before.

For the last two years, since the day I left North Carolina, I have been perfecting the art, if you will, of stealing. I only take what I need to survive, either way it’s stealing. This guy has people running him down to give him money. Of course, he has a talent. I don’t.

The crowd disperses as he puts all of his stuff back inside a trunk on wheels. Once everyone is gone, the small carts that lined the square began to pull all of their merchandise inside and talk amongst each other.

“Jacob! How’d you do tonight?” The man selling drinks made of a gutted pineapple filled with liquor and pieces of fruit, topped with an umbrella called to the balancing act.

“Better than a weekend!” Jacob takes the cigarette out of his mouth and pulls a tank top over his head. Grabbing his trunk, he rolls it over to the pineapple guy. I can no longer hear what they are saying. I watch the lady with the beaded jewelry, cover each row on her cart with a black velvet sheet, and close it like a cabinet on wheels. Once she unplugs her lights, she begins to push it towards the main road. One after another, carts of all types leave.

“See ya, later, Shark.” Jacob calls the pineapple guy. I watch Jacob pull his trunk in one hand, pineapple in the other, towards the hill. He is going to walk right under me.

“Hey, Jacob, you ready?” The red headed “volunteer” calls from a half a block away.

“Coming!” He yells, just as he is about to walk under me.

Jacob sets the pineapple down, by the fence and walks towards the road. I can see the huge chunks of fruit that fills the huge pineapple shell. Confused, I look back at Jacob. His eyes are on me. He lifts his chin and smiles making a piece of his hair fall in his eye.

The redhead seems to come out of the shadows, and wraps her arms around his neck. He breaks eye contact with me and walks off, towards the main road, laughing and talking with his volunteer in his arm. I slide down the fence and grab the pineapple. I barely taste the huge chunks of pineapple, watermelon, and cantaloupe as I swallow them without chewing. The little umbrella, I twirl in my fingers, as I eat every part possible and drink the liquor without hesitation. My belly feels full and warm. My head a bit fuzzy, but good. So much better than empty.

Come two o’clock, in the morning, the restaurant closes leaving me completely alone. Pulling my saddle bag from around my side, I use a sweatshirt for a pillow and a bath towel, from a hotel, as a blanket. The concrete slab everyone had sit on to watch the sun set, will be my bed for tonight. With no fence or protection to keep me from rolling into the water, I should be concerned. But, if I am to roll off into the ocean, I know I will die happy, and full—I made it!