Lost and Found

SS38: "Lost And Found" (holiday tribute #5)

*****

Here then is a bittersweet but touching lebbi heartwarmer, especially for those of you more sentimental Sapphiles. It's a little on the lengthy side, so I apologize if the Reader feels it takes a tad long to reach the intimate portions. It has a character crossover from my first holiday tribute, "Home For Christmas"—though that was a hetero story, so the crossover may go unnoticed—but anyway, do please enjoy, and Very Happy Happy Holidays.

*****

Wednesday, November 26th, 2014, 9:53 a.m.

The given day of the week would far more accurately be described by altering its pronunciation to "Winds-day." Harsh gusts ripped effortlessly through the crisp late autumn air, one steadily after another. A few additional layers of bundling up only slightly hindered citizens' daily business if at all. Activity proceeded as normal otherwise. Daytime's friend Sunny Ray rose proudly in its circadian arc above, watching over town. A normal, especially chilly day, like any fall holiday eve.

The level of business and pace thereof naturally varied from individual to individual, and residence and vocation locale played a hand. Those working and living out nearer the prairies and pasturelands farmed, herded and enjoyed their simple, modest lifestyles. Higher-end folks who settled in downtown logically lived life in the proverbial fast lane. Offices brimmed with busy, hard-laboring workforce members. Retail businesses—especially superstores such as Wal-Mart, Target, Costco and so on—went into turbo mode, in preparation of the upcoming stampede-like Friday. Many would today work their laborers to noon and let them go for the rest of the day, or held a festive Thanksgiving party, rehearsing the act of devouring everything in sight.

Certain townspeople, however—a forgotten minority—had little or downright naught to celebrate, having not been dealt such a fortunate hand. One of those folks was Cecily Helmsley. She was 34, woefully unemployed, and a street person. It had all begun when mandatory layoffs edged her out of First Parties, the company to which she'd given ten of the finest years of her life. To make matters worse, she had poor credit, was denied benefits when she applied for them, and found herself locked in a lose-lose situation. The slope sadly only steepened. Any luck she had left was drained, as inability and failure to pay rent prompted foreclosure on her. Her property and car were seized, her accounts were frozen, and she was evicted.

She'd lost her parents one by one a rough decade ago, who were already in their 40s when they had her. She was an only child, and the closest living relative, her Aunt Pippy, was fifty miles away. Which still wouldn't have been a problem, if Cecily could only have gotten in touch with her. By the time this happened, she'd the same issue contacting any friends to ask to stay with them. Like all else, her cell service was cut off, so she was on her own.

She'd been homeless for close to four months now, which for some could go by like a railroad train. But for poor Cessy Selena Helmsley, they were the four longest months of her unlucky life. She was quick to learn firsthand that the outside world could be less than compassionate to the homeless. And she was forced to take a look at her own behavior in comparison to those around her as this new development unfolded. She had neither cardboard nor a marker, but somehow didn't see a sign making a great deal of difference. Back when she was on her feet and saw a homeless person panhandling with a cardboard sign, she regretted that she didn't stop to offer food, money or a ride. It wasn't that she didn't care, it was just that...well, she needed her own funds. She was living paycheck to paycheck, like anyone else. This was the dilemma, she realized. For the broadest part, the people who cared were unable to really help, and the people who could really help...well...frankly, didn't care quite so much.

She wasn't prepared for this, but well, she thought, how could one be? She had $61 in her purse at the time of the bank freeze, and rightly determined she must put this money to exceptionally wise, frugal use. Only the absolutest necessities could be accommodated now, which were...food, food, and...food. Even if she could've afforded a vacancy for a night, the fee would've eaten up her entire tiny budget. And while she'd enjoyed a reasonably solid middle-class living as a child, lower-quality food was better than no food at all—provided it was still healthily edible. And so in this compromising state, she was willing to settle. The problem arrived at nightfall that first solemn day. Fortunately for her, it was July, warm outside, and wouldn't get dark until about 9:00. But she still needed to formulate some sort of plan.

The idea of locating a shelter hit her early on, but...how did she do that? She started walking towards the nearest library, which was about twenty blocks away. The trek already tuckered her out. Lucky for her, it was early on, she wasn't that disheveled or downtrodden just yet, so others weren't disturbed by her presence. She logged on one of the computers and searched.

Yikes, she thought. She knew homeless shelters weren't exactly as ubiquitous as 7-11s, but the closest appeared to be...good Lord...way too far. Just the thought of making a trip that long sucked away her leftover energy. She slumped back in the chair and tried to hold it together.

Well, she thought, she hadn't many options. She could start walking in the direction of this shelter, and attempt to thumb a ride along the way, or she could...figure out something else. There were employment opportunities, but on an application, the fact that she had no residence and no means of contact was not a huge advantage. In her more sorrowful moods, it seemed everyone and everything were against her. She didn't know what to do. So when she wasn't sleeping in and around the woods or under a tree, trying to appear inconspicuous, she just...kept walking. She walked, and walked, and walked some more, innumerable autumn leaves crunching under her feet.

Her tummy ached and gurgled for nourishment. The situation called for only impeccable moderation in metering out her money. She did, one August afternoon, get a little luck tossed her way when she happened upon an all-you-can-eat buffet. This was a case in which she could toss a few pennies around without guilt. She gratefully paid her way in, took two plates, piled them high and deep in just about everything the restaurant had to offer, bibbed herself with a napkin...and slowly, thankfully savored one of the best meals she'd had in a long time. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually said a quick blessing before digging in.

This buffet experience was so wonderful, she found a place to sleep under a grove of trees nearby, came back the next day and dined again. The fact that the management and wait staff worked in the service industry played in her favor. Customers were always right, and so they refrained from indulging curiosity as to why she'd come in two days in a row, wearing the same ratty clothing, in the same stale state. Cecily prayed she didn't have to explain her misfortunes. She'd be lying if she said she didn't want any sympathy, but she also didn't want to dampen anyone's day with her burdens. Eventually, however, she predicted she'd have to sooner or later, if she were to have hope of surviving the rough days ahead.

As glorious as the buffet was, she couldn't just stay and keep eating here, for a couple of reasons—one of which was she was running short of cash. She already knew if she offered plastic it would be declined. She had to move on. So on her last visit, as she left, she addressed the woman behind the front counter with a personal message.

"Excuse me, I'd just like to thank you so, so much for being so good to me and allowing me to eat with you. The time I've spent here's meant a great deal to me, and I know you reserve the right to refuse service and all that, and I just want you to know how grateful I am for you not turning me away. You've really, really helped me. Thank you all again."

Her voice cracked in the last ten words. She left before she started crying. Once she got out the door and past the sightline of anyone inside, out came her tears of gratitude.

The greeter/manager to whom she'd poured out her thanks was a bit bewildered, but appreciative. She'd left out being homeless, again, not wanting to stir up any unnecessary scenes. She didn't know how folks would react. But she did know this was the plight of the homeless. The random casual observer would (most likely) presume the street person in question would accept any handouts and run—not walk—straight to an establishment with a liquor license. And while Cessy enjoyed a fine wine now and then, this was simply not true in her case. She looked back into her personal history for a comparable example, and found one.

*****

Eleven years earlier

Monday, October 13th, 2003, 1:25 p.m.

Once upon a time, at the much richer—on several levels—age of 23, Cecily emerged from a store, bag in hand. She was just about to reenter her car when footsteps approached behind her, accompanied by a gasping, "Excuse me, ma'am!"

She turned to see a young, frazzled-looking woman about her age hurrying towards her. Her belly bounced as she approached, prominently noticeable. She was dusty, dirty, and panting.

"I'm really sorry about this," she said. "I don't mean to impose on you, but...I'm...

"...I'm, well...I'm homeless."

Cessy's face filled with empathy hearing this news.

"...And, um...I so hate to ask you this, but...is there any possible way you might be able to...help me out with...some...money?"

Cecily was torn. On one hand, her folks had warned her growing up about financially indulging the homeless. They could be lying, cleverly reinforcing by dirtying themselves up. If she gave a street person money, they told her, said person would head straight to the bar. This part of her mind was inclined to say no. Just on the chance this girl was lying to her, she could lie back, and say her wallet was empty. Or she could simply flat-out refuse, and get in her car, cold as that option seemed.

The other part of her mind countered by reasoning that first of all, she could tell this girl was pregnant. No portion of her was obese or overweight, but she was showing. And how. That was either a very large baby in there, or a very small medicine ball. So Cesse followed the logic that if this girl cared at all about the and well-being of her child, she wouldn't be touching a drop of booze. Or any other harmful drug-like substance. And as much as her parents had warned her about homeless people, they'd also encouraged her to share what she had, and give to those less fortunate. Something of a conundrum. Plus, she thought...what if the girl wasn't lying?

What if she really was homeless? And with child?

The thought made Cecily want to cry. And the girl gazed into her face with such sad, pleading eyes, she might start crying herself at any point. Cesse didn't want that to happen. She dug into her purse, located and unsnapped her wallet. The girl's eyes widened at the action. She let out a small, happy gasp, anticipating an offering.

Cessy nodded. "Yes, I can."

To the disbelieving pregnant young lady, Cecily produced a note of a generous denomination, and over it was handed.

"And that is real," Cessy assured her. "Not counterfeit. You can take my word for it."

The amazed girl gasped into a squeal.

"OHMYGOSH!" she exclaimed, trying to keep from screaming. "Ohmygosh! FIFty DOLlars?!"

"Well, I can see you're carrying another life inside of you, and so I presumed you're not getting drunk. And...well, you look like you could really use a couple good, nourishing meals. Besides, I'd probably just fritter it away on something unnecessary myself."

The pregnant girl was so moved, she did begin welling up in tears. Euphoric tears.

"OH my GOSH!" she repeated, shaking her head. "I c—...I can't believe this! I...you...you're an angel, lady! You must've been sent from heaven! You're a wonderful person! God bless you!!"

The $50 bill was dampened by her astonished tears. Cesse deduced the girl really was homeless. It was a lot of money, but unless this gal was one hell of an actress, she didn't think such a gesture could touch anyone to genuine weeping.

"No, no," Cecily waved her off. "God bless you. Now you put that in your pocket, or somewhere it can't be seen. Then go ahead and get some healthy food in that belly. I really hope things start looking up for you."

The girl wiped her tears away. "They already have," she replied, indescribable emotion having taken over her. "Miss...Unbelievably Sweet Lady, I...I..." She continued shaking her head, no idea what to say. "Words...fail me. I...nobody has ever done anything like this for me before, and...you may not know me, but I don't take anything for granted anymore. Ever. I have become the most thankful person in the world. I'd give you a hug, ma'am, but I don't wanna get you all dirty. But I don't know how to possibly thank you!"

Cesse smiled at her. "Hey, it's okay. You can thank me by just enjoying yourself a nutritious meal."

She got in the car, threw her a wave, and they went their separate ways. Part of her wished she could've written the girl a check, just in case, but she was about 98.9 percent sure the girl was legitimately homeless, and pregnant.

Besides, even on the 1.1 percent chance she was lying, what would Cesse do about it now? It wasn't like she'd ever see this girl again. And besides, doing a good deed on such a grand scale made her feel noble, giving and proud of herself.

She kept driving.

*****

Eleven years later, present day

Wednesday, November 26th, 2014, 10:28 a.m.

Well, now the proverbial shoe was on the other proverbial foot, Cessy thought. Thank God she at least had shoes on her actual feet. She spent her overabundant free time walking in one general direction she hoped was south. Here in the northern midwest, the autumns and winters got pretty cruel, and again, today's winds were rather brutal. Wow, thought Cessy, hair flying, whipping all around, slapping her in the face. Could she ever use that fifty dollars now.

Sometime around the turn of September, Cecily'd hit upon a method of keeping a roof over her head at night. She visited outlets in the customer service industry, shortly before closing, where no one would judge her or be too suspicious, and located a restroom. Or another small nook in which to conceal herself. She got the idea from a movie she saw when she was twelve. The aforementioned larger superstores were especially good for this type of thing. She didn't like taking advantage of this clientele hospitality, but she didn't like camping out without a tent either. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Each night she spent in a store tempted her more and more to shed her months-worn apparel, and swap it out for a new one. Her outfit was beginning to feel, look and smell pretty rank. But this temptation went hand in hand with the recurring decision: homelessness...or prison? Homelessness entailed freedom, but without shelter. Prison guaranteed a roof, but a great deal of unpleasantness to go on underneath it. All things considered, she thought she'd stick with homelessness and see whither it took her.

This morning at half past ten, Cecily continued along her less than merry way, like always. (How fortunate it was that the shoes she ended up with were sneakers.) Her own belly again grumbled unhappily. She could feel and trace the shape of almost all her ribs. Between all the walking and the lack of eating, the one silver lining in all this was that she had never been more slender and petite. But she prayed something turned in her favor before she wasted away to nil.

She was desperately needing somewhere to sit and rest for a while. Until a person was homeless, she thought, s/he could not imagine nor appreciate how difficult it was to find a place to just...sit. Every square inch belonged to someone's—or something's—property. And not many took very kindly to a vagrant seeking refuge on it, if merely temporarily. If only she could locate a park, or bike trail, or something.

At the corner of 41st and Boulder Street, she passed a telephone pole with a poster taped to it. She glanced for just the second it took to register what it said.

Hm, she thought lackadaisically. What a coincidence.

Several yards later, a few further buildings gave way to a small clearing, dotted by some trees three-quarters bare of orange leaves. Cesse breathed out a sigh of relief. Oh, thank goodness. A bench would be preferable, but in lieu she'd certainly take a nice patch of soft grass, and some crispy yellow and gold leaves under a tree.

Hoping that anyone who might see would grant the favor of her privacy, Cessy trod out into the middle of the clearing, and chose a friendly-looking oak to keep company for a while. It never hurt to hope, and while she was at it, she added the hope that anyone who may approach would show her a bit of charity. Unlikely, but never impossible.

She kicked off her sneakers, letting herself down to her tush and crossing her legs at the ankles. Oh, how good it felt. She stretched her limbs and rolled her head about her shoulders. Crick-crick-pop-pop-crick-pop. How soothing.

She shut her eyes and listened to the birds and breezes, letting the wind again lightly whap her in the face with her own hair. The temperature was in the high 30s, but she was getting pretty accustomed to the chilliness. She laid her head back against the bark and idly sifted through her purse, manually reviewing the contents. Useless cell phone, dead iPod, empty wallet, naked keychain, napkins, tampons, wrappers, plastic utensils, compact, a few loose pennies...and of course the small heart-shaped cameo with the picture of her parents inside she'd kept since childhood.

Now and then she felt the urge to cry, but couldn't go through with it any longer. She'd shed her last tear weeks ago. There were none left. She didn't have the energy to feel this emotional anymore. She tried to just keep from thinking about what might happen in the future. When she did, she got scared. She was past the point of worrying what she was going to do, but still had no idea how to go on surviving...short of begging for money or food. She'd rather beg than wind up in prison, but if things got bad enough...she might not have a choice anymore.

She rested motionless under the tree for an indeterminable span of time, until a new noise joined the natural soundtrack. She opened her eyes to see a black and brown dachshund sitting in front of her, whipping the grass with its enthusiastically wagging tail. It seemed to be smiling at her.

Cesse smiled back with a small, weak chuckle.

"Well, hi there, fella!" she said, holding out her hand to say hello. "Where did you come from?"

Sensing friendliness, the dog hopped on Cecily's lap. He placed his paws on her chest and began to sniff and lick her face.

She giggled. "Oh, gosh!" she said. "Well, you're an affectionate little thing, aren'tcha?"

She took the pup's paws to lower him to the grass, but he hopped back up on her. He seemed eager for attention. He also seemed oddly...familiar, for some reason, but with Cessy's diminishing brain power, which had turned rather mushy by this point in time, she couldn't figure out why or how.