Butts

The eyes were looking down. The legs of the woman moved slowly. Her entire body had to, it wanted to, find something. Her left hand picked something off the sidewalk. This one is almost new, she thought. It has hardly been smoked. She took another step or two. She picked up another one. This one was smaller, almost halfway gone. He’ll like this one. Her left hand put them both in the pocket of her blue jacket. She walked around the block. Near the subway people usually dumped more cigarette butts. There were 3 or 4 more by the steps going down. Good, she thought. Now I can show him I have helped. Smoking these will soothe him for a while.

Another

No. $20 isn’t much. Neither is $5 or $10 or $2 or even one dollar. But they all add up. These were the thoughts going through her head that Tuesday afternoon. It’s small change, it’s not a lot. But she didn’t want to do it. Saying no was not an option. She couldn’t say no, I will not give to this person. It would have made the person get even more upset. Her leg hurt and she walked slowly, one small step at a time.  The summer afternoon was beautiful, just the way she liked it. She looked up at the clear sky. Her smile didn’t go far. Not like this, she thought. I can’t enjoy it like this. I don’t want to give. Haven’t I already given of myself? She had ; that didn’t seem to count for very much. She opened the door of the bank. Someone was using the ATM machine. She waited until the man left and inserted her card. Another $20 from her account. What difference does this make, she would have said out loud. What difference does it make when it never ends?

It Sucks

$20. It is not a large sum these days except when there is another $20 or a $10 or a $5 or a $2. It all quickly adds up. Thoughts come. How to stop it, how not to do it anymore, how not to get caught doing something you absolutely don’t want to do and would never have dreamed of doing 5 or 7 years ago. How to stop being another person’s cash register. Sad thoughts are added to the first thoughts. These hurt even more.

Don’t Be Nice

I don’t understand. You couldn’t wait. You couldn’t wait 10 or 15 minutes for me. That was too much, too big of a task for you. There is no need to tell you how many times I waited for you. You know that only too well. But no, you got what you wanted and so you left. I arrived where we were supposed to meet and when I didn’t find you I felt bad but not surprised. You are how you are and I will not change you. Only you can change yourself and you won’t. There is nothing in it for you.

Sitting Redone

Get up, he shouted. Get off these steps. This is my building. The young Asian male spoke these words to an older white male. The older white male had a cane next to him. He looked up at the young guy with the arrogant attitude. The white male made an effort to get up from the door step. It was hard for him but he managed it with the help of his female companion. The Asian male followed them as they went down the block towards the corner. He was swinging his arms up and down. The white male turned to look at him. Go ahead, he said. If you strike me she.will call the police. He held up his cane. I dare you the Asian male said. Hit me with that. Go ahead. The female companion grabbed her friend’s arm and led him away. Go back to the shelter where you came from, the Asian guy shouted. That is where you belong. Shelter? What shelter? Now it was the white male’s turn to shout. I own a condo. I think that’s not the case with you? He glanced at the old and dark shabby looking apt. building. The Asian male kept following them. His arms still moved and his hands made fists. Please drop dead, the female companion told the Asian male. You must be on drugs to treat him like this. The white male and his companion walked to the corner and turned left towards the big avenue with the cars and the bright, hard lights. You can let go of my arm now, the white male told his friend. She did so reluctantly.

Holding It

She had been thinking about it for a long time. The pain had been great; it had been huge. Having it near her had been a burden. The pain belonged to someone else, but in a way, in many ways, it was also hers. She remembered the dear face with the tears rolling down the cheeks. She saw now, as if it had just happened, the mouth opening just a bit. The words I am sorry wanted to come out but somehow couldn’t. The tears didn’t stop. The eyes looked at the dark skirt; they looked up again and stared at the back of the other person’s head. He wouldn’t turn around and acknowledge her. He stood up and opened the door of the room. She stayed in her seat not daring to move. She had made a mistake. She couldn’t make another one and follow him to apologize one more time.

Sitting

He was sitting on somebody’s door step. The front door opened and the somebody spoke. You can’t sit here, he shouted. This is my building. The man looked at the somebody. He was a 20 year old of Asian ancestry, typical for that neighborhood of Lower Manhattan. The white male started to walk away from the building. The Asian guy followed him. I want to make sure y Pu leave, Nigger, he yelled. The white male held out his cane. So you want to make something out of this. Go ahead, the Asian guy said, swinging his arms like a monkey up in a tree. Hit me with your cane. I dare you. There are cameras all around. The white man’s face became red. Go back to your shelter. That’s where you belong. The Asian guy just didn’t want to stop talking. The white man’s companion told the young troublemaker: You must be on drugs. Drop dead. If you don’t stop, I’ll call the police. Go ahead, call the police. His arms kept on moving around, now as if he were a boxer about to hit his opponent. The companion tried to figure out the name of the street they were on. She couldn’t. Leaving would be simpler than calling 911 for help. She took the white man’s arm and dragged him all the way to the corner. The people sitting at their sidewalk restaurant tables looked at them once or twice, then kept on eating. It was Friday night after all. You can let go of my arm, the man said once they got to safety.

The Drain

Small amounts at first, $5, $7, $10. The amounts added up; there were followed by other, bigger amounts, $30, sometimes $50 or more. There came a time when she had to do something to make up for the loss. Her bank account became smaller and smaller. She hadn’t spent the money on herself; she went to the cheapest stores to get what she needed. Other times she found stuff on the street, things that people with the resources that she didn’t have anymore had left by the curb. She had to put a stop to the drain. She couldn’t support someone else and someone else’s habits. She was upset, sad and frustrated. Life was becoming harder. She cared, there was no question about that. Next week she would have a strong talk with the person and make sure he understood.

Back

She wanted it back, the money that had been taken for her, the money that was gone due to a foolish purchase. Her chances were slim to none. What could she do except what she was already doing? That wasn’t working out. The amount wasn’t large, $5, but she never had wanted to spend it in the first place. The purchase was not the only foolish thing; she had acted foolishly. She didn’t know how to stop; there was no one to help her say no. Just one little word: no. It should have been NO! Plain and simple as in no, I can’t. I cannot do it.

5 Dollars

She put the bill in her top pocket, the top pocket of the blue beat up hand me down jacket. She didn’t want to buy the stuff. She lost the money.