"Everything in my Wallet"

They say you never turn your back on family, but most of those folks have never had to put that to the test. I mean, really prove you’re willing to go through hell for blood.

When I heard that Tommy had been evicted, I scraped and scrounged my way from Los Angeles to the East Coast. Bus to bus, ride to ride.

They tell you to never hitchhike, but when you’ve been marching along the highway in hundred-degree heat for hours and a truck pulls over, the promise of air conditioning alone is too great to resist. Plus, I knew I had my KA-BAR resting in the heel of my boot.

Not that I ever wanted to have to use that knife. But experience had taught me how vital it could be in spots of trouble. Usually the sight of that nasty piece of work was enough to convince the vagrant attempting to fleece me that there were easier marks.

It was that experience that had kept me alive and mostly intact—minus a few teeth. Experience that I knew Tommy was sorely lacking.

I had been out on the streets for a while. Ever since my government-subsidized housing had been condemned. For a while, I had bided my time in a tent city in LA, convinced that patience was the key. The VA hospital had agreed to receive my mail, and the letters always started the same way:

We are so grateful for your service to this country. Unfortunately, not enough to actually help you in any material way…

I’m paraphrasing the second part, of course. But no matter how nice and the sincere the words, the result was the same: hurry up and wait. Something any military man was all too familiar with.

Still, you only needed to have one ex-Marine attempt to kill you in a PSTD-driven psychotic break because he could no longer afford his medications, or to see how many of my fellow homeless vets descended into the bottomless pit of drug addiction, before you conclude you need out.

And that was another bit of experience I had that Tommy did not. The military had taught me many things, but none more important than how to survive. And how a strong will to survive could inspire you to overcome odds others would see as insurmountable.

In my current life, I had defied those odds. I was healthy, sober, and alive even after years on the streets.

Yes, there were hungry nights. Sure, I was often lectured by holier-than-thou suburbanites about how I only needed to work and all my problems would be solved.

I didn’t bother telling them I had already tried that. I had attempted to escape the cycle of poverty that had descended on my town after the mills closed. For many of us, the Army was a way out. And for a while, I thought I made the right choice. But once I had exceeded the age range that the Army bureaucrats deemed as optimum for holding a rifle and killing fellow human beings, they had spat me out with a pat on the back.

And who was going to hire a homeless man with no skills other than knowing how to march and how to shoot?

Still, those nights out in the field had taught me a lot that I had since applied in my wanderings. For example, knowing the temperature threshold at which sleeping outside with no tent or other shelter posed the risk of waking up with one or more limbs frozen.

If you woke up at all.

If there was one advantage to Los Angeles versus Tommy’s location in Arlington, Virginia, it was the fact that it never got below freezing at night.

Not like here, where tonight promised to plunge to 18 degrees.

Which meant that Tommy and I needed actual shelter instead of relying on our layers and sleeping bags.

And that meant we needed cash.

Yes, even in a place of yuppies that the black drifters I had met referred to as “the white man’s D.C.,” homeless shelters were not free. Cheap, but not free.

Worse, Tommy and I had had no luck asking strangers in the daylight. And the prospect of approaching strangers in the dark to ask for money was a whole different monster.

As I said, tough day.

The parking lot of the Giant held some promise. People would still be coming in and out frequently even during the evening. The lot was lit, so it lessened some of the “threat” they might perceive from me and Tommy. And Giant, while not Whole Foods, didn’t cater to the lowest class, so those who shopped here likely had some money to spare.

Even so, it certainly wasn’t easy. And you could forget asking any women. At best, they’d pretend not to hear you and fast walk away. At worst, you might get a face full of mace. Or the cops called on you.

Hell, probably both.

Tommy and I watched as another customer exited the store. Male, decent clothes, full bags. My cousin glanced at me, and I nodded.

The temptation to take the fast track was always there. The idea that a quick flash of the KA-BAR could mean we had the man’s wallet, his groceries, and whatever else he had to give. The sight alone was usually enough.

But that wasn’t the person I wanted to be. And it certainly wasn’t the person I wanted to see Tommy become.

So we approached, keeping our distance and waiting for the man to turn from loading his groceries. Better for him to see us first than to approach from behind, where he might be spooked or defensive.

I gave the usual speech, Tommy and I both holding our sleeping bags in front of us to dispel any suspicion we might be pretending to be homeless for free handouts.

Side note: fuck those guys.

I waited, expecting any number of usual answers:

Sorry, I don’t carry cash.

Not today.

Maybe some food instead?

Instead, the man nodded and pulled out his wallet.

Now I waited to see him count off a few bucks. Helpful, but still far from what we would need.

Once again, he surprised by instead grabbing every dollar visible and holding them out.

“That’s everything in my wallet,” he said with a tired smile. “Just do me a favor and send me some good karma, okay? I need all that I can get.”

I shook his hand, told him I would and that he had turned our night around.

Later, when out of sight, I counted out the bills.

$87. Enough to pay for two nights in the shelter. For me and Tommy.

Even leftover cash to buy some food on top of what the shelter would provide.

I could lie and say that one act of kindness turned the whole situation around. That Tommy and I are both off the streets today.

But when is life ever that easy or clean?

But what it did do was keep us alive through that cold snap. And in our current circumstances, staying alive is the primary objective. Making it through to tomorrow and facing whatever tomorrow brings.

And that one moment of wanton generosity has made me feel a bit more confident to approach others for help.

Most of the time, the result is disappointment. But knowing there are those out there who can empathize, who can turn out their wallets to complete strangers in a grocery store parking lot with no questions asked, has helped me through some dark moments.

Dark moments when the temptation to take the fast track to end the hunger pangs, escape the heat, or find a warm bed was nearly overwhelming.

Our benefactor never did say what his issue was, but I’ve replayed that brief interaction in my mind enough to hazard a guess.

Details I hadn’t quite noticed or deemed relevant at the time, like the slight wince when he’d take a step, his stilted gait, that tired smile, and the dark rings under his eyes.

He hadn’t known depravation quite like ours, but this man had known pain. He had found himself in another seemingly inescapable situation where the best he could do was focus on making it through to tomorrow.

I’ve kept my promise. I send a prayer up each day that whatever the man’s troubles were, he’s found a way through.

Just like how he helped my cousin and I out of our problem.