Taurus

Wyatt sat down on the park bench like he did two years ago to the day. He vowed he would return here, though he was happy it only took him two years. That day was much this October day, trees changing colour the sounds of the busy city around him. His mind drifted back to that day.

“Hey buddy, got a light?”, the stranger sitting next to a tree asked as Wyatt walked past him.

“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” Wyatt responded. The man focused on the next person and asked the same question.

Wyatt was walking into Moss Park in downtown Toronto. He came here everyday, a reprieve from the shelter he was staying in a few blocks away. He had been homeless for over a year now, losing his job and running out of benefits he could no longer afford his apartment. He was an artist, well an inspiring artist. It was a talent he had as long as he could remember, he was always drawing. His mom would put his pictures on the refrigerator as most parents do, but his were more than just stick figures of the the family. Wyatt could draw the neighbours dog, a squirrel burrowing for a hidden meal and even his mom. Though rudimentary at first, by the age of eleven they were almost replicas.

He was working for a design agency for four years when they relocated to Montreal. Wyatt tried to find another job, but his lack of formal training and no degree made it difficult. Even with his portfolio and referral from his previous employer, at the age of twenty-three everyone was looking for more experience in an applicant.

As he wondered through the park, he sat on a park bench. His family lived in Vancouver and had no idea he was homeless. He couldn’t disappoint his mom, she raised him alone and was so proud when he moved to Toronto and landed the design job.

Wyatt had been looking for a job, but it’s not always easy when you don’t have a permanent address to give to an employer. He was able to sell some of his drawings at an independent coffee shop in the Distillery District, this helped him at least with keeping his phone service to talk to him mom and give a little to some of the more struggling people he met in the shelter. He never gave to them directly, but after they fell asleep he would slip what he could into their pocket.

He was about the get up and noticed a newspaper on the bench next to him. He picked it up and a little black notebook fell out on to the ground. It was tied with a leather cord around it. Wyatt looked around to see if anyone was nearby and may have left it but there were just people walking though the park to their next destination, either talking on the phone or lost in whatever their headsets were playing.

Wyatt untied the cord and opened the cover; there was nothing written in it. It was blank. He passively flipped through a few pages and found a key taped to a page midway through. The key was small, like to a lockbox and had the words “Taurus” written above it and “Augusta” below. Again he looked around to see if anyone was watching or coming for this. All he saw was new people walking though.

Wyatt opened the internet browser on his phone and searched those two words. Lots of car sales ads came up. He refined his search to just Toronto and found an article about street graffiti in Kensington Market. Wyatt had no idea what the connection was but decided he had nothing else to do today, so he stood and began walking to Kensington Market.

He was self conscious as he made his way down Dundas Street, it was more feeling like everyone he passed knew he was homeless. He wouldn’t look anyone in the eyes. As he reached Spadina Road, he started to beat himself up about walking all the way over here. Someone could be looking for this little black notebook he was carrying in his hand. As he continued to walk he saw the street sign.

Wyatt turned right on Augusta Ave. Seemed like a coincidence, but could it be? The streets were busy with a lot of people laughing and enjoying the warm fall day, but he still felt they were all staring at him. After about two blocks he saw a large window with a silhouette of a zodiac symbol of the Taurus. He stopped and opened the notebook in his hand to where the key was taped. He looked at the two words “Taurus” and “Augusta”. He still couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a coincidence.

“Looks like you are at right place,” a voice said startling Wyatt.

Wyatt looked up and saw a rough looking man in a sleeveless denim shirt, jeans that were covered in what looked like ink and black boots. He was bald and had tattoos all over his arms and neck.

“What do yo mean?” Wyatt asked, a bit shy.

“That notebook you have there. There’s a key inside.” It was a statement and not a question.

As Wyatt sat on this bench again, that day and that man changed his life. An anonymous man sought the help from the owner of Taurus Ink tattoo shop to give back. Inside the shop was a lockbox left for the person who found the little black notebook. Inside was a note, “I once needed help and was given it. I wanted to give back. Please do the same when you can.” Along with the note was twenty-thousand dollars.

The shop owner ensured him this wasn’t a joke . As they talked and Wyatt shared his story, the man offered him a job as an artist at the shop. His job there and expanded sales of his work has turned his life around.

Thinking about that day two years ago, Wyatt set down a newspaper on the park bench then stood up and walked away. Inside that newspaper was a little black notebook.