The Promise

Chapter 3

It was four days until I could stand and walk properly. Houser said I had one hell of a bruise on my back. I guess I was lucky, or unlucky depending upon your point of view. I was certainly happy I didn't have to crawl down to the river to relieve myself anymore.

Houser and I became good friends. I liked him better than anyone else I knew. I liked his philosophy. There was no way I was going back to my old life, not without Amber in it. Jumping off a bridge didn't appeal to me anymore either. I was losing weight, something I always wanted to do. I couldn't care less what time it was and there was absolutely no stress. My home, job, car, and old friends would do nothing but remind me of what I had lost. A week ago, I would have never guessed I could live without all my stuff. Now, I no longer cared how full my DVR was or whether I had checked my email. I was dropping out and going off the grid.

Houser was a brilliant teacher. He had been on the streets for over twenty years. He dropped out when he lost a factory job. He couldn't find another even close to what he had been earning, so he hit the streets. For him, it worked. He really didn't care how the world turned and had no desire for the finer things in life. I wasn't sure how long I could hack it, but, after four days under a bridge, I was feeling pretty free. I didn't have any obligations to clutter my time. Grief would visit but never stay long. There was nothing under the bridge to remind me of Amber except my own thoughts.

"I guess you could make it to the kitchen today," Houser said, "it's almost four, so we better get started if we want more than scraps." I looked at him strangely. His time-telling skills were gnawing at me. He wore no watch, but he always had a good sense of the time. Even when it was cloudy.

"How do you always know what time it is?" I asked with a smile. Houser was always proud of his secret knowledge of the streets. It's one of the reasons why he liked me. I always made a point of drawing it into the open so he could show off.

"Traffic," Houser answered, pointing to the bridge, "I can hear rush hour starting." He was beaming and I gave him a small bow in praise, which caused a tinge of pain. I had ignored the traffic, but he was right. You could almost count the tires crossing the breaks in the pavement. In his own way, Houser was a genius.

I followed Houser into the streets for the first time in four days. I am sure I looked a mess. I hadn't shaved or even combed my hair in all that time. My posture was weakened and I walked favoring my right side to ease the remnants of the pain. I received a few disgusted looks from suited professionals, but most people just ignored us. I felt invisible and found it exhilarating. I am sure my smell wasn't invisible, but Houser didn't seem to be offended.

The kitchen was in a rundown district. It looked like it had been some kind of manufacturing center at one time. The kitchen itself was a three-story brown-bricked building with large windows, mostly boarded. There was a large sign above a double set of doors that said 'City Kitchen.' One of the doors was propped open, but a line had already begun to form just before the two steps that led to the doors. There was no indication why we couldn't just go inside.

"Can't go in until 'Sugar Magnolia,'" Houser said as we got in line behind an old woman. "Maggie, this here is Frank." When Maggie turned, her face revealed deep wrinkles reminiscent of elephant skin. She smiled, nodded, and turned to face the line again. I said "Hi," but I don't think she heard it. She was humming to herself and it wasn't offensive, almost like she could carry a tune.

"'Sugar Magnolia?'" I asked.

"You'll see," Houser smiled. I waited with everyone else as the line got longer. I let Houser have his fun. I'd learned in those four days not to get anxious about anything. Patience was a way of life on the streets. It was part of the cost of freedom.