Long Winter's Nap

It was getting colder every day. He didn’t really have any way of fighting the cold either. As it was, he was already wearing just about every piece of clothing he owned. The only things left in his army surplus backpack were a couple of t-shirts and one pair of socks. Of course there was the ratty sleeping bag too, but that was for nights, when it got really cold.

Standing by the driveway of the church worked well on Sundays. The folks heading in were kind and generous. There was food, water, coffee, and money. He could probably even head inside and warm up. It was Thursday. The food and drinks from the past Sunday were long gone. Last time he checked, he was down to ten dollars. If he didn’t get something soon, he would be in bad shape.

Jewel didn’t work quite as well. There were a lot more people, but they weren’t quite as generous. The sense of hostility, annoyance, and even avoidance were obvious at even a passing glance. A glare. A rolling of the eyes. A quickened pace. A sudden interest in their feet. A need to correct their kid for doing nothing. It seems like for every hundred rushing into the store maybe two would actually acknowledge him.

Waiting for people to take pity, he considers his options. Ten dollars would get him something to eat today, tomorrow, and maybe the day after that if he stretches it. This could get him to Sunday, when he could go back to the church. There is the issue of warmth. He hadn’t been by the bank to see what the temperature was, but he was sure it was well below freezing. If he went without food for a day, he could maybe get something else to put on to keep him warm. Maybe another cheap sweatshirt.

A woman and her child approach him. The child holds an oversized styrofoam cup. Steam puffs from the hole in the lid. “Here you go.” The kid’s puffy sleeves outstretched. The cup slips a little bit before she catches it again. A little dark coffee slopped out of the lid. Ringlets of black hair poke out of the knit cap.

“Thank you miss,” he looks at the mother, “and ma’am.”

“I hope you like it. It’s my mom’s favorite.”

“Sure I will.”

“Are you warm enough? You look cold? Why are you standing out here?”

“C’mon sweetie. Stop bothering this poor man. Let’s get our shopping done and leave this...him alone.” The mom doesn’t look scared or angry. She looks sad. She doesn’t want to explain him to her daughter.

“Go with you mamma, and thank you again for the coffee.”

“Oh, okay. Bye.” She turns and grabs her mother’s hand. They walk into the store without looking back.

He knows it’s time to move, at least out of sight of the doors. Sipping the coffee he walks around the corner. The wind hits him, and he loses his breath for a second. All considerations are now decided. Cup in hand, he starts his walk down the busy street toward the Aldi. Maybe he’ll be in luck and they will have sweatshirts. Otherwise, it’s down to Walmart, and that’s a much longer walk.

He makes sure to cross at the traffic lights. There are a few memorial crosses along the sides of the intersection. He makes it across safely and makes his way to the store. Inside, everyone stares and moves away from him. The heat caused him to sweat as soon as he walked in. Now it’s beading on his forehead. He heads straight to the middle of the store and looks at the non-grocery goods. His hope of finding some more clothing disappears quickly.

“May I help you...sir?” It’s clearly the manager. He doesn’t want him there.

“Do you have any sweatshirts?”

“Nope. All we have is what’s here. Anything else?”

“Just some bread and lunchmeat.”

“You know you’ll have to pay for that?”

“Yessir.”

“Bread’s in the back. Lunchmeat is in the coolers.”

He waits for the manager to leave. The manager doesn’t. So, he goes to the back of the store and gets a loaf of bread and a package of sliced ham. The manager follows. When he reaches the checkout lines, the manager opens a register to check him out and shuffle him on his way. His total is $3.23 with tax. He hands over the ten and gets a five, a single, three quarters, and two pennies back. He rests his backpack on the counter at the front of the store and secures his food. The manager is watching and waiting for him to leave. He shoulder’s his pack and leaves.

From the Aldi to Walmart was a couple of miles if he stayed on the main streets, but if he walks through the abandoned strip malls and then the field he could cut the distance in half. Carefully, he picks his way across the full parking lot of Aldi and makes his way toward the mostly abandoned strip mall. This had all been full not too long ago. There was another grocery store, a pharmacy, book store, and a few clothing shops. Now, there’s a vape shop, a soon to close GNC, and a struggling mom and pop restaurant. The rest of the storefronts are empty. In the gap between the abandoned grocery store and the GNC there’s a path that leads through the open field. He can’t quite see the Walmart from the start of the path, but he can see the road. He starts walking.

Each wind gust adds a sense of urgency. He moves faster. The long grass ripples in the wind. It’s a long fifteen minutes to cross the field and get to the intersection that leads to the parking lot. It’s another five minutes to cross the street and parking lot before he gets to the store.

He takes his time through the entryway. The oversized fans roar overhead and cover him in hot air. In the store, the greeter doesn’t exactly greet him, but he offers a nod and a compassionate smile. It doesn’t take him long to figure out where he needs to go. The racks of clothing stretch out to the back of the store in a complicated maze. Though it’s not as obvious as the Aldi, he knows he is constantly watched.

Once he finds the men’s department, he walks past the hanging racks and keeps an eye out for the cheaper off brand displays. Along the back main aisle he finds the large cardboard displays. The pang of excitement he feels ends quickly. On top of the display, the price says: “Rollback. $6.50.” He doesn’t have enough to cover the tax. He wanders around the store for a bit, hoping to find some change. After a couple of laps, he grabs a large dark sweatshirt from the one of the bins and takes it to the front.

He waits patiently for his turn at the register. A practiced avoidance falls over the other people in line. When he reaches the cashier, she looks at him with a mild disgust.

“I need to know how much this is.”

“Okay.” She takes the sweatshirt and scans it. “$7.01 is the total.”

“Please miss, I’m ‘bout a quarter short. Is there anyway you could spot me a quarter.”

Her look softens a little. “Sorry, I can’t while I’m at work.” She turns and looks at the other customers in line. “Can someone spare a quarter? Anyone?”

“Here you go Pops.” The middle aged guy immediately behind him hands over a five.

“Thank you.” He looks down.

“Once you’re through, please wait a minute.”

“Yessir.” He pays with the two fives and gets back two singles, three quarters, two dimes, and four pennies. As the man requested, he waits on the other side of the check-out lines. The middle aged man comes through the line carrying a few bags. He glances through them and hands one over. The man sets the bag down on a bench.

“Figured you could use something to eat.” In the bag was an assortment of beef jerky, some chips, and some nuts. All food that won’t go bad. “Take care of yourself Pops. Stay warm.” The middle aged man pats him on the shoulder and walks away.

“Thank you,” he whispers to no one.

Without really thinking about it, he gets up and walks out of the store. Outside, he puts his new shirt into his pack before heading across the busy parking lot. He pays careful attention crossing the busy street, but once he gets back to the field his mind wanders. There is now $4.76 jingling in his pocket. Three singles, six quarters, two dimes, and six pennies. He has a new sweatshirt to help keep his body warm and a bag full of food to keep his body fed. Now, to find something to warm his spirit. Less than five dollars doesn’t leave a whole lot of options, but a pint bottle of something might be possible. Some Evan Williams or Old Grandad. If he gets lucky, maybe he can beg enough for a bottle of Fireball. Little extra warmth.

He’s about halfway across the field when he notices the construction equipment on the back side of the old grocery store. It looks like they’re in the process of tearing it down or at least redoing the wall on the back. He stops and watches for a bit. The wind moves the grass around him in waves. An idea forms. If he can keep himself out of sight until dark, maybe he can sneak in and get out of the wind to sleep tonight. He won’t take anything from the equipment. It’s just to be out of the cold. Out of the wind. He starts walking again. Hopefully, no one noticed him watching. Closer to the building, he can see that the hole in the wall is just about big enough to drive a semi into. More importantly, he can see into the building enough to note some internal walls. This might actually work.

At the far end of the parking lot is a bank. The sign from the bank posts the time and temperature. 1:05 15F. He had about four hours until it was dark enough for the work crews to stop work and head home. So, he comes up with a plan.

Just a couple of blocks from the bank there’s a 7-11 next to a laundromat with a public bathroom. He would put on his new shirt in the bathroom and drink some water from the faucet. Maybe make a sandwich. Sit there as long as he could. When they kick him out, he’ll go to the 7-11 and get his bottle. If they let him stay long enough, and it’s dark out, he’ll make his way back up to the abandoned store. If not, he’ll try to find someplace else to keep warm for a little bit. He turns down the street and heads toward the laundromat. He puts his head down against the wind and moves as quickly as he can. It’s only a half mile or so, but it takes him twenty minutes.

When he gets there, the laundromat is largely empty. A few machines are running, but there’s only one person there. He walks straight to the bathroom. With the door closed and locked he drops his bag and undresses down to a t-shirt and the worn long underwear he has on. He turns on the cold water faucet and cups his hands under. He drinks. Though it’s drafty in the bathroom, it’s a lot warmer than it is outside. He opens his pack and takes out the loaf of bread and ham. Sitting on the toilet, he uses his lap as a table and makes a sandwich. He chews slowly and savors the saltiness of the ham. He wants another, but he knows he should wait. Carefully, he puts the ham in one of the outside pockets and the bread into the main area. When the Walmart bag with the other food crinkles, he has an idea. He dumps the food out and wraps the mostly closed package of lunch meat in the plastic bag. He places the ham back where it was. All is quiet. The hum of the vent fan overhead is soothing.

The banging on the door wakes him with a start. His clothes are all around him on the floor.

“Hey, you okay in there?”

“Uh...yeah. Gimme a minute.”

“C’mon. I gotta go.”

He scoops his clothes into his arms and grabs his bag. When he opens the door, a kid in his early 20s is standing there. He looks more than a little upset, but he moves aside when the man steps through the door.

“Ugh. You smell like crap old man. It’s a good thing you’re here. You can clean up a little.” The bathroom door slams shut.

The man drops his stuff into one of the wheeled baskets nearby and rolls it over toward a chair. He checks each machine for quarters, the vending machines too. In the second machine of the third row he finds a machine with each slot filled, $1.25. He looks around. An older woman sits alone up front.

“Excuse me ma’am, are those your quarters back there?”

She looks at him frankly. “No. I’m just drying over here.”

He walks back toward the machine in the third row. Another $1.25 would put him over six. Almost enough for a bigger bottle. He’s reaching for the change when the bathroom door opens.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh...uh...sorry. Are these yours?”

“Yeah they are. Were you going to take ‘em.”

“I didn’t know if they were anybody’s, so I asked the lady up front…”

“But you weren’t gonna ask me?”

“Sorry. I forgot. I just…”

“What’re you gonna do with the money?”

“I was gonna go over to 7-11…”

“If you’re gonna drink it away I’m taking it. If you want to wash your stuff, I’ll pay..”

“Oh...okay. I don’t...I don’t have any soap.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go get your stuff.” The kid’s voice is softer than it was before.

The man heads over and grabs his basket. He’s uncertain. Someone who was so harsh before is now being overly kind. Like a dog that’s been hit before, the man cautiously goes back.

“Go ahead. Start loading your stuff in.” The kid starts the machine and watches as the man picks up his clothes. “Hey. Check the pockets of your pants.”

He turns his back to the kid while he takes the bundle of bills and change from his pockets and puts it in the flap pocket of the pack. The worn and stained jeans go into the washer. It takes the man a minute before he pulls off the shirt he’s wearing and throws it in. With that done, the kid adds the soap and closes the lid. The kids motions him over to the chairs near his own laundry. He pulls a towel out and hands it over.

“Cover up. It’s a little cold to be walking around like that. Oh, hey take your socks off and throw them in too.” Sheepishly, the man complies while pulling the towel a little closer around himself. When he gets back to the chairs, the kid is putting on his coat. “I’ll be right back.”

The man sits there and waits. With almost everything he owns wet right now, he doesn’t have much choice. He watches the TV for a little while. Some daytime soap opera is on. He doesn't know any of the characters. Again he feels sleepy and begins to nod off. He feels the kid sit down next to him and a bag drop into his lap. Inside the plastic bag he finds a bar of soap, toothpaste, toothbrush, and a stick of deodorant.

“Head into the bathroom and clean up a bit. It’s not a shower or anything, but it’ll have to do.” Not sure what to do, the man tentatively gets up and warily grabs his pack. The kid laughs at him. “I’m not going to take your stuff man. But, go ahead.”

He turns on both faucets and waits for the water to warm. He stips down and catches sight of himself in the cloudy mirror. Ribs visible. Dirty grey hair. Scraggly beard. After a minute, steam comes out of the sink. Methodically, he starts at his shoulders and works his way down. He’s making a mess of the bathroom, but he feels a bit better. Hesitantly, he uses the kid’s towel to dry off. He pulls on the few clothes he was wearing and steps out. The kid is up and walking over with a dry towel to switch out for the wet one. Immediately, he puts the wet towel in a machine and starts loading quarters.

“You got anything else that’s dirty?”

“Just a sleepin’ bag.”

“Let’s have it.”

Carefully, the man takes his sleeping bag out and loads it into the machine. Again, the kid loads in soap and starts the machine. They sit down together. There’s another 7-11 bag and a cup of coffee.

“That for me?”

“Yep.”

“Why you doin’ this?”

“You look like you need it.”

“Why not just gimme money and go away like most people?”

“Would that really help you?”

“It’d get me food.”

“True. But, you’re more than a food container. A lot of times, people look at you and don’t see a person. Hell, you probably don’t see yourself as a person sometimes. By helping you clean up, I’m hoping you remember that you’re a person. Maybe, other people will see that too.” The man considers this. He does feel better than he has in a while. “First load’s done.” The kid grabs a basket and unloads the first washer. He takes it over to a dryer and throws everything in, including a dryer sheet. In the bag is a sandwich, bag of plain potato chips, and an apple. He starts eating.

“So here’s the deal. Your clothes should be done drying in about half an hour. In order to dry the sleeping bag, you’ll need to put at least a dollar’s worth of time on the dryer. Here.” The kid hands across four quarters. “If you use less than that, your bag will be wet and will freeze tonight. What you do with the few bucks you have besides what I give you is up to you, but I don’t want my money used on booze or whatever. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You want a dryer sheet for the sleeping bag?”

“Sure.”

“Here you go.” The kid hands over a sheet before grabbing his things. “Stay here as long as you can. It’s gonna be cold tonight. Hey, you got somewhere you can go?”

“Somewhere to go?”

“Yeah. You know, someplace inside?”

The man thinks of the abandoned store not too far from here. “Yeah. I do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Got a roof and everything.”

The kid eyes him for a minute and sees he’s not lying. “Okay. Take care of yourself.” The kid extends his hand. It takes the man a second, but the man reaches out and takes it. A minute later and he’s left alone.

He finishes the sandwich and chips. While he sits there eating the apple, he reflects the day. Outside the light is getting soft. The clock on the wall reads 4:13. His sleeping bag is done washing. He pulls it, and the kid’s towel, out and throws them into the nearest dryer. For a moment, he thinks about using only half the change, but then remembers what the kid said. He loads in the entire dollar and starts the machine. He finishes the coffee and sits down. People are starting to come in. The machine with clothes buzzes, so he pulls them from the machine. They’re warm and smell fresh. As discreetly as he can, he gets dressed leaving the heavy outer layers off. No sense getting used to them when he still has a reason to be inside. He puts them in his pack and grabs his money from the flap pocket. With his coat and pack on, he walks over to the 7-11.

There are a few people in front of him. He waits. Lined up behind the counter are pint bottles of alcohol. His stomach sinks. Jack Daniels: $12.99. Early Times: $9.99. Old Grandad $8.99. Then, tucked away on the end, he sees it. Popov: $2.99. He doesn’t really like vodka, but it’s all he can afford.

“Can I help you?” an indifferent voice asks.

“Pint of Popov.”

“$3.53.”

He paid with two singles, six quarters, and three pennies. This left him with a single, two dimes, and four pennies. He takes the brown paper bag and puts it in his pack while walking back to the laundromat. The sleeping bag still has half an hour. His bag on his lap, he crosses his arms and dozes. The machine buzzes, and he wakes with a start. It’s warm and fresh smelling. He rolls it as tightly as he can and carefully places it in his pack. It’s dark out, but he doesn’t want to leave. So, he sits and stares at the TV. A little after six, a worker comes in and stares. He doesn’t wait to be kicked out. He gathers up his stuff and goes into the bathroom. He puts on his older sweatshirt first and the new one last. They smell clean and fresh. When he comes out, he sees that he left the coffee cup at his old spot. He picks it up and heads out to the cold night. He decides to go back to the 7-11.

“How much for a refill of coffee?”

The lady behind the counter looks at him for a moment, “I’m getting ready to dump the old coffee. Help yourself.”

He fills the cup and takes a flavored creamer: French Vanilla. The lady sighs. He takes a second and mixes them both into the coffee. Then he fishes in his pocket. He drops the two dimes and four pennies on the counter.

“Thank you ma’am.” Before she can say anything in response, he leaves. The warmth from the coffee radiates through his gloves. He starts his walk.

Maybe it’s that the wind is at his back. Maybe it’s that he’s clean and wearing clean clothes. Maybe it’s that his belly is mostly full. He doesn’t know, but the walk back to the abandoned store seems easier. He sips the sweet coffee while he walks, and that helps. In the distance, the bank’s sign shows the time and temperature as: 6:32 and 8F. His home for the night is off to his right.

The back of the building is empty. Not a worker in sight. He checks the cabs of the construction equipment to see if any of them are unlocked. No luck there. Dangling overhead, a portable generator attached to the hook of a crane sways in the wind. Just before heading into the building, he finds an unlocked toolbox. Inside the only thing of value to him is a small flashlight. He takes it telling himself he’ll return it tomorrow. He turns it on by twisting the top and steps into the large hole in the wall.

A quick scan of the interior reveals what must have been a stock room. Concrete floors. Bolts sticking up at random intervals where shelves must have been. On the other side of the large room is another wall. There’s a doorway where doors used to be. Through the doorway, he enters the main floor of the store. Scuffed and dirty tile. Holes punched through the drywall separating the storeroom from the main floor. Some light creeps in from the windows at the front marking the entryway. Walking through the store, he can almost tell what used to be in each spot, but not quite. Off to the right along the front wall there’s what looks to be a separate room. It turns out to be the remains of an old snack bar. All the equipment is gone, but the counter space gives it away. Behind the counter, in the right corner, a door hangs slightly open. When he opens it, he gets excited: a small storage room. It’s empty, but it’s small and there’s a door.

He pulls the door closed behind him and settles in. The top of the flashlight completely unscrews to make a small lantern, which he sets up in the corner. After scanning the floor for rats or other occupants, he rolls out his sleeping bag. The fresh smell of the dryer sheet wafts out. He pulls out his food and sets it aside. He leaves his few remaining clothes in his pack and arranges it as a pillow. He’s done this thousands of times, but tonight seems different. For the first time in years, it feels like he has his own room. He takes out the bag of chips from the guy at Walmart and opens them up. BBQ potato chips seem like a good companion to the Popov. He savors the sweet saltiness of the chips. He eats about half the bag before finally opening the vodka. The first sip burns and mixes oddly with the BBQ flavoring. He eats a few more chips before taking another pull from the bottle; this time he takes a big mouthful and swallows quickly. Before he realizes it, everything becomes fuzzy, and he feels even better than before. He feels warm. He takes off his jacket. He opens one of the bags of nuts. Honey roasted cashews. The mixture of sweet and salty makes him thirsty.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

No one answers, so he tips up the bottle for a long pull. It’s not so bad this time. He pours the rest of the nuts into his mouth and washes them down with a quick drink. It hits him that he needs to pee. Just outside his little home, he thought he saw a bathroom. He takes his makeshift lantern and checks it out. Sure enough, there’s a men’s room sign. Inside there are no toilets or urinals. Just holes. He aims for the hole in the floor as best as he can with the flashlight in his mouth. After what seems to be a long long time, he finishes.

“Flush.” He giggles.

Suddenly he starts shivering. Where’s his jacket? He goes back to his little room. There it is. Sitting right next to it is the mostly empty bottle of vodka.

“That’ll warm me up.”

He drinks. Even though he’s pretty sure he’s eaten, he is very hungry. Going into his bag he takes out the loaf of bread, which is kind of smooshed, and the ham. When he tries to open the ham he realizes it’s frozen together. He shrugs and pulls out a package of beef jerky. He slowly chews on piece after piece. It makes him thirsty, but he tries not to drink anything. It’s early, and he’s already almost out. It takes him a minute to actually pick up the last piece from the bag. He keeps dropping it. He rewards himself for getting it into his mouth with a drink. It takes him a little to unscrew the cap. He leaves enough for one more drink. For some reason he feels really warm. Struggling, he manages to get the sweatshirt off.

“Piece of shit!” He throws it into the corner. “That’ll teach you to try to cook me!” Suddenly this strikes him as funny. Laughing to himself, he staggers to his feet and lurches out of the door. With a little more difficulty, he pulls off his second sweatshirt and throws it on the counter. “Fuck you too!”

Swaying, he feels the need to run. Through the huge dark room, he runs. In circles. Straight dashes. Interval runs. He runs. In the process he sheds layer after layer of clothing. His breath puffing out of his mouth in pale clouds, he feels hot. He sees a light in the front right corner of the store. It looks like it’s coming from behind a partially opened door. He runs toward it. His right foot catches something sticking out of the floor, and he falls. Hard.

When he comes to, his face feels wet. Just up ahead, it looks like a fireplace. The soft uneven glow. He tries to stand up, and feels unsteady. Sitting by a fire seems so nice right now. He staggers back and forth, and it takes him a while, but he gets to the room. Inside he sees that it’s not a proper fireplace, but the room still seems so cozy. Someone left him a nice blanket on the floor and a drink too. With some difficulty, he opens the bottle and finishes it. He tries to close the door but can’t. He snuggles into the blanket and rests. The clean smell comforts him as his breathing slows and finally stops.

Nearby, the sign in front of the bank displays 12:36 -3F.

By B Hazy

From: United States

Twitter: OutdoorHaze