Day 14: Write a story from the point of view of a homeless man or woman who falls asleep on the bus and accidentally ends up "on the other side of the tracks," in a quiet neighbourhood late at night.
The cheerful-looking young couple in coordinating dark blue and white outfits, prom king and queen of the moment, hops off the bus with a cheerful 'good night!'. The bus driver waves back with a smile and pulls away. Good, they're finally gone. I can't stop myself from glaring at them sullenly while they walk away, holding hands and laughing in the fresh snow. They've spent the past six stops giggling in each other's ears and snuggling together.
I huddle against the window and stare out at the busy city streets. We'll be getting to my stop soon, sort of my stop I guess. It's close to a homeless shelter. I hate that word, homeless. It's true, unfortunately. My bad judgements, general bad luck, and the country's bad economy leaves me in my old maroon coat, with my hood up and ignoring eye contact with the other bus occupants. I would rather avoid the embarrassment of admitting that I have no where else to go, but at least the shelter is warm and I can eat.
We've hit traffic. I sigh and lean against the window. Seeing the downtown district turn to seedier housing and money marts slowly, I doze off and dream vaguely of loose coins dancing. Then the bus driver is shaking me awake.
"Excuse me, ma'am? Is this your stop?"
I blink confusedly at her. Not wanting to seem dumb, I nod quickly and jump off the bus. There are beautiful houses here, large Victorian or Tudor homes with manicured lawns, big front yards and warmly lit windows. Every house was draped with colourful Christmas lights, some adorned with reindeers on the roof or an outdoor Christmas tree.
Lakeview Crescent. Of course, I know where this is now. I've driven past here in better days and dreamed of buying one of these houses someday. They're not the richest neighbourhood in the entire city, but definitely one of the nicer areas. The houses on the right side back onto a view of the lake.
I'm far away from my stop, but I don't have any coins for a bus ride back. Preparing myself for a long and cold walk, I pull my hood up more and start the trudge back.
Four houses down a pair of carlights shine directly at me. I freeze momentarily then shuffle on. The shiny silver Lexus pulls up to one of the houses, graced with glittery snowman decorations and a laughing St. Nicholas. A woman in an elegant black wool coat steps out first, slinging her shiny designer purse over her shoulder. I stare, mesmerized by the bright gold buckle on her purse. She opens the back seat and pulls out a little girl, wavy blonde hair tied with a dark red ribbon. Same colour as my coat. I grimaced at the difference between my stained coat (how did it even become stained?) and her velvet ribbon. A man, presumably her husband, jumps out last, also in a black wool coat and scarf. He laughs at something the little girl says, then reaches into the trunk of the car for several shopping bags with wrapped gifts popping out of them. I hear the word Santa Clause float back to me as the picture-perfect family walk into their magazine-perfect home. The little girl's gaze glazes right over me. She doesn't even notice me. Even at this tender age she knows that people like me aren't worth noticing and can be treated as invisible.
I kick a tuft of snow and keep walking. The blinds are drawn in almost every window, but I can see warm light peeking out from them. From one house I catch the unmistakable waft of butter. I wonder if they're making Christmas cookies. I used to make them, shaped in little men, stars, and trees.
The streets are quiet, peaceful with a new dusting of snow falling. Tomorrow, I guessed, that little girl would be out here in the snow, rolling around in some cute pink snow suit with her young father. I would be lined up outside the employment centre, hoping someone will hire a certified accountant. I keep walking and leave the quiet neighbourhood behind.
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