Published Date: May 13, 2025 - 11am (PST/PDT)

5 minute read

Red tantrums and blue meltdowns settle into the sky like a tired toddler refusing to sleep. Tim watched the mellow glow, hoping the sunset’s anguish will replace his own, soothing him. Most nights, he has plenty of money to burn. Tonight, he worries he doesn’t have enough to last.

“Dollar bills glow brighter and feel warmer than wood or anything,” says his teeth. I can’t help but stare at the few he has left. His logic confuses me. He burns money that can get him into a home and to visit a dentist.

The clouds morph above us, as if to pack up and move out, for the stars to shine their razzle-dazzle. The charcoal in the pit and can of lighter fluid next to his foldout chair are probably what helps the fire burn, but I get the feeling he hardly gets company, so I kept quiet about the laws of physics. I am dealing with a buck the system guy. Tim’s gnarly mess of hair hung low, gusts of his stench would fill the air, and with all the smoke, my nostrils flared, my body reflexed, I sneezed.

“What?!”

I shook my head to say no, I didn’t say anything. His eyes doubled, shrugging his shoulders, he clarified,

“I’m deaf from ‘nam, thought you said sumtin.”

I half-smiled and nodded, ok.

He yelled in mad glee, “I got this roaring fire in my soul!”

I waited for his energy to balance, my watch reported 11:11pm. My mom believed in the spiritual meanings of numbers, and dad always teased her for it.

Tim was fidgety, somewhat calm, folding a dollar bill, he feeds the fire and winks at me or it’s a nervous tic, I don’t know. Bucking the system. I’m sure most people look directly at you as they wink. He’s the weirdest guy. Tim stared into the flames. All the money Tim was given as handouts is burning in the illegal bonfire. I just stared at his every move the way I awe at the city raccoons scavenging from dumpsters.

“Your young, why you out here?”

I search for the perfect excuse.

“Uhhhhh, parents kicked me out.”

Truth is, I heard about Tim from my parents.

I think about college, becoming an investigative journalist, like, for 60 minutes or the local news.

Mom sent me out here after we talked about the homeless weirdo at her counter, exchanging used bills and sticky coins for, “yer best fresh-off-the-print pape-ah.” Mom laughed about how he mispronounced paper as if she didn’t mispronounce caricature last week, or in her words, carrot catcher. She felt it would be harmless for me to spend one night outside, basically camping, now that I’m 18, and she thought the experience would change my mind about signing up for the military. If you hate camping with strangers, you’ll die at bootcamp. Mom logic, there was always a catch to everything.

Before I left to find Tim roaming around Tent City, I noticed she placed another local college brochure on my desk, with a pink sticky-note, they have a great art program, you like drawing! I drew Batman once but to dad, Oh it’s a cat, nice work, son! I stopped drawing soon after.

Hearing mom’s horrible impression of Tim at the time made me laugh hysterics! But, Tim doesn’t have a southern accent.

He searches my face as if he’s trying to recognize me.

“You too, eh,” I half-hear him ramble about his missing dog, but I’m annoyed, cold, and bored as hell.

Lingering on the memory of mom talking about Tim, my belly rumbles. She made spaghetti that night. The pasta had the right mixture of butter and sauce. I folded my arms to hold my stomach.

“I have some bagels from the bakery here,” he grunts while tossing them at me. I notice they expired a week ago.

He laughs. “Yep, this is yer first night.” Oh, I guess mom is right about where he’s from.

“When ya been out here as long as me, you discover real quick, what doesn’t kill ya,’ he trails off.

“It makes you stronger,” I finished his thought.

He looks at me as if I’m the crazy one, “No!”

Tim stared deeper into the crackling fire.

“Makes you real weak then, you die right quick.”

He seems oddly content with that. I thought of every jujitsu move I ever seen, some wrestling moves from junior year, the hours in thought on self-defense and remembering the many school fights I witnessed. I felt the pocketknife in my Doc Martens boot, dad made me promise to use only if he attacked first and I can’t get away.

Tim throws the last dollar into the pit. Each flame seemed to fight with the other, defying gravity, flickers of blue deepening into an orange-red burn, tucking the night sky and Tim to sleep.

Turns out there are enough dollars to maintain warmth. Still, I’m shivering too much to sleep well. Tim is even letting me use his new sleeping bag he got from the homeless shelter. It doesn’t help.

I woke up ready for bed again. I hoped Tim could show me where he begs for money. I wanted to live his way, to know his heart. I rubbed my eyes, and spotted Tim, he was in the same place but somehow different. His mouth was long as if he were stuck, yawning, a fly landed on his nose. His rotten teeth no longer gnawing at the open nothing of a new day. I shook his jacket, he didn’t budge.

My boots carried me off so quick, I hardly had time to think of what else I could do so, I let my instincts guide. Familiar street signs and corner stores helped me. I felt relief from realizing I’m close to home, and finally, allow myself to catch my breath.

I stumble through the door and hear my parents in their Sunday routine.

Mom waves, urging me to sit down. Dad pulls a chair and sips coffee, looking intently at me. Mom’s pancakes are always the best, something about the butter and syrup mixing so well. But my stomach felt like broken bricks.

“So?” Her teeth unlike Tim’s. His wide eyes fixated on the sky flashed my mind. The concrete bits inside began to rumble.

“Sit down and eat.” Mom pointed to a bag of bagels that do not expire for another week. I thought about Tim eating mold, and an awful vision of his whole body turning into a moldy bagel shook me.

“He won’t be at the bank today,” my clumsy boots carried me off to my bed for warmth.

TO BE CONTINUED

About the story: Originally written in 2010, an earlier version of this story placed 4th in the Writer’s Digest 86th Annual Writing Competition for Mainstream Literary Short Story Fiction. This story is currently being reworked into a novel for the Evolution of a Story Series.

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