Earl

 Life seemed great until I got busted smoking a little weed. My friends and I just finished playing some hoops when—Bam! The cops showed up and started hassling me over a single joint and a dime bag.

 It was my first offense, but that didn’t stop the judge from being all high and mighty. He told me the usual crap about straitening up and flying right. Who the hell is he? I’ve been around the block long enough to know what I can and can’t do. The last thing I needed was advice from some old man in a black robe.

 Regardless, my run-in with the pigs landed me a night in the Cook County jail and eighty hours of community service. To make matters worse, the court forced me to work at some nasty-ass homeless shelter on Chicago’s south side.

What a bunch of bullshit!

 *

 All day long, I mopped floors and washed blankets for a bunch of nobodies—Eight hours a day, five days a week for almost two weeks straight. It’s not jail, which was the only thing good about it; The people stink, the manager stinks, and the job stinks. Thank God I only have two more days left till the end of my sentence. 

 Since it’s too far to walk, not to mention, the neighborhoods are full of crack slinging gangs; I had to take the 7:00 AM bus from South Holland to Englewood. It’s a cheap ride, and it stopped in front of the shelter, which was a plus. 

 *

 A usual day’s worth of mopping floors, passing out food, and washing stained linen ended. I checked my watch. Damn! I thought. Thirty minutes till the next bus. It was getting cold, and the wind picked up, making the city colder. All I wore was a Bears jersey and a new pair of saggy jeans with the cargo pockets, but no jacket. At least I had on my ball cap cocked sideways to keep my head warm. Still, it was cold, and I just wanted to get on the bus and get home.

“Hello.” A man said from a wooden bench beside me. 

 The way his tattered jacket blended against a background of drug rehab signs and spray-painted graffiti caught me off guard.  

 I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, keeping my face forward. Life in the city taught me never make eye contact with strangers and just ignore them, so I said nothing. Like most homeless people on the streets, he hid from the cold beneath multiple layers of winter clothing. He had a long scraggly gray beard over a face full of wrinkles that told me he was old. After a better look, I recognized him as the same man who always sat at the bus stop from morning till night.

 He offered me his hand with a toothy smile. “My name is Earl.”

If he thinks I’m going to shake his nasty hands, he has another thing coming. At least I gave him a silent head nod. 

 His smile faded into disappointment while his hand dropped, thumping atop a shoebox. 

 That caught my attention since most people at the shelter carry backpacks and push around shopping carts. Earl had nothing but a tattered old shoebox tucked against his side.

“What’s in the box?” I said, curious to know if it actually contained a pair of shoes.

 He glanced down at it for a second and sighed. “My whole life.”

 That made me snicker inside. I have an apartment with new clothes, a PlayStation, and a 52 inch TV while this man had only a shoebox. If maybe he did something more with his life, he wouldn’t be living on a bench at a bus stop. 

 He attempted to speak, but a screeching bus snuffed out his words. The door didn’t open more than halfway before I jumped through. I had enough of homeless people for one day.

 *

 The next morning, I had to do it all over again; bus ride to the shelter, more cleaning and handing out food. I only needed to endure this crap for one more day before meeting up with my friends. We planned to get together and drink some forties at the ballpark to celebrate. 

 I hopped off the bus and grinned with delight since I’ll never have to come back here again. My excitement almost reached the point that I considered saying hello to Earl, but he wasn’t there. That didn’t strike me as odd, since homeless people come and go often.

“I want you to go pick up the trash outside.” My manager said after I finished handing out the last load of donated clothes.

 That sent me boiling. Of all the jobs on my last day, he wanted me to pick up the crap left behind that people can’t fit into their shopping carts. It’s gross because the last time I did it, I found a shopping bag full of shit—real shit.

“You serious? C’mon man, It’s my last day.” I said, frowning.

“That’s correct. And a bad day for me to call the court.”

That’s Bullshit! I thought, slamming the mop against the wall.

 The job didn’t disappoint. If homeless people don’t want it, it’s bad. However, a shoebox caught the corner of my eye. I scanned the area, looking up the avenue, with no Earl in sight. He left without his box that contained his whole life. Like all the other trash, I tossed it into the garbage can. The box felt empty, yet something small rattled around inside. Before it could be fouled from the rest of the junk, I retrieved the box. After closer inspection, it appeared as old as Earl. Several types of tape held the crumbling cardboard together with a shoestring to keep the top closed. I opened it to find nothing but a single roll of film.

 *

 My shift ended with a thanks from the manager and the paperwork stating my community service had ended. I was a free man. 

 No more shelter or waking early to catch a bus. I just had one more ride back to Englewood and I can hook back up with my boys. Of course, that was before the bus got stuck in traffic. It would have been faster to get out and walk, which I did. That didn’t bother me, since my apartment was two blocks away. 

 My neighborhood had a Dollar General a few buildings down from mine, so I stopped to get some drinks for the night. Two forty ounce bottles of malt was all I needed to have a good time. I reach for the cash and felt Earl’s role of film. I forgot I put it in my pocket earlier that day. What pictures would an old man keep for so long? I had to know and thought it might bring about a few laughs between me and my friends.

“Can you still develop this?” I asked the store clerk. Brad was written on his name tag.

 He inspected it. “It’s got some age, but I should be able to do it. It will take about an hour.”

“Sure.”

 He slipped it in an envelope and pushed it aside while ringing up the beer.

 *

 One hour, my ass. It was getting dark outside, and I had to leave to meet up with my crew at the ball courts a few blocks away. 

 Half way there, my phone rang. The LCD screen showed an unknown number, but I answered anyway.

“Hello?”

“This is Brad at Dollar General. Your photos are ready.”

 I stopped and headed back to the store. “Sweet. Thanks.”

“Hey. I don’t normally get to look at the pictures, but I had to process the film by hand. Do you know who they belong to?”

 I chuckled. “A nobody, I guess.”

 The phone became silent except for a few mumbles in the background. “I tell you what. Come by and pick up the photos when you get the chance. There will be no charge.”

“Ok. Sure.” The phone beeped as the call ended.

That was weird. I thought, heading back to the store. What would be in those pictures that would cause the photo-guy to process them for free?

 I had to know and headed back to the Dollar General, almost running. Brad was still there and, to make things weirder, he and his manager stood behind the counter, grinning. He handed me the envelope with one hand and shook the other like I was some kind of celebrity. I ripped open the package and flipped through the pictures with my eyes bulging outward.

 When Earl said his whole life, he wasn’t joking. The pictures were an account of his entire life. Black and white photos of several Marines made up the first few pictures. They carried guns while posed in front of a tent with mountains in the background. A very young Earl stood in the middle of the group. I didn’t recognize the man without his gray beard and wrinkles, but the smile was definitely him.

 Brad looked over my shoulder. “It looks like your friend fought in Korea. The sign in the back says, 1st Marine Division X Corp. It’s my guess that they are in the Chosin Reservoir.” He said. “A lot of men died there.”

 I flipped a few more that had scenes of war that sent my stomach rolling. Another had Earl posed in front of New York's Statue of Liberty and another with the Eiffel Tower. One picture after another showed him in some part of the world I had only seen in movies. I stopped flipping at one that showed a president I remembered from school. 

“That’s John F. Kennedy. You know, the one who got shot.” Brad looked closer and pointed at Earl’s neck. “Your friend here is getting the Medal of Honor. If I ever get the pleasure of meeting him, I would shake his hand and buy him a drink.”

Shake his hand. I thought, remembering how he offered his. Yet, being a total asshole, I rejected it like he was a piece of trash.

“Thanks.” I said, leaving the store.

 The bus ran faster than before, but not quick enough. I scanned my watch at each passing block in hopes I can reach the shelter before the doors close for the night. My heart thumped hard with each ticking second.

 I ran from the bus but only found an empty bench. Earl was nowhere to be found. I had to get these pictures back to him and shake his hand. But the streets were empty. 

 My last hope rested on the possibility he used the shelter to escape the chilly night. A sign on the door said closed, but that didn’t stop me from banging on it. It cracked open behind the black steel bars.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not taking anymore people. The shelter’s full.” Said a woman’s voice behind the door.

“I’m looking for Earl!” I shouted.

 A moment of silence and a few rattles of chain locks, and the door opened. It was the lady that oversees the shelter after hours. “Earl?” She said with a solemn look. “I’m sorry, young man, but he passed away last night.”

 My heart dropped, sending a flush of sadness over my entire body. One handshake was all he wanted. I’m sure he would have been just as pleased to get a smile, but I denied him of that, as well.

 The ride home seemed to take forever. My phone buzzed over and over, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer it. I spent the rest of the night flipping through Earl’s photos, wishing my life could have been half as good as his.

 *

 The next morning, I dressed and returned to the shelter to continue my work cleaning and distributing donations. This time, I did it on my own recognizance. The manager had a crossed glare as I entered, since yesterday was my last day. I paid him no mind and headed to the large room where we kept all the cots for people to sleep. Toward the back sat an old man with pure white hair and dark shriveled skin. His eyes drooped with a matching frown and appeared to stare into nothing. I leaned over and offered him my hand. “Hello, my name is Jack.”

 He looked up and beamed with an ear-to-ear smile that radiated like the sun. “Hello, Jack. I’m Sam. Pleased to meet you.” He shook my hand.

 I smiled back and sat next to him. “Well, Sam... Tell me about yourself.”