Billy

So, I joined a writing club.  Kinda fun.   They meet every Monday and anyone who wants to can bring something that they are writing and share.  The objective is supportive criticism and just a chance to get feedback from others.  I find it encouraging and motivating. 

Last week was my first time to attend so, not wanting to go empty handed, I took the poem 'Time of your Life' with me.   It was pretty well recieved.  Everyone else was writing stories though.  So this week I decided to try to write a story.  This is the first story I've written in years and it was a lot of fun to write.  I hope you enjoy it.   There will be more to come.

Billy


You could normally find him at the corner of Company Street and Market, sleeping fitfully in the doorway of the old theater, or, hanging out at The Lighthouse Missionary hoping for a hearty meal. Sometimes you’d see him around town. No one knew when he arrived, where he came from, or any details about his past. Actually, no one even knew his real name, everyone just called him Billy. He was one of Christiansted’s many homeless.

Even on a tropical island, living on the streets can be pretty challenging. Food wasn’t so much an issue because the people at The Lighthouse were pretty generous. He might not get a meal every day, but he ate regularly enough. The real challenge was to not get sick and to not get hurt. Many of the others on the street were sick already and some of them were pretty aggressive and angry. Fights would break out sometimes for no reason at all. There were many other dangers too. It was imperative to always be constantly aware and to trust no one. Billy learned early that is was best to keep a low profile and stay in the background.

It wasn’t that hard. Billy was almost invisible anyway. Most people would walk right past him, actually almost stepping over him, without even acknowledging his existence. Oh, they saw him; they just preferred to act as if they didn’t. If he tried to approach them, they’d cross the street to get out of his way or angrily tell him to stay back. He was bigger than average and black as black can be. He was filthy dirty. He looked frightening. Most people took one look at his ragged coat and disheveled appearance and kept as far away as possible. Some even threatened him. Therefore, as a general rule, Billy tried to stay clear of ‘most people’.

It’s a lonely life being homeless. Billy was social by nature, and this solitary life was getting harder every day. He hadn’t chosen to live on the streets, he’d just wound up there. He didn’t even know how it had happened. Sometimes Billy dreamed about what it might be like to have a home. He especially liked the idea of having and being someone’s friend; someone to love and to be loved by. That seemed pretty unlikely. His future seemed hopeless. You could tell by the way he walked that Billy was losing his will to live.

One Thursday everything changed for Billy. He was snoozing under the Flamboyant tree at Holy Cross Church. He was feeling particularly down and depressed and he wasn’t paying any attention to his surroundings. He didn’t notice the man until he had already sat down on the nearby bench. The man looked right at Billy. He looked right past the mangy coat and built up dirt. He paid no attention to Billy’s size or appearance. He looked right into Billy’s eyes. Billy looked bravely back. Reflected there they each saw themselves. They saw loneliness and pain and the need for a friend. They knew immediately that they were meant for each other. Billy got up, padded over to the man’s side and laid his head in Mister’s lap. Mister reached down and stroked Billy’s ears. He spoke softly; “You’re a good dog, Billy. I think I'll take you home with me. “

Mister and Billy have been best friends, inseparable, ever since.