Brave the Cold

They were both standing in his living room. It was the nicest living room of any one of her friends, even some of her friends' parents' homes weren't this sophisticated.

Particularly nice places had always made her feel uncomfortable, as if all the finery found her inadequate for their company. She could almost hear the furniture whispering their judgments like those who sat upon them dozens of times before. All the beautiful things felt like they were meant to illuminate that which glitters and glistens and to cast shadows that hid the flaws like her.

She could not recall how she had come to be there. The warmth had only just begun to melt her into existence, much like it brings forth a seasonal waterfall. Warmth. The sensation enveloped her entire being. It was the closest thing to a hug she had experienced in quite awhile, yet this seemed more comforting than an embrace by another. It was more primal; honest, for it sought nothing in return.

Warmth. She could feel it dancing along her skin, inviting her cells to take up the jig. The cells seemed like a reluctant wallflower, wanting to dance but only tapping its feet to the beat because it doesn't know the song. They had gotten too used to the cold.

She had been homeless for weeks. Sleeping in abandoned buildings, on rooftops, elementary school properties, grown over back alleys, and in back yards of houses for sale. All places without security cameras and all courtesy of a sleeping bag that could handle low temperatures.

After so many times of fighting with her family until they kicked her out, she had to figure out all sorts of things to make it easier. She hid her sleeping bag inside a giant bush with thorns threatening at all angles to deter anyone from finding it during the day. It wasn't easy getting it out, but the safety had proved well worth a few scratches.

All her personal hygiene supplies were kept in her P.E. locker at school after learning there was an early bird class that left the showers open before everyone usually arrived. It was much more convenient than standing in front of a KOA bathroom feigning a forgotten access code.

Most of her homework was completed at the end of her classes and before school started so that the books could remain in her locker and so she was only seen carrying her trusty Jansen backpack outside of school. The backpack really held: a notebook journal, pencil case, baby wipes, sewing kit (sewing needles, safety pins, a lighter, and dental floss), travel toothbrush and toothpaste, sparse amount of makeup and enough clothing to wear clean socks and underwear every day. Her dirty clothes were crammed in a plastic garbage bag so the rest of the contents didn't smell.

She was smart enough to always have enough money to eat her only meal, lunch, in front of everyone and to cover the laundry mat once a week. Her Mountain Dew habit took most of her money, but without it she'd never accomplish everything she needed to. She had gotten so good at being homeless that not many people knew she was. Not many of her friends and not Mr. Vice principal, who lectured her about how the recycling of soda cans paid for baseball so she was technically stealing money by collecting them, even out of the trash.

There was no reason to tell him she was collecting cans to feed herself. Why should she if he's too stupid to see or too callous to ask? She wouldn't tell anyone anyway. They'd make her go back to the halfway house, which was basically a different type of prison for unwanted kids even if the staff was nice.

It was detrimental to her mental well being not to be free under the stars at night. Ever since she could remember she felt better the darker it became. The stars beckoned for adventures to take place so they may bear witness. Seduced by their allure, she started sneaking out at a young age just to be with them. Her knack for finding spots to be completely alone had allowed her to stargaze until she felt just awake enough to stealthily make her way inside before being discovered. They were the only places to truly breathe, outside of the annual family camping vacation to the Redwood Coast.