Charmed

In the cities they occupy, the homeless are as much a part of the community as any other group. They inhabit the wedge-space under every bridge and make nests behind fences near freeways; they establish tent cities beside train stations and turn playgrounds into drug spots. You don’t need to go downtown to see them. Even residents in wealthy neighborhoods catch glimpses of the homeless on random mornings when one pops up on the sidewalk outside of their homes. The transient ones always look confused, like they’ve just escaped abduction, and they move through the unfamiliar neighborhood on a chemical trail that pulls them back to a squalid patch of the city they call home. In Oakland, CA, Michael and Liz Shorebird unknowingly purchased a two-story loft directly across the street from such a patch.

The newlyweds used the large sum of money their parents gifted them on their wedding day as the down payment for the 6th Street loft. Their parents liked to think that if they’d known their children were going to buy in Oakland, they wouldn’t have spoiled them. However, their track record showed their kids lived charmed lives. Liz grew up in Orinda, CA, where the average listing price for a home was $1.7 million. Michael lived his childhood in Blackhawk, where the cost was $1.9million. The cities were a couple of the wealthiest in the East Bay. They were also a couple of the whitest. The racial makeup of each was 73% white, which meant both families rarely interacted with people who didn’t look like them. 

Michael and Liz decided they’d buy a home in Old Oakland the first time they went bar hopping in the historic downtown. They were at a bar called District that had extensive whiskey and wine offerings. They immediately liked how chandeliers and candles dimly lighted it and how its walls were stacked full of booze.

Michael was a whiskey man. He frequently drank the brown liquor with his father and father-in-law, even during the day, like he had something to prove. Liz enjoyed the sophistication of holding a wine glass the proper way and how her couture lipstick looked on the glass after she removed it from her lips the first time.

 Over a handful of drinks, they discussed their future together with great optimism. They talked about how their lives would be as if the things they desired were items on a Christmas list that they could have if they just wanted them badly enough. 

After a few more, Liz commented how much she loved it in Oakland, and then Michael suggested they buy a house there. They’d never talked about buying a home before, and they didn’t have the money for one, but they both wanted it, which seemed like enough. Over another round of drinks, they agreed that they were going to become residents of Oakland. They toasted to how easily they were able to make such a big decision. Life was effortless. 

At two in the morning on the first night in the loft, Liz was coaxed out of her sleep by the sound of men arguing. She laid there frightened, wide-eyed, and still. Her only focus was the threat of voices, and she listened hard. Most of the conversation was too distant to decipher; however, certain moments were audible enough for her to pick up a shouted line like, “You should love me!” Then the conversation would continue as it had been before, so all she could follow was its dull rhythm. She deemed it more of an annoyance than a threat and eventually fell back asleep. 

The loft took up the third and fourth floor of the six-story building and had massive eastward-facing windows. The sunrise forced them awake much earlier than they’d wanted, and their first statements of the day were complaints. They moaned about the brightness of the sun and their parents for not telling them they’d need blinds. So frustrated by how the day started, they immediately reached for their phones for relief. After thirty minutes of social media, they were ready to seize the day. They got out of bed, and as they descended their spiral staircase to the kitchen, Michael noted, “I feel like Batman.” 

The good vibes continued during their first breakfast in the loft, and afterward, when they’d poured more coffee, they walked closer to the massive window feeling bullish. The sun was even brighter than before, yet their opinions of it had changed. Liz rejoiced as she basked in the sun rays and squinted out the window, “We could easily start growing house plants here. I can be like a fashion plant blogger.” Despite her never having shown interest in house plants before, Michael thought that it seemed reasonable.

They’d never seen their street in the morning and were startled when they got close enough to the window to see what was happening at the park across the way. There was a group of five homeless men cleaning up camp. They were picking up their torn and soiled sleeping bags and putting them in the shopping carts that surrounded them. The carts contained all of their belongings and looked just as worn and beaten as the men. Liz understood that it was the homeless who woke her the night before. Meanwhile, Michael was thinking of how he could make a little video of himself throwing a football from his loft’s window to a friend standing in the park. Then it occurred to him that he’d need the homeless to leave so he could film it. 

“Those were the guys I heard last night. ” Liz said. 

“I hope they’re not, like, living there.” Michael said, getting out his phone to take a picture. 

The Shorebirds each had cars, but they took their bikes around town to explore on that first day. As soon as they exited the parking garage, they noticed that Washington St. was closed. Busy-looking people were filming something.

“It’s like we’re in Hollywood!” Michael said as they rode their bikes as close as they could to the action. They didn’t see any actors, but there was no question that something was being filmed. They exchanged looks of satisfaction. Each felt cooler for living on a street that was worthy enough to be on camera. 

They rode down two blocks on 7th St. Then crossed Broadway and entered Chinatown. Four lanes became two because of illegally parked cars, but no one seemed to care. Many of the cars’ doors and trunks were open, exposing miscellaneous items for sale: electronics, watermelons, flowers, etc. All the buildings had Chinese characters on them, and the streets were flooded with people. They’d never seen so many Asians in one area. They slowly pedaled as they gawked at the vegetable and fruit stands that lined either side of the road. The couple felt like they were in another country, which was fine because they knew they were just a couple of minutes away from the safety of their home. Chinatown wasn’t a place they could see themselves frequenting, but they liked knowing that it was there for them to show off to their friends if needed.

At a stop sign on Webster, they made a left to go deeper into downtown. The Asian aesthetic thinned out over two blocks until it completed disappeared, and liquor stores, bars, tattoo shops, banks, and barbershops took over.

On Franklin, the buildings were tall enough to block the sun. The shadow’s darkness made the street cold, and the Shorebirds peddled faster. They saw a massive street art piece on the side of a building they passed; a giant elephant wearing a green and yellow iron man suit with the word “Athletics” on the chest plate. The Shorebirds knew it was referencing the baseball team but couldn’t think of anything else to say about the piece. 

Michael remembered a time in his youth when he was with his dad in the car. They were in traffic, and his father commented on a bridge that was covered in graffiti. There was so much that it seemed that the Department of Public Works had given up entirely on the idea of saving it. His dad told him the graffiti made everything look “Ghetto.” Michael tried to combat the memory, by telling Liz he liked the art, but he wasn’t sure he did.

At the intersection of 20th St. And Franklin, they took a right, and when their eyes raised from the road, they glimpsed at Lake Merritt in front of them. 

“Is that a lake?” Liz asked. 

“This is awesome.” Said, Michael. 

The sun had reappeared. Once again, it was on their backs and illuminated the street. They were reminded that it was still morning, and they had a full day in front of them. They felt wonderful. 

Suddenly a pickup two car lengths in front of them slammed on its breaks. The contents in the bed of the truck slammed against the cabin. Michael squeezed his front brake, and his back tire came off the ground. His whole body shuttered in fear as gravity toyed with throwing him over the handlebars. 

Liz couldn’t think as fast and instead tried to steer her way to safety, but the pickup was too close, and she didn’t clear its tailgate. Her exposed left thigh scraped the truck’s bumper. She immediately regretted wearing jean shorts. She put her right leg to the ground to try to balance, but it didn’t work, and so she lost control and nearly ran into a parked car before falling to the ground, her bike on top of her. 

“Are you ok?” The truck’s driver shouted out of the passenger side window. 

Michael came running over and laid his bike down behind her.

“Are you ok?” He asked, grabbing her bike and taking it off her.

“Is she ok?” The driver shouted again.

Liz sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. She had road rash on her forearms and scrapes on her knees and thigh.

She started to sob, “I’m ok.” 

“These homeless people are freaking crazy!” The driver shouted. 

Michael glanced over the front of the pickup and saw a homeless man with no shirt on. He was standing in the middle of the busy street and talking nonsense to himself.

Michael’s eyes darted back to Liz. 

“Babe, that was insane. Are you ok?” 

“I think I’m ok.” She said, still crying.

“Holy crap.” He said.

“You sure you’re ok?” The driver asked a final time.

“We’ll be ok.” Michael said as he helped Liz up and then took her and her bike to the sidewalk. When he turned around to get his bike, the pickup was driving away. 

“This sucks!” Liz fumed through tears. 

Michael pointed at the vagrant, who had crossed to the other side of the street, “That homeless guy was in the middle of the street. He could have got killed. That was crazy.” 

Liz glanced at the man then lowered herself onto the grass. They were at a park with picnic tables and a playground. The grass was freshly cut, and it seemed like a good place to rest for a moment until Liz sprung up and touched the seat of her pants. Her butt was soaking wet from the grass. 

“Dammit!” She said, getting up. 

Michael feared saying anything to her because he knew any comment could backfire. 

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” She called him out.

“I’m sorry.” He offered. 

Liz let out an angry sigh. 

“Can you ride?” Michael asked. 

Liz looked down at the wounds on her legs and forearms, which covered large areas but weren’t deep. They needed to be cleaned, and then they could heal. 

“Yea, let’s just go home.” She said, picking up her bike. 

“What time is it?” Michael more or less asked himself, and then after looking at his phone, answered, “It’s 11 a.m. Let’s go to this weed store real quick.”

“What?” Liz was in disbelief.

Soon they were both on their bikes peddling on the sidewalk. 

“Babe, please. It’s right up the street. Then we can go home, and you can get clean, and we can chill.” 

“No, Michael. I want to go home.” 

“Come on. It’s literally a few blocks.”

“I don’t want to go." Liz barked.

Michael was getting frustrated. He waited until they were passed a group of people and ordered, “We’re going to the weed store. It’s one of the cool things about living in Oakland. It will take a minute. Then we’ll go home.” 

Liz knew that there was no point in arguing with Michael anymore. He was stubborn when it came to simple comforts like this, and she sensed that if she continued to push back, the incident would ruin the whole day. 

The weed store was on the corner of West Grand and Northlake Ave. By the 980 freeway. They had to wait in line outside the building while a bouncer looked over them. Before entering the store, they each had to show their IDs to an employee who sat behind bulletproof glass. This and the line outside the door were the only signs that there was a store at all.

They barely said a word once inside. Liz was paranoid that people would stare at her injuries, but no one paid her any attention. The experience was new to them, and though he didn’t want to admit it, Michael was slightly disappointed. He’d pictured people smoking weed at the weed store. Instead, the whole process was more like going to a bank. They waited in a line staring at TV screens displaying what was on the menu along with everyone else who was buying. There were people of all ages, colors, and sizes; it wasn’t just rappers in music videos and Michael who smoked weed. When it was their turn to order, Michael decided they’d get a pack of gummy bears and a pre-roll. It cost thirty dollars.

Later that evening, after Liz had cleaned her wounds and they’d smoked the joint together, they sunk into the new sofa on the bottom floor of the loft and turned on a movie. It was another first in a day full of them. As the night progressed, they heard the homeless get louder outside. Michael walked to the window and peered out. There were three this time; two were sitting, and one was standing. Their shopping carts surrounded them like a moat, a barrier from the outside world. 

“I wonder if I could spray them with a hose.” Michael said.

“You can’t spray them with a hose.” 

“I could hit them with a football.” 

Liz laughed a little, but the sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out the vagrants’ voices. Michael turned the volume up on the TV when he sat back down. He bought the 65-inch Plasma on credit. In the store, it seemed perfect, but now that it was on the wall, Michael wished he’d gone bigger.

Liz remained still throughout the movie, so when it ended and she finally moved, the scabs that had begun healing hurt with the pain of being torn apart again. Ascending the spiral staircase was miserable for her.

Later on, they laid in bed looking at their phones. The homeless were still chattering in the background. Michael said that he’d get them earplugs from Amazon and then ordered them. Liz said she was looking at blinds for the windows. She said it was harder than she thought it would be and told him, “I just don’t want to get cheap ones.” 

When the couple finally put their phones away, the homeless were still going at it. 

“This sucks.” Michael said.

“This does suck.” Liz agreed. 

Michael turned and put a pillow over his head to muffle the noise. He thought of all the things they saw on their first day in Oakland: a movie production, Chinatown, graffiti, an accident, a weed store, and tons of homeless people; the day was full of the pros and cons of city life. He wondered if Liz still loved Oakland and what their options were if they decided they wanted to move. 

Liz laid next to him with different thoughts. She asked herself if she was the type of person that likes the idea of doing things more than actually doing them. She recalled how easy it was for them to move to Oakland; they took pride in how quickly they’d made the decision, thinking they’d been able to do a complicated thing with grace. 

Out the enormous windows, she saw the sky was aniline purple in some places. It was beautiful, and another first, but the shouting from the park ruined the moment. Her blood began to boil, and she thought maybe making decisions isn’t the hard part; it's living with them.