Down But Not Out

Title;

DOWN BUT NOT OUT

'A good start is all you need,' Trevor said. Then he put the pipe back
in his mouth and relit it, for the
umpteenth time. He was sitting on the window cill of his house watching
the traffic go by. Anybody
who walked past , he either nodded to, or gave them a wave.
'Always remember that,' he said .
I stood near him , with my back against the wall and didn't say
anything.

'This limp was over a woman,' he said tapping his bad foot with his
stick. 'Her father chased me
through the fields.
"You're no good. Stay away from my daughter," he shouted after me as I
tried jumping over a
wall, and that's when it happened,' Trevor said , and looked down at
the foot again.
He sucked on his pipe as he waved at a couple who passed on the
opposite side. He seemed to know everybody in the village. But Ireland
was like that back then.
'I fell back down,' he continued, 'my foot slipped between some rocks
and got stuck. Her father raised his stick when he caught up with me
and threatened me. Then he left me there despite my injuries. Broke in
several places it was and never mended properly.'
Trevor never married and was now an old man in his fifties.

I moved away from the wall, went and stood by the street kerb and
looked over at him. I wasn't sure if
he was waiting for me to say something. I just stood there with my
hands in my pockets putting one foot
on the edge of the kerb and letting it slide off on to the road, and
repeating it over and over again.
' So you see young Tony,' Trevor finally said, 'you must do well at
school.'
I looked up at him. I hated school. There was a stone not far from my
foot and I kicked it.

Years later I recalled that time, while sleeping rough in a shop
doorway in the center of London. People looking at me like I was some
sort of exhibit. I sat there in my sleeping bag, my head propped up
against the door, staring out on to the street. It was cold and windy.
People passed, some talking and laughing among each other. A few drunk.
Occasionally I was told I should find myself a job. If only Trevor
could have see me then .
A couple argued just outside the shop front. Something about her
showing too much interest in
another guy in the pub. It turned nasty, and he grabbed hold of the
lapels of her coat ,and pulled her to him.
She was brazen and continued to argue her corner. They didn't notice me
and eventually moved on. I could
hear their raised voices becoming more distant.

You notice things when you have time on your hands. I watched a piece
of string hanging from a
dustbin blowing in the wind ,and remained watching it for some time. It
was my soap opera for five or
ten minutes , wondering if the wind would get up strong enough to blow
it out of the bin. I pulled
the woolen hat further down over my head. Everybody passing by was well
wrapped up. I wouldn't be doing this for much longer, I told myself.
But then I told myself that almost every night. There were moments when
I was content being out here, happy with my lot, but they didn't last
long. In some ways I was no worse off than your everyday person. I
didn't owe any money on credit cards. I wasn't mortaged up to the hilt
,didn't have a car to run or fares to pay. I smiled and counted my
blessings when I thought about those things .

The place quietened down.. The theatres had closed, and most of the
restaurants and pubs as well.
Less activity on the streets. I'd be able to get some kip soon. Some of
the disgarded rubbish was being
blown along the street. I watched a couple looking at the menu in a
restaurant window opposite, even
though the place was closed. That got me thinking about food. Tea and a
sandwich in the early afternoon
was my lot. I was hungry. I lowered my head down onto a carrier bag
with clothes and a towel in it, and stared up at the ceiling of the
shop inside the glass door behind me. It was a bookshop and was partly
lit up. Many times I bought books in this same place just a few years
earlier.
I turned on my side and started to think about my family. Hadn't made
contact with them for
over five years. They hadn't a clue where I was. I looked at my watch
and laughed at the fact that I was
bothered by time. 'Taxi,' a man's voice called out, then the sound of a
taxi door closing a few seconds
later. I yawned, but wasn't tired enough to sleep and reached for the
beer can beside me. It was empty. If only I could have a drink or
something to eat. I got out of the sleeping bag and looked in the bins
nearby. A half eaten hamburger and some chips in a bag. I was happy
again. I could hear the rubbish wagon in the
distance as I ate, the sound of bins, and the crew calling out to each
other. Little chance of getting any sleep now.

In the mornings I had to be away from the store front before any of the
staff arrived. Sleeping bag over my shoulder, and if I had enough
money, a cup of tea in my hand and I'd head for Trafalgar Square, or
the river down by The Embankment or Westminster. If the weather was
reasonably mild, a park bench to catch up on some sleep. Where ever it
was, I always watched the people hurrying to work. For over twenty
years I was one of them. Hated every minute of it , but at least had a
roof over my head, and a regular supply of food. Having totally ignored
Trevor's advice and not done well at college , I tried many different
jobs. Couldn't settle into any of them.

'You drink way too much,' Jane my ex-lady used to say to me.
'It's not a problem. I can handle it,' I'd say, even though I was
drinking seven lunchtimes and evenings a
week. I'd start missing days at work. Jane's threats to leave me were
never taken seriously. We had a
nice rented flat. A few good friends. Enjoyed holidays abroad. Visits
to the theatre, a game of tennis, or
a swim. She was a real looker.
'You've got it made,' some of my mates used to say.
Then I'd go home, and she was threatening that if I didn't change my
ways she'd leave. I'd win her
around, and everything would be fine.

All that seemed like some other man's life as I sat there on the park
bench. I didn't belong anywhere.
Lost contact with friends. Don't have a clue where Jane was. Last time
I had heard of her she was engaged.
Probably married now. I leant forward, put my elbows on my knees,
rested my chin in my hands and stared
at the ground. Everything seemed so hopeless .

'You can be anything you want, if you work hard enough at it,' Trevor
used to tell me.
I'd recalled that many times since. This was one of the better winter
days as I sat in the park. Ten minutes
walk away from here I spent eight years of my working life in a boring
office job. Occasionally I'd see
one or two familiar faces from that place during the lunch break, and
lower my head, as I didn't want
them to recognise me.

'You won't committ to anything,' Jane often accused me.
I couldn't see it then. We lived together for five years. She'd sent
out enough warning signals. Then she
called a halt to it all. A peck on the cheek when we met up for the
occasional coffee . My hope was
always of a reconciliation. I'd make promises to change.
'No way!' was her reply each time.

Redundancy followed a few months later. The job market no longer seemed
interested in a thirty six year old , or so I told myself .The
redundancy money came in useful. I drank day and night.

I looked down at my shoes. The soul of one of them was held in place by
a piece of string. My clothes were
filthy. I hadn't shaved or washed for several days, except for a wipe
of the face in the local toilets. I'd
suddenly become aware of my appearance and studied my image in the
toilet mirror. My shoulders were drooped . The hair long and greasy. I
hadn't shaven for days.

At some point during the day, unless it was raining, I'd go down by the
river again and watch the boats go by, or just sit there staring at the
water. I loved the water. Used to go down to the sea with Jane. She and
I
seriously considered moving to Devon and running a little hotel. How
different things might have been.
I checked the change in my pocket. Didn't have enough for a drink. I
hated begging, but a little later I was
outside an underground station asking people for money.

As each day went by, I promised myself I would get out of this soon.
It's when I sat down and tried to work
out how, that I'd get resigned. I met up with some of the others. I
hated calling them down and outs, or
thinking of myself as one. One guy lost his business, or so he said.
Another lost contact with his wife
and kids through the drink. Another was ex army sargeant, fifteen years
service. We'd occasionally
gather around one of the park benches. Sometimes I went to the soup
kitchens and met up with them
there. A lady occasionally came and joined us. Didn't say much, but
when she left the table one day
one of the guys said , her husband ran off with her best friend and she
turned to the drink. Had a half a
dozen carrier bags with her, and would shuffle along in her long dirty
coat.

One day at the table, word got around that a man was found dead in the
toilets of a nearby park. His
name was mentioned, Derek Smith, and my jaw dropped. He was from my
village back home and once
held down a good job. Never drank till he was nearly thirty. Most of
these guys knew him because he
was on the streets for several years. They were all talking about him
now. One of them asked if I knew him,
and I lied. I continued eating my soup and just listened. That night I
didn't sleep , and eventually sat up
with my back to the shop door staring out on to the wet street.

I knew it was the drink that destroyed him. Although he wasn't a close
friend I knew him well enough.
When I first saw him on the streets, I was shocked. I wanted to talk to
him , but he'd turn his head the
other way when he'd see me coming. I'd see him outside a priests house
with some others waiting for a
sandwich and a cup of tea or coffee. As I lay there I wondered if his
family knew where he was? Did they know he was dead?

In the morning I made my way to the Salvation Army, told the man at
reception about Derek and
asked him if there was anyway they could contact his family. He made a
phone call and the man who
came to see me said yes they would do that. I gave him the name and
address of the family in my
village, and as I was leaving I was close to tears. I pulled my collar
up, buried my hands deep in my
pockets and headed off towards nowhere in particular. I ended up back
in the park and sat on a bench.
Was I going to be Derek in two ,three or whatever number of years time?
I picked out a little notebook
and pencil that I carried in my pocket, and scribbled in it.

The next morning, I went to the local toilets had a wash and shave,
went to the soup kitchen for breakfast. Sat with the same blokes, and
as I was leaving, I gave them the thumbs up as usual. When I got out on
the street, I looked back at the building, then walked off. I headed
for the Salvation Army place I'd called into the day before, took out
my notebook and checked the name I'd written in it, then went in and
asked for Mr. Nevin the chap who said he'd take care of
everything.

Walking through one of the parks some months later , I sat down on a
bench, and put my food on the
seat beside me. It was summer now. There was a man who'd obviously hit
on hard times a couple of
benches further up unraveling a creased up newspaper and then looking
through the pages. I never saw
him before. I sat back with my arms extended across the back of the
bench and looked at him out of the
corner of my eye. I wondered how long he was doing this? He looked late
thirties, early forties, but then
it was often difficult to tell ages. As I was drinking my tea and
eating a sandwich, I saw him look in my
direction. When I was finished I looked at my watch, got up and as I
was passing him he looked at the
bag in my hand. I stopped in front of him, took the remaining sandwich
out and handed it to him . He
smiled, and I smiled back. I talked to him for a few minutes, then
looked at my watch again. My lunch
break was over it was time to get back to work.

END