Charles Mellon Hocksworth

Charles Mellon Hocksworth
　
Charles first struck upon the idea of living in the snow pile on the Northeast corner of the Walmart parking lot on a cold, windy night just after he had been asked to leave the men’s shelter because of an altercation he started and finished with a rum soaked, foul smelling resident there. The fight wasn’t his fault, really, the man known as ‘Junk’ had taken Charles’ pillow and refused to give it back. Charles convinced him in the only way he knew how - a ferocious right hook. The powerful blow knocked out Junk and probably broke his toothless jaw, but Charles didn’t really care, not even a little. Junk had been stealing things from him ever since Charles had landed in the men’s shelter, and the pillow was just the last item that Charles was going to let him get away with. Charles had tried the, ‘turn the other cheek’ routine, but his patience had run out and he explained to Junk in a manner Junk would understand. But, that action made life for Charles suddenly far more unpleasant.

Ron, the night manager at the shelter escorted Charles to the front door, handed him his belongings, meager but adequate, and slightly pushed Charles out the door, carefully watching him in the off chance Charles wanted to take a swing at him.

"Sorry, Charles, but the rules are rules and we can’t have any fighting here at the shelter," Ron explained, in an, almost, apologetic tone.

Charles didn’t say anything, knowing that any attempt to ask for mercy would be in vain. He pulled his hood up over his ball cap against the wind that was blowing small pellets of snow, and walked down the street, not sure of where he would go. He had a sleeping bag tied to his back pack, a vestige of his working days, and was prepared to sleep outside if it came to that. His parka would keep him warm for awhile, but the temperature was dropping and would probably be down near zero before the night was over. His boots, old and worn, weren’t up to the task of keeping his feet warm unless he kept walking. The thought of walking all night in the pending blizzard didn’t strike Charles as one of the more brilliant ideas he’s had. There wasn’t another shelter within ten miles and he didn’t feel like trying to make it there during a snow storm, especially with the wind kicking up like it was, probably blowing in a blizzard. He had seen too many homeless men found dead after just such a storm and he didn’t plan on being a statistic just yet.

He knew there would probably be a fire in a fifty five gallon drum down near the tracks under the bridge that crossed the river, but he wasn’t up to walking that far tonight, plus, the idea of sharing the fire with a bunch of drunks, junkies and crazies didn’t get Charles too excited. He walked a few blocks trying to get his thoughts clear. He turned a corner and saw the lights of the Walmart parking lot and just naturally walked toward the light, like a moth looking for it’s bearings. Plus, he knew he could wander Walmart for awhile, warming up, before they sent him back into the cold.

Charles approached the parking lot from the South, just to the right of the large pile of plowed snow. It must have been twenty five feet high, piled up by huge front loaders. He stopped and stared at the pile, a germ of an idea budding in his cold brain. He looked the pile over, walking around it as he surveyed the immensity of it, enlarging his small idea as he walked. A brief smile crossed his cracked lips as he scratched his whisker covered chin with a bare hand.
He made a quick decision, turned and walked across the parking lot and entered the store. He still had a few dollars left from his last job, washing dishes at a café north of town until the owner’s grand son returned from school.
The owner, Jim, had tried to explain why he had to let Charles go, but couldn’t look Charles in the eye as he attempted some justification for firing him.

Charles walked to the sporting goods section and found the items he needed - a small backpack shovel, a candle lantern, a pack of small, flat candles for the lantern, a plastic tarp, and a small, folding cot.

After checking out, he pushed his cart filled with his new furnishings and headed for the snow pile. He parked his cart on the side of the pile opposite the store. A large berm covered in spruce trees and topped by a six foot fence were at his back as he began digging into the snow pile. He tried to pace himself so that he didn’t work up a sweat, knowing that any moisture that dampened his clothing would lower his core temperature when he stopped working. He dug a small opening, in the South side of the pile, just big enough for him to crawl into, that connected to an entrance hall about four feet in length with a slight turn in it to keep any wind down to a minimum. From there, he began to dig a larger room, one about four feet high and approximately six feet across in all directions. He wanted to keep it as small as possible so that he didn’t have to use much energy to heat it.

Once the hole was dug to his satisfaction, he pulled in his new furnishings to arrange them in his new home. He cut the tarp in half and fashioned a make-shift door from one half and used the remaining half as a rug. He set up his cot, dug a small ledge for the candle lantern and lit the candle. He now had light and heat. With no wind, the heat from the candle was enough to take the edge off the cold. In fact, his new home was becoming quite comfortable. He rolled out his sleeping bag, pulled off his boots and slid into bed. The snow, in addition to stopping the wind and acting as insulation, was also blocking all sound from the outside world. For once, in a long time, Charles could enjoy silence. It sounded good. He extinguished the candle, and fell asleep almost instantly.

He awoke the next morning having one of the best nights sleep he could remember. Not since he had found himself out on the streets had he had such a great night’s sleep. Sleeping in shelters, he had to keep one eye open most of the night to keep track of his things. In the ‘Pile’ as he had come to call it, he was alone, unmolested, safe and secure from the outside world.
He poked his head out to find a new, two inch, layer of fresh snow. He grabbed his backpack and stepped out of the opening, pushing some snow over the tarp to conceal it from anyone who might be prying around the pile. After making sure his new home wouldn’t be disturbed, he headed off to the soup kitchen to see if he could get something to eat.

As he walked to the soup kitchen, he had a new bounce to his step. He was a home owner now. Sure, it wasn’t really a conventional home, but it was close, and it performed as one. Besides, he thought, he didn’t have to mow the lawn or shovel the walk, some major pluses when you consider home ownership. He would have to find a way to get a radio so that he could listen to some tunes while he lounged around his new home.

He had just finished eating when Victor, a small, Hispanic man with silver hair and a ready smile, sat down next to him.

"Hey, Charles, I heard about the fight last night you had with Junk. Way to go, man!"

Charles nodded at Victor. "He stole my pillow," Charles explained.

"They had to haul his butt to the ER after you left. He had a broken jaw. They wired it shut so now he’s eating out of a straw," Victor said, lauging.

"He had it coming"

"Yeah, he probably did. I never liked him too much, ya know?" Victor said.

"Me too," Charles added.

"Hey, Charles, where are you staying now? Victor asked.

"I got my own place," Charles said, smiling slightly

"Your own place? How did you do that?"

Charles realized he’d said too much already and didn’t want to add to the mistake by saying more. He just shrugged his shoulders and moved the toast crumbs on his tray around with his fingers.

"Come on, Charles, what you got goin’?

"Nothin’"

"Nah, you got somethin’ goin’ on." Victor bent his head down to look Charles in the eyes. "You’re not gonna tell an old buddy?

Charles stood up. "Nope. There’s just room for one, and that’s me." He headed for the garbage can to dump his food. "Sorry, Vic. I’ll see ya around."

Charles realized he’d have to be more careful so that no one would find out where he was staying and steal all his belongings. He didn’t look back to see how Victor was taking the news. He just didn’t care if Victor liked it or not. It was a matter of survival and having people like you didn’t contribute to survival on the streets. Being smart and tough mattered and that was all. Charles was both tough and smart, and he was sometimes brutally honest when it came to dealing with his fellow man, especially the other homeless men he encountered on the streets. He didn’t see any reason to beat around the bush and try to spare anyone hurt feelings. If they couldn’t get over it, then to hell with them. He didn’t expect any thing different in return.

Charles had been on the streets for the last six years, ever since he was discharged from the Army in 1973. After two tours in Vietnam, a Distinguished Service Medal and a Purple Heart, all the Army could do for Charles was some money for school and occasional free medical care. They really didn’t have an answer to the nasty little habit he’d picked up in the jungles and back streets of ‘Nam. He, as well as many of his fellow soldiers, had found their escape from the brutality and senseless killing in various and assorted drugs. That was the good news, the bad news was that the habit followed them home. Some of the lucky ones rid themselves of it and the unlucky ones, like Charles, suffered the consequences regularly.

Six years of being on the streets, still fighting many of the battles he wished he’d left in country. But, Charles knew the responsibility for his condition lay at his door and none else, and he accepted that. He, somehow, knew he’d find a solution out of the darkness that had engulfed him and get his act together. He had to. He had seen too many of his fellow ex-soldiers die on the streets to want to spend all of his life homeless and hopeless. But, the puzzle was how one went about getting off the streets. As of that cold, sunless morning, Charles had not found that piece of the puzzle. He wondered if he ever would find it. Maybe he’d just walk the streets until they found him huddled under a bridge some day, frozen stiff like Speed, the meth freak who was found just a week before, frozen harder than the concrete he was laying on.
Charles shuddered at the thought of Speed laying on the concrete, just a lump of frozen flesh.

"Aw, crap," Charles muttered under his breath as he dismissed the thought of Speed out of his mind.

Charles walked back to the Pile and, after making sure no one was watching, slipped into the entrance and lay down on the cot. He didn’t light the candle, letting the ambient light leaking in from around the tarp across the opening light the small room.

It was after noon when he awoke. He hadn’t planned taking a long nap, in fact, he hadn’t planned a nap at all, but the comfort of his happy home had overtaken him and he slipped off. He crawled out of the entrance and , after covering up the tarp, walked over to Walmart to use the bathroom. The wind was picking up forcing Charles to pull his hood up over his head. It looked like another storm was blowing in.
To be continued.....