Homeless

  He asked a well-dressed woman of about 50 for
change, read her as one of the motherly types who would look at him
with that wounded sympathy. She stopped, peering down at him. He looked
up, realised quickly he wasn't going to get any spare coins in her
purse, he was going to get her opinion. And it wasn't going to ring
with sympathy and understanding.

She fixed him with a
beady hard gaze, shifted in her expensive court shoes and adjusted her
matching beige handbag. He simply returned her hostile stare, only half
interested if she was another poised to say 'get a job', then were
unnerved by his age if they actually bothered to glance at him. She
opened her pinched mouth, gave an exasperated sigh, "Where are your
parents?"

Her voice was as cold and measured as her
eyes, she spoke down to him literally and by intonation. He didn't
break the scrutiny of her glare, "Probably at home where I left
them."

She tutted loudly, raised her eyes to the sky
as if it would witness the truculence she was forced to bear, "You
should be at home and in school instead of sitting around," she pursed
her thin lips, selecting the perfect spiteful word, "Panhandling," she
spat.

He gave a humourless snort, dropping his gaze.
She continued unabated, finding the golden thread of her argument,
which seemed to be he was there on purpose and having a great time at
everyone else's expense. He tried to tune her out, considered telling
her why he wasn't in his ever-loving family home enjoying the benefits
of a good education. Well-worn phrases about youth and their ungrateful
attitude to their wealth of opportunity and easy lives told him
everything about her rebuttal. He decided against hearing that smacking
didn't do children any harm; of course it had never done her any harm;
and now parents couldn't tell their children off without them running
to social services.

Perhaps the sky was on her
intolerant side, drizzle started to ooze from the slate grey clouds. It
meant nothing to her or her thick camel hair coat; it would dry quickly
in her cosy central heated home where she could also nuture any cold.
His thin denim jacket might take a day to properly dry and on top of
the cold he hadn't shaken after 3 weeks the next step might be flu. He
needed to find shelter before it got worse, but hated giving her the
idea she'd driven him away with a novel tirade.

He
rose slowly, numbed from the cold concrete and the weather. She was
informing him how he was wasting his life and should go home and
apologize to his poor parents. He bent to grab his bag, a cough
tickling his throat.

"You've no idea what it's like
for your poor family. Selfish. My daughter ran away, you don't even
think or care what you're doing to your parents!"

He
grinned, straightening to face her. He was lifted by a world which
could provide such opportunity for justice and satisfaction, "I really
can't think why she'd want to run away from such an understanding,
caring mother."

She was briefly silenced, her mouth
puckered in affronted fury. He gave her a twitch of a smile, walking
away before she could recover. Doubtlessly undented, perhaps confirmed
in her blinkered opinion.