My helmet is secured tightly on my head as I ride my blue bike that my grandma gave me on my 12th birthday.
It's from the 70's so I'm surprised it still works.
It has tassels hanging from the handle bars and wheels almost bigger than my entire body.
Elyse is always telling me I should get a new bike. It breaks like once a month and she's scared it'll break down on me when I'm riding it on the sidewalk or crossing the street.
My stomach starts to hurt again when I pass by a small boutique.
I wave to a women reading a magazine on a bench in front of it. She looks up and smiles kindly. "Hello, Althea, dear,"
"Hi Mrs. Peter. How you doing today?" I slow my bike down and stop, using my leg to hold it up but not getting off.
"Oh, same old, same old. Mr. Peter broke his hip," she shakes her head. "old dumb bastard," she mutters. "I love him to death but he has to get his act together. I told him not to be dancing in the shower when I'm not home!"
I try to hide my smile. Mrs. and Mr. Peter have been together for 50 and a half years, in counting. Mrs. Peters used to teach my dad and my mom when they were younger but retired when she got Arthritis.
Poor women.
"Well I'm about to head up to Craig Street corner store to visit Freddy B. Jones. I have to give him his chocolate milk". I pointed to the chocolate milk in the basket in front of my bike.
Mrs. Peter's happy expression changed into great concern. "That street is nothing but bad. I don't want you going up there alone"
I smile "I'm always over there. No one ever bothers me. I'll be fine. I promise"
Mrs. Peter still looks unsure but she finally, reluctantly, nods and after one lingering stare, she goes back to reading her magazine.
♡︎
I rode up the hill that led to Craig streets corner store. My legs were on fire and I was so out of breath by the time I got to the top, that I fell over onto the sidewalk and just laid there, catching my breath.
My tummy still hurt and I knew it would be a couple of hours before I digested that darn pink ice cream.
Oh why strawberry gods!
Good lord, I'll never get used to that hill.
I sat up and rested my arms on my bent legs and watched as a few cars passed by before brushing off my pants, standing up, (with a dramatic sigh of course) and picking up my bike.
When I looked up my gaze immediately fell on a man sitting on the curb of the corner store.
I sheilded my eyes to get a better look.
The man squinted at something in the distance that I wasn't about to turn around to look at because I'm to lazy.
His hair was thick but greying. A lot. His dark skin glistened in the sun light. His arms and legs were practically twigs and his shoes looked like clown shoes because of how small his ankles were.
I remember when I was younger, my mom took me to the mall to get Timberlings but she wouldn't let me get them because, and these are her exact words.
"Take those off. I'm not buying those. They look like clown shoes on your feet. You look ridiculous. And stop calling them Timberlings. It's Timb- er- lands."
Then she went back to talking on her phone. I remember feeling so sad because I really wanted them. Everyone at school had them and they already made fun of me enough. I took the timberlings off and we left.
When I got my allowance, which was about a few weeks later, I bought them. But everyone at school had moved on to these other new shoes that came out.
I sigh. I never got a break...or those new shoes.
I smiled and started to walk forward but looked down when I heard a crinkling sound like crushing plastic. I already knew what it was before I looked down.
Ugh.
I squeezed my eyes shut before looking down and opening them to see a big brown puddle at the bottom of my shoe. A plastic cup cracked in many places.
This is the first and only time I wished it was poop.
The chocolate gods really hate me for sure. What did I even do to make them hate me so much!?
First it was Enzo with the whole tripping and spilling chocolate milk on him and now it's me being lazy and falling over with the chocolate milk in the mini basket in front of my bike.
I mean, if you ask me it was a disaster waiting to happen. The chocolate milk gods should have known I would collapse from exhaustion.
I bent down and picked up the plastic cup, which was almost in pieces except the bottom holding everything together.
There was no saving that milk.
What am I gonna do? What will Freddy B. Jones drink? Water? Fork no.
I put the empty cup in my bike basket and made a mental note to tell someone about the chocolate milk incident.
I decided to just walk my bike over to him. I don't need the chocolate milk gods getting angry again. Especially while I'm on my bike.
I looked down at my feet as I made my way over to him.
The walk of shame.
Chris would be disappointed in me.
I'm so disappointed at myself. Why can't I ever get anything right? Now Freddy B. Jones is gonna go thirsty until tomorrow.
"Hi Althea!" My head snaps up and my eyes land on Freddy B. Jones or BJ as I like to call him.
I smile sadly. "Hi, BJ".
He furrows his eyebrows and try's to stand up. Key word. Tries. He struggled to even sit up properly and his legs shake so much I'm scared they'll snap like twigs.
I rush over to him, dropping my bike in the process, and grab onto his arm.
He lets out an exasperated sigh before smiling thankfully at me. (Showing his many missing teeth and the ones that are still there are stained yellow).
I don't miss the way he try's not to meet my eyes. He's embarrassed. I pretend to not notice and help him to a bench sitting against the corner store.
The Craig corner store is small and shows the amount of damage people have caused it over the years. From the broken sign to the graffiti covering the rusted brick walls. Cigarettes and broken glass litter the parking lot. Patches of dead grass is scattered everywhere along with people smoking, drinking, dancing to music they could only hear, or eyeing me and Freddy B. Jones.
I smile at an older lady passing by with scrawny limps, purple lips, and big bags under her eyes. She walks like one of those walkers on TWD.
The lady hisses at me and I jump, watching as she watches me, her jaw jutted out and her speed picking up until she passes the corner and Poof! She's gone.
She probably doesn't like my outfit.
I turn back to Freddy B. Jones. He looks out over the parking lot with that wise gaze only older people seem to have.
"Is there something wrong?" He asks, not looking at me, his southern accent getting thicker with each word.
I sigh dramatically and rest my chin on my hands, my elbows on my pulled up knees. How did he know? I should start calling him Freddy B. Jones the wise.
"Oh B.J it's horrible!" I throw my hands up and slouch in my seat.
"You've got to stop calling me that" he mutters.
"What?" I'm confused.
"Nothing little one. Keep talking".
"I was being not smart and dropped your chocolate milk!" I cross my arms. I can't even look at him because of how disappointed I am in myself.
Freddy B. Jones is a homeless man that basically lives on Craig street corner store parking lot.
I met him when I was 12 so about 7 years ago. I was sad because me and one of my old friends had gotten into some fight and I knew my mom wouldn't come to pick me up from her house so I decided to walk there myself.
But of course the gods that control sense of direction were not on my side that day and I got lost, ending up on Craig street.
Craig street was like, and still is, a needle in a hay stack. Craig street being the needle and the haystack being the city.
The houses were battered and very close together with boarded up windows and yellow lawns. The side walks were covered in broken glass and cigarette butts. People sat on their porches, smoking and drinking beer, eyeing me as I walked past them.
Long story short, I ended up at the end of the street at the corner store where I saw a homeless man (Freddy B. Jones if you were confused) sitting on the curb watching over the parking lot.
I was scared to go up to him and ask for help but when I finally built up the courage (or just realized if I didn't ask for help I would be stuck on Craig street forever and never would be able to make it back to my house) to walk up to him, I did. I asked him for help and he pointed me in the right direction.
Ever since that day, I rode my bike over to the corner store and gave him a iced cold chocolate milk which he only drunk when I left because as he likes to put it "it's better warm".
Yuck.
"It's fine" Freddy B. Jones says, bringing me back to reality.
"But what will you do without your daily dose of chocolate milk?" I sit up and stare at him, concern written all over my face.
He chuckled lightly and glances at me before saying, and this is gonna shock you more than it did me. "If it makes you feel any better... I'm lactose intolerant".
I gasp and grasp my chest. "Oh my! Me to!".
He glances at me again but this time with a small smile "Oh really?".
I nod and then the realisation kicks in. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have brought you juice or something".
Freddy B. Jones sighs. "I'm homeless little one...there's no room for me to complain".
I sit back in my seat and scrunch my eyebrows. I should have known by the way he never immediately drinks it until I ask him if he doesn't like it. Nobody, and I mean nobody, likes warm chocolate milk.
He always gives me a small smile before taking a sip of the chocolate milk. He goes through all that pain just to put a smile, that won't even last that long, on my face.
I know what that's like.
"You can stay with me" I blurt out.
He immediately shakes his head. "No, no, no," he pauses to look at me and I'm surprised by how dark his eyes are. "I've been homeless for 25 years," my eyes widen "I think a few more won't be to bad". He smiles. It's not his usual big wrinkled smile he usually gives me. It's a sad one.
My eyes start to water and I take his hand in mine. "But thank you very much for being so kind to me for all these years...you sure made beings homeless a little better" he says.
I smile at him through the tears. Freddy B. Jones has been in my life for so long that I don't even think it's possible to try and imagine him not being.
He turns his attention back to the street and the passing cars. I squeeze his hand and watch with him.
"I'm sorry if I talk to much," I say quietly out of the blue. "I just really like having someone to talk to..."
Freddy B. Jones doesn't say anything. The whistling of the wind is the only thing filling up my ears right now. And I've got to say, I don't mind just sitting here with him in silence. Even if he does agree that I talk to much.
But then...
"I don't mind. I like to listen. It's the perfect dynamic...don't you think, Thea?" He glanced at me.
I smiled.
"I love you Freddy B. Jones," I say quietly.
I can see the lines around his mouth forming into that smile I love so much as he says "I love you to little one."
♡︎♡︎♡︎
I love writing Althea with Freddy B. Jones or, B.J if you will. Expect more chapters with them later on!
Unedited
Word Count: 2174