Saturday

 Sam reached his hand out to open the door to the steakhouse, scoffing at the man who was sitting on the ground half asleep and partially blocking the corner of the sidewalk near the entrance. “Hey! Get up and go somewhere else you’re in everyone’s way,” he said with a sharp tone. Startled, he awoke and looked up in confusion. “Did you not hear me or something? I said move. You’re in everyone’s way.” Instead of being taken back from the hateful comment, the man stood up, towering over Sam. His hair was matted in the back around the hair tie that pulled his hair together, and his beard hung below his collar bones, partially grey, partially orange. He reeked of alcohol and body odor. “Look, I want you to go down the street. This restaurant is a steakhouse, not a homeless shelter.” The man put his hand into his pocket and pulled out purple-colored dust. “Well then, come with me,” he said. Before Sam could say anything else, the wind blew in the perfect direction, guiding the dust into his eyes. 

“What the hell?!” Sam yelled as he covered his face with his hand and began to shelter his face. “I’m going to call the cops on you; that’s assault!” He winced in pain as he rushed inside the restaurant.  

“Sir, you can’t be here if you can’t afford your meal. I’m not going to seat you.” The hostess said with a southern accent. “No, you don’t understand,” he said, “some homeless guy just blew some strange dust into my eyes, and I need water to rinse them out now!” Speechless, she was taken back by his sense of urgency and motioned to where the bathroom was with her hand. “Thank you,” he said, rushing past her and still sheltering his face as best as he could while leading his way into the bathroom. 

The bathroom door felt heavy, like the kind that they used to make from solid wood. He stepped up to the line of sinks and started to splash water into his eyes. It took a minute or so, but he finally started to feel relief from the tiny particles that irritated his eyes. Sam grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and leaned into the mirror to do a self-examination, but to his horror, he was no longer himself. His brown, clean-cut hair was replaced with overgrown and matted grey hair pulled into a ponytail. His face was that of the older man that had just assaulted him not even ten minutes ago. But how? He thought. He raised his calloused hands to his face and smacked himself. This can’t be real, and this is a dream, he thought. The sting and handprint from him slapping himself proved otherwise. A sharp pain ran through his jawline and up to his face. He opened his mouth; most of his teeth were rotting away, but the back molar was falling apart, crumbling away like chips that had been stepped on. A shriek of terror let out of his throat. 

Outside of the bathroom, he didn’t even try his luck with being sat at a table. His money was gone. He was gone. He felt trapped in this person and didn’t have a single dollar in his pocket. He stepped out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. The bag that the man had with him was gone. Someone took it while he was in the bathroom. “There goes any chance of there being anything in that bag to help me.” For the first time in his life, Sam felt empty and lost. A feeling that haunted him like a kite strung directly above him. Out of his reach but still in sight.

“Sir!” that familiar southern voice called out. It was the hostess, rushing to Sam with a cup of water in a to-go cup. “I can’t give you much else, I’ll get fired, but here, it’s sweltering out here today. God bless.” She turned away and hurried back into the restaurant. The feeling of despair returned to Sam.

After walking for a few blocks, Sam’s legs began to fail him, and he was forced to sit down in the nearest shaded area. His head was throbbing just about as much as the rest of his body, and although he was outside in the middle of July in Los Angeles and sweat was dampening his shirt, he was freezing. “Chuck, is that you?!” A cheerful and raspy voice called out. He turned in confusion. Is that his name? He thought to himself. The woman standing on the sidewalk had a shopping cart with blankets and various other day-to-day items. Her shorts and short sleeve shirt revealed warts all over her body, and upon further examination, warts covered her face too. Some parts were more deformed than others, her left hand being more misshaped than her right hand.

“Do I know you?” Replied Sam with a look of disgust on his face as he stared at her body. “Are you okay?” She said with concern. “Are you? You have warts covering your body, and you’re worried about me? Get away from me, I don’t know what condition you have, but I know I don’t want it.” He felt immediate regret for his choice of words as he saw the look of pain on her face. “You know Chuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I do know that this isn’t you. You speak with a heart of ice, and it does hurt other people.” She started to walk away but turned around for one last exchange of words, “and it’s called EV, epidermodysplasia verruciformis, and it’s not contagious.” She took hold of her cart and pushed it with her as she walked away from Sam. 

The sun was going to set soon, and the moon would make its entrance. This was his favorite time of the day usually, the way the sun colored the world and brought out its vibrancy and themes of orange and yellow that seemed so subtle and breathtaking all at once. He didn’t feel the nostalgic joy tonight, however. The kite of despair loomed over him. The night would come soon, and he had no shelter. If he walked to his apartment, which it was likely he wouldn’t make it on foot, he would have no way in, and the sight of a scruffy old man trying to get in would warrant a call to the cops. “How long is this going to go on?” he said out loud to himself, his stomach turning from the lack of food. “As long as it takes for you to learn” He turned as quickly as he could, the old man! “Hey, you did this to me; what did you do?!” Sam raised his voice. “I am saving you. All that judgment, the hate, the lack of compassion, it eats at you. It’s no way to live.” Sam looked perplexed and looked around at the people walking past him.

 “Do you guys see this?” he pointed at Chuck, who a second ago was standing behind him and practically preaching to him, who was now gone. The two women whispered to each other and walked away. He heard the word crazy in their conversation and threw his hands up. Maybe he was crazy, he thought. He just wanted to wake up and start over. The words from Chuck and the woman who had stopped by with her shopping cart played in his head. “You speak with a heart of Ice” and “all the judgment, hate and lack of compassion” Was he hateful? He thought. He had never seen himself as such, nor did he see himself as one who lacks compassion. He could be judgmental at times; he admitted to himself, but with good reason. Was there a good reason to judge someone? He wasn’t sure of Chuck’s story, but living as him has proved to be difficult, and regardless of what he did to get to where he is, Sam felt pitiful. For chuck, for the woman he insulted, and for the way, he’s viewed people with less of an advantage in life. 

Sam stood and started to hobble to a bench nearby to lay flat on. He would be cold tonight. Even though it didn’t get below sixty degrees in the summer at night, the wind that passed the ocean was sure to bring the chill with it as it penetrates our bodies in its endless Journey. His water cup was now empty. He looked at the bench and then at the heavy traffic. A stoplight, maybe if he sat at the stoplight with his cup, people might give him some cash, not a lot but enough to get some food and something to drink. He changed directions and started towards the stoplight. After an hour of sitting and asking for money, he had gained three and a half dollars in total. Many people refused even to acknowledge he existed; I guess it was easier to pretend he didn’t exist than realize that he needed help because then one might feel obligated to do something.

A few people yelled at him as they passed by, and one guy even threw a french fry at him as a form of mockery. Tears swole in his eyes. Twenty-four hours ago, he was at his apartment getting ready to relax and wind down after a long week of work. He complained about the takeout and how it took too long for them. Anger clouded his mind now, but it was aimed at himself. He took everything he had for granted. “Okay, I get it,” he stood up and said out loud, “I’ll be better to other people, to myself. I’ll be thankful for what I have and share what I can. This has been horrible and..” he started to trail off. The tears that had swole in his eyes escaped, and like a cracked dam, the tears fell from his eyes and off his face. “Excuse me, sir, I got an extra blanket if you need it” the woman leaned from her car window to extend it to him. “Yes, thank you. Thank you.” 

After gaining a few more dollars and getting some gas station food and free water, he made his way to a bench to lay down on and sleep, thanks to the generous clerk. His body ached, and the food he did have, made him feel sick after not eating for who knows how long. As he laid down and covered up with his blanket, he stared up into the night sky. Not many stars were visible, but he could still take enjoyment from the crescent moon that hung in the sky tonight. Before he knew it, his eyes closed on their own, and he started to drift away. His body felt light and as if it were preparing to hover and flow with the breeze. 

“Fifty-one- seventy, we have a gentleman who looks to be in poor health possibly going through withdrawal sleeping on a public bench. He is unresponsive but has a heartbeat; he’s definitely in need of medical attention.” Sam could hear the officer; the officer was correct. He couldn’t respond to him or move. Oh man, he thought, he couldn’t even speak, and he sounded insane. What happens if you die because the body your soul got trapped in was deteriorating before you took over.  

Sam shot up in his bed, breathing heavily. Sweat outlined his body in the bed. He stood up and turned on the light, and found his way to the bathroom mirror. His dark, clean-shaven hair was back, his hands weren’t calloused, and he did not have a dirty beard that hung below his collar bones. “Just a bad dream, I guess,” he said to himself. He looked at the time on his watch, five-thirty-eight. It was still dark outside. Instead of climbing back into bed as he would typically do, he took a shower and got dressed. He had an important meeting today at the steakhouse, the one in his dream. He was meeting a client, and perhaps he was just nervous, and that’s what prompted his nightmare. 

He walked along the sidewalk, but he noticed the man lying down, partially blocking the sidewalk as he approached the restaurant. Hit gut suddenly dropped. This moment was just like his dream. He thought to himself and stared for a second. “Hey, excuse me,” he nudged the older man gently. He sat up and looked up at Sam with disorientation. “Can I buy you some lunch? I have a meeting here soon, but he shouldn’t mind, and if he does, I don’t want to do business with him anyway.” He reached his hand down to help him to his feet, “I would appreciate that very much,” he said as the two gentlemen stepped inside the restaurant together.