Page 3 of Lilah
I watch the group of five, two girls and three boys, as they continue along their journey in front of me to goodness knows where.
They seem like they all are close friends. Or maybe they're just drunk.
I like to think they're friends. I imagine them having known each other since they were young kids in school. They stayed friends throughout middle school and even high school.
Now, as they look as if they're around their late college years, I infer that the five of them had lost a little bit of contact and tonight, they're meeting up again for old times sake.
I hope they remain friends.
I let a sad smile reach my lips as I think over my friend group. The pillows on my bed, my feather-filled comforter, my bookcase filled with books I've read over and over, and lastly, Mr. Terrip from my one and only favorite bookstore.
Mr. Terrip is a kind-hearted man in his late seventies and he's still going strong. I've known him for many, many years and he's been a guardian-figure for me for as long as I can remember.
Even before mom and dad turned to alcohol to escape what I had caused.
Of course, I would love to have friends other than inanimate objects and a grandfatherly bookstore owner.
I've tried making friends. In high school, I just never really fit in. It seems like in the adult world, I don't fit in either.
I don't know where I belong.
It's like I'm so close to finding where it is but as soon as I reach for it, I get pulled back. Most likely by my chatter. A trait I've had ever since I could talk coherent words.
Mr. Terrip doesn't mind it much. He's also deaf in one ear, the one he turns toward me when I babble but hey, it's okay.
The sudden sound of a can rattling against the hard sidewalk sends me back into reality. I peer up and over at the same group of five people as they stand over something I can't quite make out considering they're all so far ahead of me now.
One of them throws the drink onto the object, spilling liquid all over it. Another one kicks it and I feel my heart clench.
I don't know what they're kicking but I sure it doesn't deserve it.
Just as soon as they started, the group finishes and they walk away from the object laughing and talking like nothing happened.
I speed up my pace to see what they were doing that to and a quiet gasp escapes my lips as I realize what they were doing.
An old and frail homeless man lays on the curb, picking up a few strewn out belongings. As he notices me stopping in front of him, he backs up with fear pooling his eyes.
"Miss, please," he raises his skinny arms, "I don't mean any trouble."
"No, no!" I say softly, "you're doing nothing wrong."
His eyes remain fear-stricken and my heart hurts for the poor man. Who would just walk up to someone as unfortunate as him and just start beating him up for no reason?
And to think I wanted that group of friends to stay friends forever. They don't deserve cow pie now.
"I'm not going to do what those people did, I promise," I raise my hands to show him I mean absolutely no harm. I bend down slowly and help him gather his few items.
"Are you okay?" I question him, my tone worried.
"I'm okay," he gives me a little grateful smile showing off his slightly rotting teeth but I'm never one to judge. Only the good Lord knows what this poor soul has been through.
"Would...Would you like some money for food or maybe a new coat?" I question him, gripping the twenty dollars in my sweatshirt pocket.
He needs it so, so much more than my parents. Even if it means getting hit with the belt a few times.
"Really?" he questions in astonishment, his eyes widening, "you don't have to."
I hand him over the twenty dollars, silently scolding myself for not bringing my wallet with me as well.
