Pittie On The Streets
Almost There But Really To Nowhere
So that's how we ended up out here. I've bounced around for a couple of weeks now. Originally, I was setting out for Diane, but I haven't left my town. I think a part of me was afraid to go too far. That part of me was considering running back home. Then I got a closer look at one of those missing posters.
A guy slid it in front of me as he sat down at the table across from me. (Wow, did they really put on the missing poster "mental instability." I didn't know how to feel about that.) He began telling me a bit about him being in Iraq. How he was out here getting away from his family too. Then he wanted to know my story. (I'm not sure why I told him, but I did. Not everything but most of it.)
"Right after I came home it was really bad. I didn't feel like I belonged in my own life anymore. The nightmares and panic attacks kept me on edge all of the time. I started drinking pretty heavy. My wife left me. I haven't seen my kid in years. I went back to my old job driving a forklift at a factory, and I just couldn't stand all of the noise.
Everyone just reassured me that things would get better. I just needed time. I just needed to get over it, basically. Eventually, the VA started throwing the PTSD label around. They put me on meds and I went to counseling, but it didn't seem to help. Maybe I didn't give it enough time or effort. I don't know. Finally, I gave up," he told me as we ate a meal at the local soup kitchen. "I took off. Wasn't sure where I was going or what I was doing, but I knew I was destroying everything around me. I was making their lives hell, and they were better off without me. I put a gun in my mouth so many times, but I just didn't have the balls to pull the trigger. So I did the next best thing. I disappeared.
I honestly can't tell you how long I've been out here. Somehow here felt more natural than there with them. I've made a couple of friends who get it, like you," he smiled with his yellow crooked teeth. "We kind of look out for each other."
We ate quietly for a moment while I let everything he just told me sink in. Maybe that was some of my problems. Not all of my problems for sure, but maybe that explained some of the things I was feeling.
"Here," he said as he handed me a trucker hat with ARMY across the front. "If you don't want to be spotted, you might want to cover up that buzz cut and scars for a while. I'm not gonna rat you out, but I suggest you go home. You don't belong out here. You're young. You need to go home, figure this shit out, and find a way to live your life."
"I could say the same thing about you," I told him as I put a spoon full of meatloaf in my mouth.
"I've been gone too long. Their lives moved on without me, and for the better, I'd bet," he explained with a drink from a red plastic cup.
I Know What You're Thinking, Pittie
I know what you are sitting there thinking. I can hear you telling me to go home through the internet. That doesn't explain Mary. I actually helped Diane and Anna's families find them. This is not all PTSD. I helped them solve that mystery and stop Craven from doing it to someone else. I don't think it explains what I saw this morning either.
I found an empty house to sleep in last night. It was kind of newer. Most of the places I've found have been empty for years, and a lot of homeless people stay there. That was how I found them in the first place. That guy was right. Some of the people on the streets seem to have their own community. They look out for each other and let each other know about places to get stuff. Last night I just wanted to be alone and I avoided the people I've come to know.
I rolled out my sleeping bag inside of a closet near the open window I found. Digging my way in, I was fumbling with the zipper because of my gloves. Getting frustrated, I pulled them off and zipped myself inside the bag. In the middle of the night, I had to pee. Without thinking, I made my way toward the bathroom. When I touched the doorknob to the bedroom, That's when I had the flash.
What Did I Just See?
The room became furnished with junk furniture. In the corner was an old, tattered, brown chair that I think was from the '70s. The bed, located between me at the doorway and the chair, was a mattress and box springs on cinder blocks. On the bed was a naked woman crying and screaming for help. Her wrists and ankles, tied to the bed with ropes, were red and bloody from her struggling to get away. A man straddled her and placed tape across her mouth to quiet her.
In an instant, I watched the hours of torture, rape, and brutality that finally ended with him stabbing her in the chest three times. The woman became still, and the man simply rolled his neck as someone would at the end of hard days work to stretch out the muscles. He pulled the tape from her mouth and brushed her hair from her face. He sat there for a while looking at her as her blood soaked the mattress beneath them.
Finally, he got off of the woman and the bed. Moving to the chair, he then sat in the chair nude, he reached toward a nightstand between the chair and the bed that was dimly lit by a small lamp for a pack of cigarettes. The flash of light from the lighter lit up his face. The guy was young, maybe late teens or early twenties. He had shoulder length dark hair, brown eyes, and very handsome features. He would have been the guy every girl would want to date. He calmly sat and smoked while looking at the girl.
Once the cigarette was gone he began dressing. Putting on green a t-shirt that read Casper Trucking and jeans he gathered the rest of his things and walked toward me. I freaked out for a second, but then he disappeared along with everything else in the room.
I went back to my sleeping bag searching for my discarded gloves. I still had to pee, and I didn't want to see any more of that.
Continue Reading To The Next Page
- Pittie, Who You Are Shouldn't Define Your Worth
Like Mary, Ashley deserved her truth to be known. No person, no matter their character, should be forgotten. I know what happened to you, and I'm going to find him. Years may have hidden the blood stains, but it never washed away your pain.
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© 2019 Faron Asher