Short Story Homeless Man – Stanley Abendroth
Photo credit: BBoomerinDenial from morguefile.com
(Note: Image does not illustrate or has any resemblance with characters depicted in the story)
Introduction:
There is no real beginning, middle or end to this tiny story. As a matter of fact its not really a story at all….rather a quick gander at one of our own…one who, by the stars has become invisible in a world brimming with people….a sad victim of a culture designed to dispassionately leave many behind to fend alone. So, as I have begun, there is no genuine beginning, middle or end here…just an attempt to regard a fellow human……
STANLEY ABENDROTH
The whoosh of passing cars made the man’s hair and clothing perform wildly.
It was very hot, close to 100, and his hiking backpack was heavy and cumbrous.
Worn straps dug into his shoulders and he winced as he shifted the weight from one to the other, never impeding his stride. He knew not to hitch…no one ever picked someone up who looked like him….one of the desolate….and most especially not on a hot afternoon or from the side of a busy highway.
Stanley had walked several miles since he started out and his feet throbbed like a toothache. His aged face was bearded with coarse, yellowing gray whiskers and his skin was bronzed and leathery from years of outdoor life. His attire was rumpled and worn thin in places…just as one might expect. It was time he stopped by a Salvation Army store he thought. But, first a visit to the evil-smelling men’s room at the gas station across the road. They had pump-soap there that would definitely loosen the grime on his crevassed, sweaty face and hair. He couldn’t recall when his last real shower had been. They used to have free public showers at rest stops on major thoroughfares. But, they began to charge for the privilege of being clean a few years back.
As he stood waiting for a break in the traffic that old feeling of detachment descended upon him again. He was smack dab in the middle of a world full of people…..all kinds of people….most of them doing well…..the magnitude of cars whizzing by was some testament to that. He strained to observe faces as they rushed by him. Most never even seeing him standing just feet away from their polished machines….whole families riding together…probably going out for ice cream or diner or maybe the movies.
Stanley briefly remembered going to the movies when he was just a kid. He and his brother Marty would earn a few bucks spending money on Saturday mornings mowing lawns for the neighbors. They rewarded themselves with popcorn and milk duds and front row seats at the Strand. Their favorite flicks being from the horror genre of course. A smile creased that drawn old face when his memory flashed on Marty’s kid-expression of absolute terror when The Deadly Mantis, bigger than life itself, crawled up its first victim and snapped her head clean off with unmatched mantis-precision. Boy, what a blast! The sudden blare of an angry car horn snapped him out of his reverie.
Ah well, that was a long, long time ago. Let it go, he told himself. With that he caught a break and hobbled hurriedly across two open lanes narrowly making it to the other side.
People at the gas station glanced at the dirty old man in the filthy yellow shirt and tattered, stained shorts…. which once fit nicely but now had to be cinched with a discarded piece of twine he’d pulled from a dumpster somewhere. His hairy legs camouflaged the black dirt layered on them. He would nod and grin if he caught someone’s eye but they usually quickly looked away not wanting to acknowledge the fact that homeless people lived in their very own community. How cruel. They didn’t even know Stanley. They didn’t know what a great guy he was…is. He was smart….had gone to college and majored in French literature……he later taught at St. Mary’s and was famously popular among his peers and students. Mr. Abendroth was one of those rare professors who left an indelible mark on every student who was lucky enough to get into one of his classes.
He’d had a family…one son…one daughter…a devoted wife…. and a golden retriever named Clancy. They all lived together happily and contentedly in an ivy covered English Tudor on an established tree-lined street where birds chirped incessantly and children played stick-ball in the street. All was good….all was calm….all was as it should be.
Its been a long road traveled all these years later. Stanley pushed those prodding memories away…there was no sense to churning them up over and over….he wasn’t even sure how long ago it was since Clancy greeted him in the driveway that day. The always-spotless golden haired dog was singed and blackened. His fur reeked of the sickening smell of smoke and burned hair. Rivers of water ran from the place where once their house had been…five fire trucks crowded the front yard…ambulances were parked haphazardly…. oddly none were in a rush to whisk anyone off to the hospital. But, it wasn’t odd at all…there were no survivors in this house fire…save Clancy and Stanley.
Once bathed, he felt better. His shoulder length greasy hair slicked back off his face made him appear a bit younger…. handsomer. Between you and I, Professor Abendroth had once been considered “a catch” in that academic world of his. He was polished. His raven hair and twinkling, green eyes only served as distractions from his enchanting and gleaming smile. He was strong in stature but soft spoken by nature…something the ladies found particularly attractive. He was devoted to his craft and his family and he was happy.
Stanley, freshened and looking forward to the road ahead set out once again. He thought of his life as a rugged challenge now where once it had been easy and silken. Maybe tomorrow something terrific would happen! Maybe fate would send him a new fixation….a friend possibly or just a kind word from a stranger. He would try again to get work….any work…he didn’t mind. Stanley had mopped floors in dive bars and cleaned their toilets too for a 5 dollar bill and a shot of cheap whiskey. He often found some good seasonal work in his travels picking corn or squash for local growers….which a few times had nicely led to a 6 month niche cleaning stalls in a millionaire’s stables for 3 bucks an hour. Those were the “good” jobs.
As he lumbered along the grass lined shoulder of highway 108, Stanley held his head high and restored his faith in himself vowing to fulfill his fate on Earth…. whatever it may be.
No one knew Stanley anymore. He had no neighbors or relatives. He had no dog. He had nothing but his backpack and the clothes he wore. But, he was determined to stay alive to spite the world that preferred to ignore him and leave him for dead. Stanley would not be had that way.
He was so deep in his thoughts he didn’t hear the blare of a truck whistle as it bore down on him. He was moving only with body…his mind was a million miles away engaged in licking the society that had flicked him like a pesky fly.
__END__
