Sweet Soul

The world growing darker and darker.

I pushed my legs to run through packs of students milling around campus. I kept my head down and the wallet clutched close to my chest. I hated crowds. I didn’t do well with people. I couldn’t take their assessing eyes, their judgment as they watched me. But then to these people I was nothing. When you had no home and lived rough on the streets, they forgot that you were also human.

Human, and utterly lost.

Breaking free from the overwhelming campus, I ran over a busy road, the heavy rain beginning to seep into my bones, the coldness from the chilly wind slapping at my boiling cheeks. The chill brought a momentary reprieve from the fever burning in my blood. I prayed that I had a warmer coat than an old leather jacket to keep me warm, but then it was quickly forgotten. I learned a long time ago that prayers were never answered. I was convinced they were never even heard. A fact I found ironic, considering I never opened my mouth to voice my thoughts aloud.

Lifting my eyes to peer out under the protection of my hood, I noted that I was only a few hundred yards from the alley in which I stayed. Slowing to a fast walk, I flinched as I coughed, my chest burning; my lungs felt on fire at the simple reflex action. I was sick again, but this time I knew it was worse. I couldn’t shake off this flu; this flu that wouldn’t go away.

Beginning to feel the early signs of the fever at the back of my neck, I wrapped my arms around my chest. I quickly turned left and entered the narrow alley. I walked past the dumpsters from the deli beside me and stopped at the back right corner. I stared at the old wet blankets and, feeling overwhelmingly weak, sat down and pulled the itchy damp wool over my body.

I huddled against the wall, attempting to get warm. The rain poured heavier and heavier with every passing minute. At least the slight sloped roof from the deli shielded the majority of the rain. But no matter how small I made myself, I felt no warmth. The icy cold constantly lapped over my skin.

It was funny, but with this amount of time spent back on the streets, it was easy to forget what warmth felt like at all. Good warmth, that is. Cozy, safe warmth. Not the searing consuming heat that came with fever.

Taking my hand out from beneath the blankets, the one still clutching the leather wallet, I snapped open the clasp and looked inside. I prayed and prayed that I would find money. The last few wallets I’d taken had held nothing of value. But I’d watched the boy this wallet belonged to today. I’d watched as he drove to the campus in a brand new fancy Jeep. Watched as the handsome boy with fair hair, olive skin and big gray eyes walked into the Husky stadium’s huge locker room, wearing only the best clothes. He was wealthy. Wealth normally equaled cash.

My trembling hands parted the leather of the wallet, and my heart immediately fell. There was no cash inside. There were cards, but nothing I could use to buy food, to eat, nothing to use to win back some strength.

Desperate scalding tears filled my eyes and fell to join the raindrops on my thinning blankets. Realization hit that I’d be going without food, again.

I moved to throw the useless wallet away when, just as it tipped upside down, something fell to the ground, obviously from a hidden compartment. Looking down, my eyes focused on what looked like a necklace lying on the wet ground at my side.

Reaching down, I picked up the necklace, noticing an old tarnished cross dangling from old scratched wooden brown beads. It wasn’t a necklace; it was an old set of rosary beads.

I held it up to the light, turning it in my hand. A small smile etched on my lips. Although old, they were beautiful.

Laying the rosary on my lap, I delicately ran my fingertips over each scratched and worn out bead, down to the cross at the bottom. There, in heavy silver, was the image of Jesus dying on the cross. I didn’t know why, but the sight of this obviously well used rosary brought tears to my eyes, and a harsh sting to my heart.

Instinctively, I lifted my hand to the locket hidden well beneath my hoodie and took a deep breath. This, my simple gold locket, was all I had left. The only link I had to her, to my past. It was my most treasured possession. The only possession I had.

The image of the boy in the locker room sprung to mind and my stomach instantly fell. This was his rosary. I’d taken his rosary; something that probably meant a great deal to him.

Leaving the rosary on my lap, I opened the wallet again, and there in the clear center pocket was the boy’s face. Pulling the driving license from the wallet, I read his name: Levi Carillo.

Levi Carillo.

My thumb ran over his serious face and, even in this cold, my cheeks filled with heat. He was beautiful. Rich and handsome—he had it all.

As I went to put the card next to the rosary, I noticed something else had fallen out with the license.

A photograph.

With cold fingers, I lifted the old faded picture from the sodden blanket and raised it up to the light. My heart clenched as my eyes beheld a picture of a beautiful brunette woman balancing a young boy on her lap. A boy that looked no older than three or four. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, and she was smiling down at him so big. The young boy was shy in front of the camera, but his sweet bashful face was filled with a timid ghost of a smile.

But it was those eyes, those big bright gray eyes standing out like moonbeams from the boy’s tanned skin; they linked him to the older boy I’d stolen from today.

Levi Carillo. Aged twenty. Seattle.

Sighing, my head rocked back gently against the wall of the deli. As I smelled the food cooking inside, my stomach ached and growled in starvation. Holding out my hand, I stared at the dirt-ridden skin covering my fingers. Fingers that used to be full and healthy, now all dull skin and mostly bone.

I jumped when the back door of the deli opened. Huddling into the dark shadow of the corner, I watched from under my hood as a worker from the deli emptied a trash can into the dumpster. The man startled when he looked my way. With a look of distain on his face, he slammed the dumpster shut and re-entered the warm deli.

Picking myself off the cold hard floor, I got to my feet and quietly made my way to the dumpster. Using all the strength I had, my forehead now ice cold, my body racked with convulsing shivers, I opened the dumpster and peered inside. My heart dropped when I saw most of what was being thrown away was unsalvageable or inedible. But relief hit when underneath used white coffee filters, was a half eaten baguette. Reaching inside, I pulled out the stale bread and hurried back to my corner.

Minutes later, and tucked underneath my blankets, I forced myself to eat the hard bread. By the third mouthful, nausea from my fever began to take hold. I dropped the baguette and helplessly fought the rush of tears.