The Homeless Child
Sanya Snaith
Soap, rinse, wipe. Each car was the same after doing this day in and day out. The driver reached out of the car and gave me a handful of dollars. I lifted up my sneaker placing the bills inside before putting my sneaker back on. The bills would be safe there from the bigger kids and I wouldn’t have to worry about it spilling out of my pocket onto the wet street and getting shredded. I had learned about that the hard way.
Another car pulled up and I repeated the process taking extra care not to scratch the car. A cold wind passed over me finding its way into every hole in my threadbare clothing.
“Aren’t you a little young to be doing this, son?” The elderly driver pulled his cap back revealing salt and pepper hair as warm, dark brown eyes stared down at me.
“Yes, but I got to do what I got to do to make a living,” I replied shyly.
I prepared to run if he tried to grab me like the little girl I used to share the building I lived in. There are lots of kids living there and they would help me. I’d been there long enough for them to help.
“I know we just met, but could you write an article about my story ?” He asked. I didn’t want to say no because he looked like he’s been through a lot.
“I’m sorry, but I have a lot of work I need to get done and--”, he cut me off and said “This story will be the greatest you would ever hear."
“I’m sorry, but I have to go to work”, as I was walking away, he shouted.
“Don’t you wanna know how your brother, Max died ?”
I turned back real fast.
“How the hell would you know something like that !?” I stated angrily.
He said with a smile, “So now, do you wanna hear my story ?”