There's A Place For Us

Chapter 3:Hugo

Timothy and I rode the train to his apartment. For the first time, people weren’t watching me like I was going to steal their wallets. It was probably because of Timothy or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention as much because Timothy liked to talk.

He asked me why I was named Hugo. I told him I didn’t know why. My parents liked old-fashioned names. Like Romeo, Hugo and Mercutio, maybe they were fans of Shakespeare now that I thought about it. I hadn’t had the time or energy in months to think about something as simple as my name and why I was given it.

Food, clothing, sleeping and surviving were so much more important. My life was dependent on them not why I was given my name.

“Why did your parents’ name you Timothy?” I continued.

He said he was named after his grandfather. He said he liked the name but not why he’d been named it. It made him feel like he had to live up to his grandfather’s memory. Be him or like him and not his own person. He was currently in the open studies program but his parents wanted him to go into pre-med or law. He said he wasn’t interested in either. In fact, he didn’t even want to be in university. From what I gathered, he’d only been going for a month, but he didn’t like it. He felt there was little structure to the classes and he didn’t like any of the ones he was currently taking.

His apartment’s walls were lined with bookshelves which were filled with books, mainly fiction, young adult novels, and contemporary novels. His apartment was surprisingly clean for someone our age. I was cautious about touching anything, I felt I’d break it or get it dirty. I felt out of place in his warm comforting home as much as I did on the street. I’d found a place to belong, I was thrown and bounced around homes and places constantly. Ever since my parents died, I’d never had my own room or anything I could really call my own.

I stood in place as Timothy set his things down and removed his shoes. I felt the urge to flee.

“It’s okay,” he reassured me.

He picked up his bag and went to the kitchen table where he plugged his phone into a wall. I’d never gotten a phone. He had a television, the last time I’d watched television I was fourteen. I was still nervous but I removed my shoes and stepped inside the space. The kitchen was tiny and compact and very bland. White-tiled flooring and white cupboards. Timothy disappeared into a back room, his bedroom, I assumed and came back with a pillow and blankets. He set them on the couch. He disappeared into a second room, the bathroom, and emerged with a towel.

“You can take a shower if you like,” he offered.

I hesitated again, a shower would be nice but it felt like I was invading his life and privacy even if he’d let me in.

“Are you still hungry?” he asked next, setting the towel on the arm of the couch.

I’d never had anyone so concerned about well-being. He reminded me of a parent, friend or older sibling. I thought about it, deciding the more I ate here the longer I’d last when I got let back out into the real world.

“Sure,” I answered.

“Go take a shower, I’ll make something. I’ll leave a change of clothes outside the door and wash those ones, okay?” he replied.

He was going to wash my clothes. He had so much generosity. I’d never met anyone like him. I wish my social worker had been like him instead of forgetting about me. It was stupid the reason I’d been kicked out. Or I thought it was stupid, they thought it warranted being kicked out onto the street and it seemed like nobody wanted me after that. I was on my own. Again.

I was happy for the first time in months, the last time I was happy was when I bought myself an ice cream at the beginning of the summer. Business was much better then, more people were out and about and because they were happy and it was warm they were more generous.

“Okay,” I replied to Timothy. I set my bag down by the couch, and for the first time, I felt my stuff was safe and wasn’t going to get stolen by some unruly sibling or another homeless person. I went into the bathroom and shut the door. I looked at my dull, tired eyes in the mirror. I removed my clothes which were worn from their use. I folded them and placed them in a pile outside the bathroom door. I stood for a few seconds inspecting my body in the mirror. Some of it was bruised from the cruel treatment of normal people who thought they were better than me and I was gravely thin. I could see my ribs poking out. I looked away before I could see further inside, to all the mental anguish.

I stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed. I turned on the water until it was lukewarm. I triggered the shower and stood under it welcoming the warming water. I washed my crusty, oily hair and tried to comb through the mess of knots. I wash all the dirt off my body, but it was stuck under my nails which annoyed me. Once I was sure I was clean, I just stood under the water, feeling it warm me from the cold, I almost didn’t want to get out because it meant going back to being cold.

I stepped out eventually though, I collected the clothes from outside the door and put them on. They were a little short on me, they were probably Timothy’s and since he was shorter by a couple of inches it made sense. It felt weird to be in clean, warm clothing. I hugged the warm clothing to my thin frame. I looked over myself in the mirror once more before stepping out of the bathroom.

Timothy looked up at me, smiled and laughed.

“What?” I asked.

“Your hair,” he comments. “Did you give yourself a haircut last time?”

I’d cut it at the beginning of summer with some scissors I’d found. It was too short to tell if I’d done a poor job or not at the time and figured by the time it mattered it would be time to wear a winter hat. I didn’t plan for Timothy to see it obviously.

“Is it that bad?” I asked stepping back into the bathroom to look at it. It looked worse when it was wet.

“I can fix it, if you want,” Timothy offers, holding up a proper pair of haircutting scissors. He pulled a chair away from the kitchen table. I sat down and he covered my shoulders with the towel from the bathroom.

“How short do you want it?” he asked examining what he had to work with.

“Just even it out, the longer my hair is the less cold my head will get,” I reply.

“I wanted to thank you again, too, for everything,” I continued.

“Your welcome,” he replied swiping all my hair to one side.

I heard him sniping away and I saw strands landing around me on the floor. He combed it all out again and continued to fix the mess I’d made. My eyes travelled around his apartment. I mainly wanted to look through all the books on his bookshelf. I loved to read as a kid. I’d spent the lunches I did get in school in the library. I remember being told I was at a college level of reading in ninth grade whereas in fifth I had been behind where I was supposed to be.

The stove’s timer went off as Timothy was cutting my hair.

“Stay put,” he told me as he went to shut it off.

I heard him pull something out of the oven and put it on the stove to cool. He came back then and continued my haircut.

“There, I’m done,” he replied.

He took the towel off of me and seem to study his work.

“You can go look in the mirror if you want,” he replied.

He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with the broom. He swept up my hair and threw it in the trash. I looked in the mirror and my hair looked normal and kempt for once in my life. When I came back from the bathroom, there were perogies on the table. I hadn’t seen perogies in forever, it wasn’t like you could just buy them for cheap, I was pretty sure the last time I’d had them I was with my parents.

“Do you like it?” Timothy questioned.

“Yeah, thanks, again,” I replied smiling.

We sat down to enjoy the meal together.

If this was my birthday gift from the heavens, I would be alright with that. Two meals and a warm place to sleep for a night were more than I could ask for from them. More than I expected from them.