Moving out of the shelter for the first time in three months was a bit of a daunting proposition. In a way, it was something like being released from prison: I had re-learn how to socialize with people who weren’t homeless. Despite not wanting to acclimate to the homeless life, I’d realized early on that there were a series of unspoken rules that I’d have to learn if I expected to make it out the other side unscathed. And now, preparing to move out, I knew I’d have to unlearn all the things the shelter had taught me.
Among other things, I’d have to learn how to tell stories again. I’ve always considered myself to be part of the grand Southern tradition of story-telling, and it hamstrung me a little to tell stories to my new work friends. I still hadn’t “come out” (as homeless) to most of them, so any funny story I told had to be censored to prevent revealing too much. Additionally, any question about my residential circumstances was met with creative truthiness.
Coworker: So how many roommates do you have?
Me: Oh, there’s a bunch of us (technically true).
I got my first lesson in re-socializing the night of a coworker’s 21st birthday. Ally was a gentle, sensitive spirit, with frequently-changing hair color and an infectious laugh. Despite being a bit flighty, she was one of my favorite work buddies, and I was looking forward to having the chance to celebrate her birthday with her. This was a month after I’d moved out of the shelter, and I’d settled into something of a routine in regards to work/home. But socializing was still new to me. Going out was something I was still apprehensive about doing again. I trusted myself with the alcohol and late hours, but I’d become accustomed to being alone, and was worried I’d forgotten how to interact with others.
The night of Ally’s birthday we met up at Upper Level, a bar-slash-arcade popular with the hipster set. I wasn’t exactly a hipster, but video games and beer seemed like a great way to spend an evening, and Upper Level had already become one of my favorite places to hang out. For an hour we played video games, and her boyfriend and I took turns buying the birthday girl shots. As the laughs and fun progressed, I could feel my anxiety dissipating. It wasn’t until we went outside to smoke that things took a turn. We were outside having a grand time when a homeless guy wandered past. As he passed our group, he and I made eye contact and we recognized each other. Our acquaintanceship had been cordial enough, so I spoke to him. As he passed closer, he extended his hand in a fist bump, a common greeting in the shelter. Seeing us interact, the group waited until he’d passed, then the jokes began to fly.
“He really likes you, Trey. I wonder if he’s saving room for you in his cardboard box behind the Quickee Mart…”
“Nah, he was only flirting with Trey because Trey’s the only other Black guy on the sidewalk. More likely to get money from him than us…”
“Aww yeah. Homeless romance. The good news is you don’t have to worry about him blowing up your phone because he doesn’t have one. The bad news is if you invite him over, he’ll never want to leave…”
Finally Ally asked me how I knew him. Between the alcohol, and my burning anger, the truth came tumbling out.
“When I lived at the homeless shelter, he was always nice to me.” Instantly the group got quiet. A couple of them seemed to be waiting for a punchline, but when I took a drag on my cigarette and remained silent, they realized their mistake. Someone murmured, “Sorry dude. Didn’t know.” But no one had the courage to really speak up. I can’t say I’d have done any differently were I in their shoes.
Needless to say, that rather killed the mood of the group. One by one, they drifted off until it was just Ally and me. We leaned against the building across the street from the underground club we’d stumbled out of. The night air felt cool on my forehead as we smoked cigarettes and tried to avoid talking about the obvious topic of both our thoughts. Finally she turned to me and spoke, “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I didn’t want anyone to think of me as ‘The Homeless Guy.’”
“You know I wouldn’t have thought of you that way…” she replied.
“I know, but it was still hard to admit that I’d let my life get that far out of control.”
It was the first time I’d admitted to anyone (including myself) that was the truth behind my reticence to share my ordeal. As my life had spiraled further and further out of control, it became increasingly harder for me to reach out to anyone. Finally, I felt so alone that it seemed pointless to even try connecting with others.
My friendship with Ally meant the world to me. She was just the kind of gentle spirit I needed in my life. She was so young that she was experiencing for the first time things that I was learning to do again: manage time, balancing work and social life, etc. In a way, it was like we were learning how to “adult” together.
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