I woke up for the second time. This time, no one was there.

My cat had finally turned up though. The fat chunk of mass was nestled right in between my legs and my stomach, as my subconscious had always favored the fetal position. Then, I smelt something. Something really strong was coming from the kitchen. It smelt like my grandmas cooking, which was a strange thing to think about since she had been dead for 10 years.

I got up, petting my cat thanking for her return, and put on my robe. I walked into the kitchen expecting to see the 200 pound lady I had once known, and instead it was a more recent familiar face. Raleigh.

He was cooking bacon, which made me extremely happy, since I had bought the bacon for an extremely vulnerable day. Today was the most perfect day to whip out bacon. I was immediately moved by this act of giving. I wasn't surprised because of my current state, but something about a man cooking for me made me emotional.

"Oh, you're cooking."

He turned around quickly.

"Yeah, I thought you might be hungry. It's twelve o' clock."

"It is. Wow, I usually don't sleep this long."

"Me either."

He smiled.

"Maybe it's because of all of the heart to heart."

He smiled again.

"What do you want to do today?"

"I don't know."

"It's Christmas day. If you could do anything on Christmas day, what would it be?"

I thought about that question. I was never really sure about anything these days. Christmas was the day where I was suppose to be doing something, something meaningful. I thought about God, this was his day today after all. Jesus was the one everyone, well almost everyone, was celebrating. What do the people who don't believe in God do every Christmas? How could they ignore everyone else's impending beliefs, and the fact everyone is celebrating and taking a vacation? Do they spend the free time hating every one else, and gloat in the fact that they know better? I didn't know, I didn't really believe in anything. Sure I felt like there was something bigger, actually I knew there was something bigger. I also felt from time to time that someone was always watching me, maybe that was God. In some sense.

Then I thought about Daniel. I wondered what he was doing. I tried to banish the thought out of my head and not care, but I always couldn't help it. He had somehow in the four year time span weaseled himself into my thoughts. I wondered if he would ever escape.

I imagined that he was spending it alone, sitting at an empty table eating a microwavable turkey. I got a special pleasure out of these thoughts. But I knew better, he had an amazing family. That's one thing I envied about him. He had a family that was inseparable, a family that could trace their lineage back centuries. I couldn't trace mine back 70 years. They were loving, and loved me, once. Like he did.

Then it came to me. It's A Wonderful Life.

"I want to watch It's A Wonderful Life."

"Great! That's one of my favorites."

"Really?"

"Well yes and no."

-

An hour later, we were sitting on the couch watching George chase Marry into her rotten old house.

"I always hated George."

Raleigh said.

"He is such an idiot really. I mean he has no idea what he really has, a great wife, a family. He sells himself short his entire life by thinking he is worthless. Such a tragedy."

"That's one of the reasons why I hate and love it."

"Because it's a-

"Classic."

We both said it together at the same time, and laughed.

"I wish I existed back then. It must of been such an exciting time to be alive in the time when movies were fresh and real."

"Yeah, these really are the best ones."

"You must not watch the ones today."

"Yeah, I saw one recently, but it really just got me down. Why do you say that?"

"I just assumed, I guess."

He shrugged.

"How do you know so much about these movies anyway?"

"I'm a fan too."

"That's good."

The time of day was dwindling down, and the light was fading.

"Where are you staying Raleigh?"

"Some Hotel."

"Which one?"

"The Governor."

"What? That's like one of the nicest hotel's here."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"It's really stingy to me. There is nothing I hate most than a nice hotel, and an empty room."

"Why are you here?"

"I want to be."

"That doesn't really answer my question."

"What do you want to know Molly?"

I wanted to know everything, everything about him. I couldn't bare to ask though, I wanted to hold onto what he had shared in our friendship. The not knowing made everything better.

"Nothing, I guess."

Before he could say anything a key in the lock began to jiggle. We both lurched our heads over to see Laurel rush into the house and throw her things down on the floor in a rage. I could see that she was crying.

"Laurel? Laurel, what's wrong? What are you doing here so early?"

She looked at me, and paused before the words came out of her mouth.

"It's over, all of it. The wedding. I can't handle it anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

Without seeing Raleigh, she rushed up to her bedroom. I looked back at Raleigh, and he just hit me a concerned smile.

"I better, uh, I better go up there."

I said.

"Ok, just let me know if you need me."

His concern still left me in a bamboozlement.

I walked up the stairs and entered her room slowly. She was lying on her bed, back against the bed frame staring into space. I sat down next to her, and looked into her wet eyes.

"Laurel, what happened?"

"Huh, look at me. Now I am just like you, or we are one in the same."

Her words hurt a little, but I knew she didn't mean harm.

"What are you talking about? Why is it over?"

"He doesn't want to marry me."

"What? That's crazy."

"You know his mom, she's never liked me, she's straight from hell, and now this."

It was true. Mark had an amazing family, but his mother was a pill. The rotten kind I would be scared to have as a distant relative, let alone a mother-in-law. Since Laurel started dating mark three years ago she had always put Laurel on the back burner, giving her sarcastic compliments, and treating her like shit, to be frank. She would schedule family occasions without her like she didn't exist. And now, with the wedding, she had recently pretended like Laurel was a saint. I had wondered what she had done this time.

"What happened?"

"They're getting a divorce Molly."
"Mark's parents?"
"Yes. His father wasn't there for dinner. His mother decided to announce right after the toast to our engagement."
"What did Mark do?"
"All hell broke loose. Mark started fighting with his mother, telling her how much of a Agathe she really is. Everyone left. He told me he couldn't handle it, he couldn't handle everything. He told me he couldn't get married anymore, and that he didn't see how he could with his parents splitting up. I don't know what to do Molly. I-"

I grabbed her and she landed in my lap crying soft tears.

"It's Okay. Everything will be okay."

Somehow, I believed my own words. They struck me like an oncoming truck without warning. Okay? How could it be so, with so much trouble, and so much heartbreak? How is one suppose to learn how to go about their daily lives again?

It will be okay.

Somehow, I knew it would, and it only had taken me this long to believe it.

I woke up. It was morning, Christmas Morning in fact.

I felt like running into the living room like I had done so many years ago to the gifts under the tree. My family would be there waiting for me, since I was always the last one to wake up, and smells of bacon and eggs would be steaming from the kitchen. My mother would guard the kitchen, and hide the bacon from me so I couldn't eat it all. I knew though, that this time, there would be no gifts under the tree, and my family was miles away having breakfast or lunch with their new families.

I didn't have anyone today. Even my fat cat was indisposed. Hiding somewhere, and probably napping. She usually thought it funny to wake me up by biting my nose each morning, but this time there was no waking up to sudden outbursts of pain.

Then I remembered. Raleigh was here, or was he?

I turned around, and saw his closed eyes. He was completely asleep, and silent. His face was perfect and puffy. I smiled, and restrained from laughing so he wouldn't wake up. I felt so strange. I felt comfortable, when I should of been weird-ed out, or felt something else I'm sure, but again calmness remained. I felt like he belonged here in the house, like he was an old nick knack or family heirloom. He still had a completely stoic nature about him, but in this moment, he seemed warmer than usual. He reminded my of my deceased grandma. Not the fact that he was still, but rather the fact that he screamed warmth.

Then I realized I was an observer, or maybe even a creeper. I was invading his personal space, when one should be let lone to sleep in peace. You shouldn't stare at someone when they are asleep, right? Then why was it so tempting? I couldn't seem to look away, nor leave him.

That's when he opened his eyes.

I almost turned away, but his sudden stare was compelling. He was quiet, we were quiet.

"Good morning."

He said.

"Morning."

Silence.

I found it funny how silence was changing in my mind now. With Daniel, for instance, silence was the worst thing that could of ever of happened. It was deadly. Glances of silent hatred would remain. With Raleigh, it was different. Everything seemed different, stranger, but better.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

I hesitated. I remembered the night before. I almost felt like slamming my head in my pillow and kicking, remembering how much of a pathetic ass I had been, and he had been there to witness it all.

"Ok. Good. Better."
"Three times better."

He smiled.

"Oh, it's Christmas Morning, isn't it?"
"Yes."

I said.

"What do you usually do on Christmas mornings?"

I remembered my family, then frowned.

"Spend it with my family I suppose."
"Well, then I guess we'll have to settle for each other."

I smiled.

"What's your family like?"

He asked.

This time, I didn't hesitate. I knew I didn't want to tell him, but I had felt like he had earned at least that answer after last night.

"We are all divorced and separated. My mother and father, they decided they couldn't stand each other after 25 years, so they divorced. My father now is remarried, to an okay person, and he is happy. My mother, she is a little scandalous because of her mid life crisis, and seems to have a new boyfriend every Christmas, but that makes her happy. So I guess I've learned to spend Christmas alone now. I usually have Laurel, my roommate, but she's now in the process of creating a family of her own."

"Wow."
"What?"

I was sure he thought I was pathetic now, if last night didn't suffice.

"Your family sounds exactly like mine."
"Really?"

"Yes. Sometimes, well, sometimes I feel like we are the same person. Except you are the pretty version."

Without thinking of his remark, my brain farted.

"Oh no, are you kidding? You could be in a Baroque painting."

"What?"

"Yes."

"So you think that I'd be in the back of some rembrandt painting?"

"You know about those paintings?"

"I'm from Europe."

"I've been to Europe, not England, but when I went a lot of the people didn't know anything about their history, except the fact that it was all around them."

"Yeah I suppose you're right. We are always fascinated by other places, apart form where we are from."

"Are you attracted to the horrible U.S.?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"For a lot of reasons, but something here keeps drawing me back."

"What?"

"The quiet. It so serene here."

Something inside of me frowned. I felt like slapping myself for being a girl, but then I remembered I hated love. I wanted nothing to do with it.

"Then there is the company."

I smiled, glad he said something, but also afraid now. He was looking straight into my eyes. I wanted to look away, but his stare was intense. He took his hand and very slowly started stroking my hair, and bangs from my eyes. Touch, touch was scary, so I finally looked down and away. He saw my fear, and I could feel the question slowly arising.

"Molly, What happened to you?"

I looked up now, slowly. I wanted to lie to him, tell him my fiance died of cancer, my mother had been hit by a car, hell, that I had been hit by a car, but I couldn't lie to one of the only innocent friendships in my life.

"My heart's broken."

His eyes weren't surprised, I knew he already knew that, but they were still caring.

"Who did it?"

"Someone close. His name was Daniel. We dated for four years, most of my natural adult life. All wasted."

"That's a long time."

"Yeah."

"I wouldn't call it wasted though."

"Why?"

"Because you are you."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"You're wonderful Molly."

"No I'm not."

He laughed at my stubbornness. I sighed, and almost hair-balled at his remark. He touched my hair again, then slowly rapped his arms around me.

"You are."

He said.

"You are."

I sighed again. He was releasing my stress, and it was extremely comforting. I put my arms around his, and began to tear up.

"I'm not, but its nice to have someone lie to me out of niceness."

I walked back home in the cold again.
Somehow the cold didn't seem as cold anymore, but everything else did. Life had taken a turn, or had changed a season, and I wasn't able to recognize it anymore. I felt horrible.

Tears were slowly moving onto my face. Slowly, but surely.

I didn't want to go home. Home reminded me that I had no one tonight. I remembered where I went the last time when I felt like I couldn't go home. I smiled.

I walked to Powell's.

It wasn't closing yet, but it soon would be. It was getting even darker every minute outside. I knew where I wanted to go, so I walked up to the same place. Some people were staring, and some avid shoppers didn't even notice as they were trying to get their last minute gifts done. I wondered at how high of a level of pathetic I had hit.

I reached the top of the stairs, and walked over to my book isle. I was waiting to see the place where Raleigh had once come to rescue me. I turned the corner, and instead of seeing a vacant floor, I saw someone.

He turned.

I sighed in relief. It was Raleigh. I was almost unsure as to if I was now going crazy in my grief. Was I really seeing him?

"Molly?"

It was him. He was speaking to me. He sat on the floor, at first staring ahead of him. He sat on our spot.

"What are you doing here?"

I smiled. I remembered I had tears on my face, and was almost embarrassed to look at him.
He walked over, almost ran to me. He looked at me in confusion, and took his finger and wiped my cheek.

"Why are you crying, and why are you here on Christmas eve? Don't you have a place to be?"
"Excuse me? I should be asking you the same thing, well, except for the crying part."

I began to laugh through my tears, which probably wasn't very attractive.

"I-I had to come."

He said.

"I couldn't be in London anymore. I knew it was Holiday, but I just had to get away."
"I wish I could of done the same thing."

He looked at me and smiled that smile. Then he motioned his hand over to the spot on the floor.

"Would you like to join me?"

He said it in a matter-of-fact voice, almost like a concierge.

"Huh, yes I think I would."

Then he grabbed my hand. It burned. It burned in an instant warmth. My hands had been freezing, and I didn't even realize it.
We sat down on the hard cement floor. I rested my head on his shoulder.
Then out of no where I started crying harder. I couldn't help it. I had felt so lost tonight until now. I couldn't believe what was happening. I had been rescued again, and I was so grateful, but I felt so undeserving.

"Hey, hey."

Raleigh looked down at me.

"It's okay."

I knew he was wrong, but I still believed him. I really wanted to believe him.
-



We walked back to the town house once the store lights were flickering, and employees were leaving. He was still holding my hand. All the way there we were silent. It seemed as if we didn't need to say anything, and I felt like I couldn't anyway. I led the way, but he walked so close he could of been accused of hovering.

I didn't feel so lost anymore.

When we reached the porch, he asked me for my keys. I suddenly realized I was handing my keys to a complete stranger, well almost anyway. I couldn't believe he was a stranger though, his eyes were warm and sincere, and I didn't feel paranoid when I was with him. He knew me almost. Even if we had only met once. He was there when I needed someone, and maybe he felt the same way about me, for whatever reason.

"Nice place."

He said. He seemed uptight, as if he didn't belong, but I also figured he knew he should stick around for me, for my sake. I felt pathetic again. At this time, I didn't care who was with me. I just needed someone. To my surprise, it wasn't just anyone, it was Raleigh.

I didn't respond to him. I just went over to our sofa and collapsed on it's hard cushions. I could see him staring at me from the corner of my eye.

I thought about John. I wondered if I would become like him, so completely alone. Driven by grief. I started crying again.

Instead of leaving me, or standing around awkwardly, Raleigh slowly came over. He sat down next to my sprawled out body, and took his hands and placed one at my side and then the other through my tangled hair. He did this extremely slow, he wasn't sure if it was okay, but it didn't feel wrong so I said nothing.

"What happened, Molly?"

I was thinking about everything again. I couldn't really find any words.

"Why are you alone on Christmas?"

"Everyone I know has somewhere they need to be. They have someone."

I shrugged.

"Even the soup kitchen didn't want me."

I sobbed. He chuckled a bit. Then put his backhand on the side of my face that was revealed.

"Well, I'm here. If you want me."

"Thank you."

I was grateful.

"How long are you here?"

"Well, for now, I'm here until you tell me to leave."

"Okay."

I needed something form him, but I hesitated. I didn't really care about what I was going to ask, but I wondered if he did. I sat up and looked at him.

"Raleigh?"

He looked back at me. He didn't reply, but instead he grabbed me and held me close. He knew what I wanted without even me having to say it. It was strange how well he knew me, without experience. Was it possible to know someone so well without having time with them?

I cried again. This time harder. I cried until I couldn't anymore, until my breathing had become scarce and my exhaustion had lured me into a sleep.

I felt him pick me up, and a door close. I felt my bed, my warm bed. I felt his hands lay me down, and then lift a blanket over me. I opened my eyes. He smiled at me.

He walked over to the other side of the bed, and laid down next to me over the blankets. I felt his arms slowly go over mine. Then his nose into my hair.

I felt safe. I didn't know how long it would last, but right now,

I didn't care.

Chapter 7.

I remembered when it happened. I was walking down the sidewalk in the pearl when I saw this guy who looked like his eyes were going to cave in. Regardless the fact that he was Asian, he was squinting his eyes like Robert De Niro, and making an obviously important business deal over the phone. I thought, "I want to draw him."

Then I kept on walking.

Later on I saw another person. A man holding a cat clinging to his chest. I still remember his thick black rimmed glasses, and the dazed look on his face. I probably had the same look too because he was holding a cat outside in the city. I thought, "I need to draw him."

I saw too many people that day. Too many interesting people, and I still remember each line of their faces, every dimple, and every interesting expression.

And then It then hit me,

I could draw anyone.

I felt empowered. Like I had a secret no one new, no one else but me. It was almost like realizing you had learned a new language (except I wasn't fluent in anything but Art). I was thinking like an artist, or that's at least what I had guessed.

I saw everything completely different.

I was different, but also the same. It was like I was what I was going to become. I was there, in the future. It was now.

I had never felt a high like that any other time in my life, until I had met John.

I had met with him every Saturday now, and things were starting to lighten on my chest.

I couldn't believe how fast time had gone, and the non existent school year that I had had. Completely non existent in fact. Life should of seemed extremely dissatisfying without school, but oddly enough it was strangely the opposite. I had a lot of time to reflect on my life, so I made an effort every day to fill it up with odd jobs and things to do.

John was a plus.

-

It was Christmas. Christmas Eve.
I knew this year I would be spending it alone, away from loved ones, or just a loved one. My family was away on Holiday, and Laurel was the only real friend I had. She was spending this year with her soon to be in laws and Mark, but the worst thing about it all wasn't the fact that she was going to be away for Christmas, but all of the wedding shit that was currently happening.

I never realized how much time and effort went into wedding planning. Of course, I hadn't been to a wedding since my father remarried, but that was at the court house. Short and sweet, idealistic really. I never thought anyone should wait as long as people do these days. They spend a year to years planning, 'The best day of their lives'.

When really isn't it the best day when you finally know who you want to marry? They should just do it, like on a whim when they know.

But Laurel saw it otherwise, and I loved her too much to append my opinions and advice on her like I had always did. So I refrained.

Another bad thing was how her parents ha been these past few months. No one really knew what was going on with them, but they had been acting funny. They weren't lively anymore, and they seemed sad all the time. I figured it was because they're one and only daughter was getting married.

So I was alone.

John had said he would be at the Rescue Mission today for their Christmas eve service, so I decided I would show up.

I walked there from our small town house in the cold. Snow left a micro thin sheet on the ground, the kind that everyone here freaked out about. It always made me laugh. Snow fall here on the news was like CNN the day Michael Jackson died. They always came up with new and interesting names for the snow, like 'Arctic Blast', or 'The Blizzard of the Decade'. These were some of the reasons why I never watched television anymore. Some people dread the snow thanks to them, instead of being grateful for the specks we got.

I had my boots on, the rugged kind that made me look like a wanna be bad ass. They were black too, so that helped.

Some people were running frantically through the city singing Christmas carols, but for the most part the city was quiet. Cold and quiet.

I made it to the mission, and noticed for one of the first times there was hardly anyone outside. Normally, homeless people of all ages were lined up or just hanging around. This time it was vacant, and the windows to the doors were lit with a serene warmth. It was welcoming. I felt like scrooge outside looking in on tiny time and his family. People were eating, tables were filled, and a Christmas service was going on.

I entered in quietly and took in what was around me. People of stature, and people who didn't even have a status except on the street were eating with one another. It was a strange sight, but at the same time oddly comforting. It was almost a glimpse of a picture of how the world could be if there really was such a thing as peace.

I saw John. He was sitting at the edge of a table listening to the service. I quietly walked over and sat across from him.

"Hi."

He looked over, and seemed happy and surprised to see me.

"Well, hello. What are you doing here?"

"I had a gift for you, and plus I'm kind of a loner."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I suppose that's another thing we have in common."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So what's this gift?"

I smiled, and pulled out a very shitty wrapped package from my bag and gave it to him.

"I thought you could, I don't know, reminisce."

He pulled the book out. His face became somber, but also appreciative. He stroked the cover. It was one of his books. His old publishing house had republished a nicer hard copy of it. It was called, "The Art of Rembrandt". When John had told me he wrote some books, I went out to search for them. I knew his name and where he was from, and what he had studied, so I started from there. I had never known that he minored in art history as well as English literature. I felt like we were more alike then we really realized.

"Where did you find this?"
"Online, I ordered it in."
"This was one of my first books. You know, this took me years to write, and to finally publish, but it was one of the first ones I knew I had to write about."

"You talk about Rembrandt as if you knew him."

"I used to feel like we were old friends."

"I never knew you liked art so much. You know, I do art, John."
"You do?"
"Ha yeah, I guess I'm so interested in you and your thoughts I never even thought about talking about myself."
"I knew you would with time."

I looked down. He was so understanding.

"John?"
"Yeah?"
"I found out something else."
"What?"

I didn't know how to say what I was going to say.

"Well, I- I found your family."

He looked down. I knew what was going through his head, he probably thought I was some horrible person who liked to get involved and control other peoples lives. Daniel had said I was like that once, and it had stuck with me...
A girl, or maybe just a person, never forgets something like that.

He looked back up, this time concerned.

"Where are they?"
"They are in Denver, Colorado. They have actually been looking for you."
"Have they?"
"Yes. It's in an old news report John. Do you want to tell me what really happened?"
"You must already know by now."

I stumbled into silence. His eyes were piercing, but extremely sad.

"Your daughter, Your daughter was killed, in a three car wreck."

He looked to the side now, his eyes were swelling.

"Your family didn't leave you John, you left them. They want you back."

He looked back at me, and his eyes were angry.

"I can't go back."
"Why not?"
"Because it was my fault."
"No it wasn't, John. I saw the news report, a tire gave out on an icy road? It was just a freak accident, they happen everyday."
"That day wasn't everyday. And it was my fault, I hadn't gone to get the tire fixed..."

He threw the book onto the table. Tears were falling now. I reached over and grabbed his hands, but he pulled them away. He stood up.

"Don't try to act like you know my life, like you know who I am."

With one look, he stormed away.

I was alone again, and I felt it.

Chapter 6 continued.

John went to the soup kitchen every Saturday. He told me it kept him still involved with people, and that he needed to eat every once and a while. I was inspired by him telling me everything the PRM (Portland Rescue Mission) offered. He estimated that more than 700 meals were given daily, and that clothes, and showers were open to people who stayed overnight.

"I can't stay there forever, so I guess every now and then when I get horribly dirty I go in."
"Don't they offer rehabilitation programs?"
"Yeah, they do."

I looked at him curiously, and he knew what I was thinking.

"Look, I don't have any drug problems or a problem with the way I live. I don't need anyone's pity, just a good meal every once in a while."

His anger was evident, but I still felt pity for him. I felt more of fear for him. His situation terrified me. My biggest fear was being who he was, or rather what he was. Alone with nothing. Alone with no one. Just alone.

In a way, were both alike in that respect. I had lost someone, but not nearly as bad as he so briefly stated. We both were abandoned. I began to look at myself differently when I was with him for that hour. I was pathetic. I had a place to live, I had an opportunity at success, and I had a dear friend who loved me. A friend who would never give up on me. I also had a cat who loved to hate to be close to me. Compared to him, I had everything.

But I still felt so alone.


Thinking of this, I suddenly had an urge.

"You go every Saturday there, right?"
"Yeah."
"Do you mind if I went with you this Saturday?"
"What the hell for?"
"I've always wanted to see the inside of that place, and you know, see the people I guess."
"I suppose we are a sight to see."

Chapter 6

Sometimes I think I lied to myself.
It was only four years ago, but I feel so old now. I look back at who I was in my mind and in some scraps of my writings, and I see someone else. I was way more passionate, more driven. Now I am dwindled to move on because of survival issues. Not because of love, which it once was for. It was just because I had someone who had once wanted me. If that was selfish or not, I don't know. Maybe all of those expectations I had once of myself diminished when that love was gone. I always thought that if

I

had love,

the romantic kind, that I would be invincible in my actions. Not because I was worthy or deserving, but because I had someone at the end of the day who believed I was. Or did, maybe, once.

But I see now, that love is something more.

I still have no full idea of what that may be, but now I have certain factors that are helping me define it.

Like:

Love is Blind.

Love shouldn't be selfish.

You shouldn't have to make excuses.

and

You shouldn't have to lie to yourself to make those excuses.

These enlightenment are the only things I can ever thank Daniel for.

-

"So, what did you do today?"

"Hung out with a Bum."

"What?"

"Nothing."

She wouldn't of believed me. I think every time we came in contact with someone begging on the streets together, I was the first to walk past them acting as if they didn't exist. But John was different. He wasn't begging, he was trying to be hidden. He didn't want to be found. Or did he? Maybe I was subconsciously drawn to him because I wanted to be found myself, like he did probably, only he was too polite to ask anyone for anything.

I later found out John had written several books, of all he said were complete crap. That was usually what I said about my art, so I liked him. Or I was mesmerized by him. Here I was, a nobody to myself, sitting with someone who was somebody, well, once. He gave advise on life and the world in one setting, almost as if he was an observer on some godly cloud hovering above. Which is probably what he had become. Just an observer, or maybe even a god, who knows. He probably saw life in a whole new light just by watching people all day go to their jobs, and get to their daily lives. Something he had had once.

I envied him. I could never see people the way he did, the way I knew he saw life. I was too occupied with myself, and how I wanted to be someone else.

"Sometimes you have to face the music, or say fuck it."

John had said.

At the same time, I felt an immense sadness for him as well. He had no home, no where to go. He was a drifter, as well as an observer. All of which was really fascinating. He left me with so many questions, both philosophical and just out of curiosity. I blame that on Art School as well. It always had me thinking conceptually, something I knew would never go away.

Questions like:

How does one leave his own life?

Is he forced?

How does one give up on himself completely?

I was in awe.

Chapter 5 continued.

I woke up.

Put on my comfort robe, made some coffee, and sat on the sofa.

I stared out the window.

"Molly, what are you doing?"

It was so tempting for today to be another one of those couch days, so tempting. But I knew for the better of me, I had better get up.

I got up. I Got dressed, and headed out the door.

I was walking, but I had no idea where I was going. So I went to Old Town, where wanderers go.

I couldn't believe how the city was so nice in the fall. Beyond nice. Everything, no matter how ugly, was now beautiful. The cold and the newly warm colors warmed me to my bones.

I was awfully close to the waterfront, watching early biking commuters running into early morning joggers. So I moved past them to get closer. The water was quiet and serene. When I looked into it, I could see my reflection. My face. The water was as still as it could of been, but my facing was moving. Moving in vast chunks, and never in one place. I felt like the water was the only one who truly saw me for who I was now. I wasn't me, I wasn't in one place. I was a mess of things I used to be, floating around, trying to put myself back together again.

I took one last glance and walked away.

I was walking on a sidewalk where nicely large bushes laid. I thought this made something man-made look more earthy, and thought it silly that we needed both environments in the same place. Then I saw something.

Something in the bushes.

It was a large lump, human size, with a blanket barely covering it. It didn't hit me at first, I thought it was a pile of garbage, but then I realized it was a person. It was so cold, but everything got colder at that point. I hesitated. I looked around me. People were farther away now. I knew then I had to do something. The thing I had waited for, maybe the thing that would make me normal again, had presented itself.

I hated homeless people. Not because of who they were, but what they represented. They represented the ultimate fear that was in my mind. Being alone, and not knowing where you belonged.

When I first started college, I was on my own. My parents were divorced, and I had lived with my father since I was fourteen. I had felt the sense of abandonment when I was younger, but not so much until I was finally legally an adult. On my birthday, my dad announced he wanted me out of the house. We had been close friends since the divorce, but when he pushed me out, I had never felt more alone or scared.

I bummed off of friends for months until I saved enough from my minimum wage job to move out in some ridiculously small space.

I thank him now, for forcing me to grow up. If I had not found my own way, I think I would still be stuck under his roof.

I bent down close, but not too close, to the person and whispered,

"Sir, excuse me, sir?"

Nothing.

"Sir?"

I gently put my palm on his back. I didn't need to nudge him, as soon as I did, he slowly came back to life.

"Ugh, don't worry, I'll be out of here soon."

His voice surprised me. I expected someone much older, but it seemed the guy was only middle aged, maybe younger.

"No sir, I'm not trying to move you. I was just wandering if you were alright."

The lump removed his blankets. I saw him now, a real person. He was a young man in his thirties, probably. He had a full grown beard, and long shaggy hair that outlined his face and eyes. His piercingly sad eyes held a hint of malice, maybe at the world, government, but at the moment, it was me.

"I'm fine. You can leave now."
"Are you sure there isn't something I can help you with?"
"No."
"Are you hungry?"
"I'm Homeless. I'm always hungry."
"Well, we are right by Stumptown Coffee. Do you want some coffee?"
"I can't go in there."

I felt horrible for him. He seemed like what I was on the inside, only I was clean and had a home. Behind the beard and the gruffness, I could tell he was somebody once. Someone who used to be handsome, and maybe even liked life when it was going his way.

"Well, how bout I get some food or something, and bring it back here to you?"

He was hesitant. I knew he wanted food, I could see it in his face, but even though he was a street man, he was polite.

"Um, if you want."
"Yeah. What would you like?"
"Whatever is cheap I guess, and maybe a coffee."
"What kind?"
"Black is fine."
"Great."

I ran away, I had a sudden burst of excited energy. At first I was unsure why, but then I realized I was overwhelmed with gratitude. This man had given me a purpose, even if momentarily, to not think of my own problems and issues.

I came back with the hot coffee, and a small regular doughnut. When I went to hand it to him, he just sort of looked at it for a minute as if it wasn't real. Then he took it slowly.

When he drank from the cup, his demeanor seemed to ease everywhere. He looked up at me.

"Thank you."

It was sincere.

"Not a lot of people would of done this."

"Yeah...To tell you the truth, in all honesty I'm surprised I even did."

I felt pathetic. Not for him, but for myself. He wasn't surprised though.

"Yeah, it's ok. A lot of people are self driven. That's just how it is here. I suppose we all should just move to Iceland."

"Why is that?"

"It's proven it's the happiest country on earth, because when people fail over there, it's accepted. It doesn't matter."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds perfect."

"There's no such thing."

"Yeah, I guess your right. But it's something desirable. Where did you hear about Iceland?"

"Something I read once..."

"Hmm."

There was a moment of silence. Not so much the deadly silence though, the one that means death. It was a nice silence. I suddenly realized at that moment I was sitting next to a bum who was eating my breakfast. It was so odd. So odd for me. I was sitting next to my biggest fear. He was what I never wanted to be, what I couldn't even look at most days. What I was afraid to look at.

"So what's your story?"

He said.

I almost laughed that he was the one asking me.

"My story?"

"Yeah, everyone has one. I hear almost a new one everyday. A lot of people tell me, even without me asking."

"Mine isn't very interesting."

"I'm sure it is."

I didn't know what to tell him. I didn't really feel anything. I was a dead beat.

"Well, maybe I'll tell you mine."

"I'd like that."

"I grew up in Boston, Massachusetts,"

I shrugged. Just the sound of the place...

"I had a nice family, they treated me well. Somehow, I hated them for it. So i left. I went to college. Got my master's in English Literature, had a family of my own, and they hated me like I hated mine. So they left me, and I left the world."

Silence.

"Wow."

"Yeah, that's life though isn't it?"

"I would hate to think so, but some things turn out really fucked up."

"Yeah."

"What's your name?"

"John."

"I'm Molly."

"It's a pleasure."