Prison Final

*sorry it's late, I just got internet back!*

The man walked forward, head down, putting a sheaf of papers on the plain wooden podium. In front of him was a sea of orange jumpers, all eyes staring at him. Some looked angry, others mournful, and still some apprehensive or merely curious. The prisoners watched as he arranged the papers and raised his head. Nervous whispers broke out, and many simply gasped at the sight of the man’s face. He was horribly scarred, with one side of his mouth pulled down into a perpetual scowl, and his skin was a patchwork of pieces, looking like he had been attacked by some very large animal. His eyes, tortured and sad, stared out of his ruined face. He began to speak in a rasp, a sound like a file over metal.
“My name is Mr. Hillsbrough. I am a life sentenced inmate at Macon Penitentiary in Georgia. My life has been nothing but regrets. Some of you have a chance to turn your lives around. I’m going to read you a story, and maybe you will see clearer. I’m speaking to all of you. This isn’t just to the people in here for gun crimes, hate crimes, and murder – this is for all of you imprisoned and incarcerated, needing a chance to turn around.”
The inmates sneered. Another motivational speech. They settled in, prepared to listen mindlessly for however long this took. Those who actually wanted to listen sat back and pretended not to hear with open ears.
Mr. Hillsbrough looked down, and cleared his gravelly throat and raised the back of one hand, which to the inmates’ horror, was also terribly marred, and brushed a lock of gray hair out of the way of his eyes.
“Tyler was a young man, twenty-two years old when he first met Joanie. They married two years later and she was his everything. Tyler, however, was not who he revealed to be to his precious wife. He kissed her goodbye every morning to go to work, leaving for his job. He told her he was a secretary for a local tutoring business. Tyler was, in reality, a skilled gunman. He was a hired thug; criminals hired him to pick off enemies and to do small robberies. He was well-paid, and he and Joanie had been happily married for two years when she told him she was expecting their first child. Tyler was ecstatic. He met this with one small fluke. He had never told Jo about his real occupation. He decided that one more job and he was done. The man he had talked to that morning had promised him $20,000 if he pulled of his next job, stealing three hundred grand’s worth of jewels from Emile Capon, a known local mob member. Tyler spent the morning, after kissing a glowing Jo goodbye; in the junkyard, shooting cans off varying targets, practicing and honing his talent before the showdown that night.
At eleven that night he crept into Capon’s mansion, hardly making a noise as he stealthily crawled through the house and into the mobster’s study. He put his ear to the safe in the corner, and within 15 minutes had the door open. He was grinning and congratulating himself on his best job ever, filling his sack with jewels when the light clicked on. Two guards stood there, guns drawn and aimed at Tyler’s chest. Tyler smiled at them, then flung himself out the window closest him. He landed noisily in the bushes out side, and sprinted for the street. Curses projected from the window inside while Tyler used the darkness to cover himself as the guards searched in vain with their rifle telescopes He heard cars revving their engines behind him, and raised voices in the house.
He turned the jewels over to a very happy thief, and collected his check. His money was paid in installments so Joanie never had to ask why huge sums were coming in. He stopped in a grocery to change his outfit, putting his gun in his back holster, behind his belt, so he could take it and hide it before he undressed and went to bed with Jo. He switched into a tie and shirt, and walked the rest of the way home. He clicked on the light in his kitchen, and was calmly eating the lasagna Jo had left out for him when he heard a thump down the hall. He walked into the master bedroom. Standing in front of him was Joanie in her nightgown with a look of utter terror on her face. Behind her was Emile Capon himself, holding Joanie in a headlock and putting a gun to her temple. Tyler drew his gun with lightning speed, pointing it past Joanie and to Capon. Capon smiled.
‘My guard was fortunate enough to recognize your smiling face this evening, ah, Tyler – is it?’
Tyler snarled and clicked the gun chambers to check and see if it was fully loaded.
‘Let her go,’ he roared, ‘she’s done nothing to you.’
‘But you have, young man, and that’s where the issue arises.’
Tyler heard sirens.
‘You called the police, Capon?!? There’s enough evidence to convict you and me together!’ he yelled, ‘What the hell is going on?’
Joanie whimpered, frightened tears squeezing out of her eyes as Capon pushed the barrel of his gun into her head, hard.
‘No, I did not call them, but by the time they get here, I will be gone, and you and little Joanie will be dead.’
Tyler bellowed like an angry bull and fired past Joanie’s head. With a deafening BOOM the gun exploded. Shards of metal flew everywhere, and Tyler felt them dig into his face and flung up his hands. He saw Joanie fall. Capon collapsed right behind her.
Tyler felt hot blood running down his face, and the backs of his hands and his chest were also rapidly turning scarlet. He knelt down next to Joanie. Her chest bellowed in and out, her hands shaking as they were clutched over her chest. A shard of metal had buried itself in her jugular, and she was rapidly losing blood. Capon, on the other hand, was dead. There was no movement from his chest and his lifeless eyes stared with alarm at the foot of the bed he was facing.
Tyler knelt and took off his jacket. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes as he gazed at his wife. Her eyes were glazed over as her heart pumped to keep her alive, but killed her as she sent life blood out the hole in her throat. Tyler gently pressed a rag to her throat, trying in a hopeless attempt to save her life. Blood and tears mingled as he knelt over her. Jo tried to speak, making a halting attempt as she tried to talk through blood.
‘Ty.ler. I. don’t…know what…you never told…me. But…I…love you. I wanted…to…name. him…Michael.’
‘I love you too love.’ Tyler sobbed, bending over her. He would’ve willingly traded his life for hers right then. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he cried, clutching her hand to his chest, not knowing how to explain his hidden life to the woman he loved before she died. ‘I love you, I love you,’ he repeated over and over, rocking back and forth over her.
And that’s how the police found them, a gun, one dead man, one dead woman, drenched in blood, and one man, weak from loss of blood, murmuring ceaselessly, ‘I love you, I love you,’ lying at her side and holding her hand to his lips.
He received a life sentence for being convicted of countless felonies from all of his robberies, because of the murders of several unimportant thugs, the murder of Emile Capon, and the accidental killing of Joanie Hillsbrough and her unborn child.”
Dead silence greeted the end of the man’s story. The inmates all listened raptly to his heartbreaking tale, and many were openly sobbing or not bothering to conceal the tears running down their faces. The man changed many hearts that day, and conveyed to all the consequences of gun crime. Tears running down his own twisted face, he choked out,
“Thank you for listening. I…am Tyler Hillsbrough, and this…was my story.”

Prison 2

The man walked forward, head down, putting a sheaf of papers on the plain wooden podium. In front of him was a sea of orange jumpers, all eyes staring at him. Some looked angry, others mournful, and still some apprehensive or merely curious. The prisoners watched as he arranged the papers and raised his head. Nervous whispers broke out, and many simply gasped at the sight of the man’s face. He was horribly scarred, with one side of his mouth being pulled down into a perpetual scowl, and his skin was a patchwork of pieces, looking like he had been attacked by some very large animal. His eyes, tortured and sad, stared out of his ruined face. He began to speak in a rasp, a sound like a file over metal.
“My name is Mr. Hillsbrough. I am a life sentenced inmate at Macon Penitentiary in Georgia. My life has been nothing but regrets. Some of you have a chance to turn your lives around. I’m going to read you a story, and maybe you will see clearer.”
The inmates sneered. Another motivational speech. They settled in, prepared to listen mindlessly for however long this took. Those who actually wanted to listen sat back and pretended not to hear with open ears.
Mr. Hillsbrough looked down, and cleared his gravelly throat and raised the back of one hand, which to the inmates’ horror, was also terribly marred, and brushed a lock of gray hair out of the way of his eyes.
“Tyler was a young man, twenty-two years old when he first met Joanie. They married two years later and she was his everything. Tyler, however, was not who he revealed to be to his precious wife. He kissed her goodbye every morning to go to work, leaving for his job. He told her he was a secretary for a local tutoring business. Tyler was, in reality, a skilled gunman. He was a hired thug; criminals hired him to pick off enemies and to do small robberies. He was well-paid, and he and Joanie had been happily married for two years, when she told him she was expecting their first child. Tyler was ecstatic. He met this with one small fluke. He had never told Jo about his real occupation. He decided that one more job and he was done. The man he had talked to that morning had promised him $20,000 if he pulled of his next job, stealing three hundred grand’s worth of jewels from Emile Capon, a known local mob member. Tyler spent the morning, after kissing a glowing Jo goodbye; in the junkyard, shooting cans off varying targets, practicing and honing his talent before the showdown that night.
At eleven that night he crept into Capon’s mansion, hardly making a noise as he stealthily crawled through the house and into the mobster’s study. He put his ear to the safe in the corner, and within 15 minutes had the door open. He was grinning and congratulating himself on his best job ever, filling his sack with jewels when the light clicked on. Two guards stood there, guns drawn and aimed at Tyler’s chest. Tyler smiled at them, then flung himself out the window closest him. He landed noisily in the bushes out side, and sprinted for the street. He heard cars revving their engines behind him, and raised voices in the house.
He turned the jewels over to a very happy thief, and collected his check. His money was paid in installments so Joanie never had to ask why huge sums were coming in. He stopped in a grocery to change his outfit, putting his gun in his back holster, behind his belt, so he could take it and hide it before he undressed and went to bed with Jo. He switched into a tie and shirt, and walked the rest of the way home. He clicked on the light in his kitchen, and was calmly eating the lasagna Jo had left out for him when he heard a thump down the hall. He walked into the master bedroom. Standing in front of him was Joanie in her nightgown with a look of utter terror on her face. Behind her was Emile Capon himself, holding Joanie in a headlock and putting a gun to her temple. Tyler drew his gun with lightning speed, pointing it past Joanie and to Capon. Capon smiled.
‘My guard was fortunate enough to recognize your smiling face this evening, ah, Tyler – is it?’
Tyler snarled and clicked the gun chambers to check and see if it was fully loaded.
‘Let her go,’ he roared, ‘she’s done nothing to you.’
‘But you have, young man, and that’s where the issue arises.’
Tyler heard sirens.
‘You called the police, Capon?!? There’s enough evidence to convict you and me together!’ he yelled, ‘What the hell is going on?’
Joanie whimpered, frightened tears squeezing out of her eyes as Capon pushed the barrel of his gun into her head, hard.
‘No, I did not call them, but by the time they get here, I will be gone, and you and little Joanie will be dead.’
Tyler bellowed like an angry bull and fired past Joanie’s head. With a deafening BOOM the gun exploded. Shards of metal flew everywhere, and Tyler felt them dig into his face and flung up his hands. He saw Joanie fall. Capon collapsed right behind her.
Tyler felt hot blood running down his face, and the backs of his hands and his chest were also rapidly turning scarlet. He knelt down next to Joanie. Her chest bellowed in and out, her hands shaking as they were clutched over her chest. A shard of metal had buried itself in her jugular, and she was rapidly losing blood. Capon, on the other hand, was dead. There was no movement from his chest and his lifeless eyes stared with alarm at the foot of the bed he was facing.
Tyler knelt and took off his jacket. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes as he gazed at his wife. Her eyes were glazed over as her heart pumped to keep her alive, but killed her as she sent life blood out the hole in her throat. Tyler gently pressed a rag to her throat, trying in a hopeless attempt to save her life. Blood and tears mingled as he knelt over her. Jo tried to speak, making a halting attempt as she tried to talk through blood.
‘Ty.ler. I. don’t…know what…you never told…me. But…I…love you. I wanted…to…name. him…Michael.’
‘I love you too love.’ Tyler sobbed, bending over her. He would’ve willingly traded his life for hers right then. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he cried, clutching her hand to his chest, not knowing how to explain his hidden life to the woman he loved before she died. ‘I love you, I love you,’ he repeated over and over, rocking back and forth over her.
And that’s how the police found them, a gun, one dead man, one dead woman, drenched in blood, and one man, weak from loss of blood, murmuring ceaselessly, ‘I love you, I love you,’ lying at her side and holding her hand to his lips.
He received a life sentence for being convicted of countless felonies from all of his robberies, because of the murders of several unimportant thugs, the murder of Emile Capon, and the accidental killing of Joanie Hillsbrough and her unborn child.”
Dead silence greeted the end of the man’s story. The inmates all listened raptly to his heartbreaking tale, and many were openly sobbing or not bothering to conceal the tears running down their faces. The man changed many hearts that day, and conveyed to all the consequences of gun crime. Tears running down his own twisted face, he choked out,
“Thank you for listening. I…am Tyler Hillsbrough, and this…was my story.”

Prison

The man walked forward, head down, putting a sheaf of papers on the plain wooden podium. In front of him was a sea of orange jumpers, all eyes were staring at him, some angry, others mournful, and still some apprehensive or merely curious. The prisoners looked as he arranged the papers, and raised his head. Nervous whispers broke out, and many simply gasped at the man’s face. He was horribly scarred, with one side of his mouth being pulled down into a perpetual scowl, and his skin was a patchwork of pieces, looking like he had been attacked by some very large animal. His eyes, tortured and sad, stared out of his ruined face. He began to speak in a rasp, a sound like a file over metal.
“My name is Mr. Hillsbrough. I am a life sentenced inmate at Macon Penitentiary in Georgia. My life has been nothing but regrets. Some of you have a chance to turn your lives around. I’m going to read you a story, and maybe you will see clearer.”
The inmates sneered. Another motivational speech. They settled in, prepared to listen mindlessly for however long this took. Those who actually wanted to listen sat back and pretended not to with open ears.
Mr. Hillsbrough looked down, and cleared his gravelly throat and raised the back of one hand, which to the inmates’ horror, was also terribly marred, and brushed a lock of gray hair out of the way of his eyes.
“Tyler was a young man, twenty-two years old when he first met Joanie. They married two years later and she was his everything. Tyler was however, not who he revealed to his precious wife. He kissed her goodbye every morning to go to work, leaving for his job. He told her he was a secretary for a local tutoring business. Tyler was, in reality, a skilled gunman. He was a hired thug; criminals hired him to pick off enemies and to do small robberies. He was well-paid, and he and Joanie had been happily married for two years, when she told him she was expecting their first child. Tyler was ecstatic. He met this with one small fluke. He had never told Jo. He decided that one more job and he was done. The man he had talked to that morning had promised him $20,000 if he pulled of his next job, stealing three hundred grand’s worth of jewels from Emile Capon, a known local mob member. Tyler spent the morning after kissing a glowing Jo goodbye in the junkyard, shooting cans off varying targets, practicing and honing his talent before the showdown that night.
At eleven that night he crept into Capon’s mansion, hardly making a noise as he stealthily crawled through the house and into the mobster’s study. He put his ear to the safe in the corner, and within 15 minutes had the door open. He was grinning and congratulating himself on his best job ever, filling his sack with jewels when the light clicked on. Two guards stood there, guns drawn and aimed at Tyler’s chest. Tyler smiled at them, then flung himself out the window closest him. He landed noisily in the bushes out side, and sprinted for the street. He heard cars revving their engines behind him, and raised voices in the house.
He turned the jewels over to a very happy thief, and collected his check. His money was paid in installments so Joanie never had to ask why huge sums were coming in. He stopped in a grocery to change his outfit, putting his gun in his back holster, behind his belt, so he could take it and hide it before he undressed and went to bed with Jo. He switched into a tie and shirt, and walked the rest of the way home. He clicked on the light in his kitchen, and was calmly eating the lasagna Jo had left out for him when he heard a thump down the hall. He walked into the master bedroom. Standing in front of him was Joanie in her nightgown with a look of utter terror on her face. Behind her was Emile Capon himself, holding Joanie in a headlock and putting a gun to her temple. Tyler drew his gun with lightning speed, pointing it past Joanie and to Capon. Capon smiled.
‘My guard was fortunate enough to recognize your smiling face this evening, ah, Tyler – is it?’
Tyler snarled and clicked the gun chambers to check and see if it was fully loaded.
‘Let her go,’ he roared, ‘she’s done nothing to you.’
‘But you have, young man, and that’s where the issue arises.’
Tyler heard sirens.
‘You called the police, Capon?!? There’s enough evidence to convict you and me together!’ he yelled, ‘What the hell is going on?’
Joanie whimpered, frightened tears squeezing out of her eyes as Capon pushed the barrel of his gun into her head, hard.
‘No, I did not call them, but by the time they get here, I will be gone, and you and little Joanie will be dead.’
Tyler bellowed like an angry bull and fired past Joanie’s head. With a deafening BOOM the gun exploded. Shards of metal flew everywhere, and Tyler felt them dig into his face and flung up his hands. He saw Joanie fall. Capon collapsed right behind her.
Tyler felt hot blood running down his face, and the backs of his hands and his chest were also rapidly turning scarlet. He knelt down next to Joanie. Her chest bellowed in and out, her hands shaking as they were clutched over her chest. A shard of metal had buried itself in her jugular, and she was rapidly losing blood. Capon, on the other hand, was dead. There was no movement from his chest and his lifeless eyes stared with alarm at the foot of the bed he was facing.
Tyler knelt and took off his jacket. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes as he gazed at his wife. Her eyes were glazed over as her heart pumped to keep her alive, but killed her as she sent life blood out the hole in her throat. Tyler gently pressed a rag to her throat, trying in a hopeless attempt to save her life. Blood and tears mingled as he knelt over her. Jo tried to speak, making a halting attempt as she tried to talk through blood.
‘Ty.ler. I. don’t…know what…you never told…me. But…I…love you. I wanted…to…name. him…Michael.’
‘I love you too love.’ Tyler sobbed, bending over her. He would’ve willingly traded his life for hers right then. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he cried, clutching her hand to his chest, not knowing how to explain his hidden life to the woman he loved before she died. ‘I love you, I love you,’ he repeated over and over, rocking back and forth over her.
And that’s how the police found them, a gun, one dead man, one dead woman, drenched in blood, and one man, weak from loss of blood, murmuring ceaselessly, ‘I love you, I love you,’ lying at her side and holding her hand to his lips.
He received a life sentence for being convicted of countless felonies from all of his robberies, because of the murders of several unimportant thugs, the murder of Emile Capon, and the accidental killing of Joanie Hillsbrough and her unborn child.”
Dead silence greeted the end of the man’s story. The inmates all listened raptly to his heartbreaking tale, and many were openly sobbing or not bothering to conceal the tears running down their faces. The man changed many hearts that day, and conveyed to all the consequences of gun crime. Tears running down his own twisted face, he choked out,
“Thank you for listening. I…am Tyler Hillsbrough, and this…was my story.”

Merle and the Homeless Man Final

The man sat up for a minute, holding his bare hands out to the people passing. They ignored him, skittering like scared deer out of his path into the road. They kept walking, and the homeless man stared after them for a moment, before flopping back into his previous position, a comatose looking pile of rags on the corner. I snapped a picture, nobody buys my pictures anymore. They say they’re too grim for the front page of the paper, this week I couldn’t even make page eight. Whatever.
The tourists had already reached the other side of the street, and I seethed after them. How do they look at him? A blight on the street corner they happened to be observing? An animal in the streets, perhaps a criminal, perhaps a n’er-do-well? How bout the other side? A man on hard times, trying to survive from day to day, maybe getting enough for a meal at McDonalds one day, enough for a CVS trip the next.
I stood ten yards up the road, watching him with a thousand questions buzzing in my head. Who was he? Where was he from? Has he always been here on this corner? Where’s his family? Where has he been? I wanted to know, and scratched my head pensively with the camera swinging around my neck.
I walked over; my feet in their cheap Birkenstocks looking like silk slippers next to the fraying boots worn by the man. I said, “Hey.”
He sat up, looking me up and down, with a confused and apprehensive look in his eyes. “Hey.”
His voice was gravelly, sounded older than forty, and looked it too. His eyes were tired, with bags under his lids, and his beard was unkempt and grizzled. I hadn’t seen his hair from the distance, it was white streaked with gray, it looked like the gray was made up of dirt and filth accumulated by the street. So perhaps a lot older than forty. I asked if he was alright.
He smiled, revealing straight teeth that hadn’t been brushed perhaps for days. “Better than some, worse than most of the rest,” he said, “but I’m not going to complain about the rest.”
I asked him if he had anybody around here to help him, he said no. Nobody was with him, he hadn’t heard from his family since 1961. He was out here, all alone. For me, that was the final straw. I told him, “My name is Merle. I’m a journalist from Pittsburg Times. What’s your name?”
His name was Ian. Ian Carrigan, whose father was an Irishman, moving to America right after Ian was born in 1906. That made him sixty-nine. And on the streets. He had no idea where his family was, had no money, and couldn’t get a job because he was old and didn’t have the money to wash and get a home. I talked with him for a while more and said, “Get up, I’ve made up my mind.”
“What?”
“Come with me, we’re going to the Sheraton.”
“What?”
“I’m going to get you a week at the hotel, a razor, and some food. Ready? Have any stuff?”
His eyes widened in shock, and he looked down, grabbing a small leather briefcase. He said, “I’m ready. But I’d like to tell you something and ask you something. I’ll tell you first, you are the first person, ever, to offer me anything while I was on the street, besides a few coins. The second, you sure you want to take in an old, untrustworthy street rag?”
I told him I saw the people walk by him earlier, and it made me stop and think about how people don’t seem to care about fellow man as much. I told him I wanted to change that. I told him he didn’t look like the type to be faking all this He grinned and said sure – he looked harmless most of the time, and we headed off to the hotel.
I told him he had to agree to take dinner with me, that was one of my few conditions. And he asked several times how he could ever repay me. I told him again he could help with the halfway house. He again enthusiastically agreed.
Four hours later, I came back to the hotel. I went up and knocked on his door, I thought we would get a little dinner at perhaps an Italian Restaurant in town. The man who answered the door was completely changed. Beardless, his jaw line was strong and proud, and his hair, combed and washed was long and pure white, pulled back into a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck. His blue eyes sparkled and he laughed at the look of pure astonishment on my face. Using some of my borrowed shirts and pants, he looked like any other citizen, and we walked out to the restaurant. I noted how skinny he was. For sixty-nine, he was awfully thin.
At the restaurant, I asked him how he liked the hotel. He said, “Son, I have been on the streets for more than twenty years. You walking by was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” he paused and thought. “Walking here, cleaned up, no dirt, people didn’t move away from me, on the streets I’m no better than a stray dog. I’m feeling like I took a breath of air again, I’m back in the world. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll get a nice job and a home.” His eyes twinkled.
I asked him about this job he was looking forward to having. He smiled, and said,
“Tomorrow, shaved, washed, and clean, I’m going to City Council. I’m going to ask permission to commandeer one of the old warehouses for the sake of making a brand-new Halfway House on the lower end of Pittsburgh. Three blocks away from where you found me.”
My jaw dropped. How, I asked him, did he propose to do this? He had no money, supplies or helping hands, and he was still, after-all, just another homeless man.
He let rip a huge belly laugh. He said he would take any donations available, and looked forward to failing a couple times before the Council saw he was going to fight to make a difference. I said I would add my help, whatever I could do. He gave a crooked grin.
“Report the meeting.” He said, “Get the word out there that people are suffering on the streets, and that there is a way to help them.”
I swore that I would. The next day, we walked boldly into the City Hall, Ian was wearing another old shirt of mine, and walked straight and tall with battle in his eyes. He was recognized by an old woman in the Chair, and he walked forward to the podium.
“Hi.” He said, “My name is Ian Carrigan, and I am homeless. I would like to propose aid to the homeless of this town.”

Merle and the Homeless Man 2

The man sat up for a minute, holding his bare hands out to the people passing. They ignored him, skittering like scared deer out of his path into the road. They kept walking, and the homeless man stared after them for a moment, before flopping back into his previous position, a comatose looking pile of rags on the corner. I snapped a picture, nobody buys my pictures anymore. They say they’re too grim for the front page of the paper, this week I couldn’t even make page eight. Whatever.
The tourists had already reached the other side of the street, and I seethed after them. Selfish pigs. How do they look at him? A blight on the street corner they happened to be observing? An animal in the streets, perhaps a criminal, perhaps a n’er-do-well? How bout the other side? A man on hard times, trying to survive from day to day, maybe getting enough for a meal at McDonalds one day, enough for a CVS trip the next.
I stood about ten yards up the road, watching him with a thousand questions buzzing in my head. Who was he? Where was he from? Has he always been here on this corner? Where’s his family? Where has he been? I wanted to know, and scratched my head pensively with the camera swinging around my neck.
I walked over; my feet in their cheap Birkenstocks looking like silk slippers next to the fraying boots worn by the man. I said, “Hey.”
He sat up, looking me up and down, with a confused and apprehensive look in his eyes. “Hey.”
His voice was gravelly, sounded older than forty, and looked it too. His eyes were tired, with bags under his lids, and his beard was unkempt and grizzled. I hadn’t seen his hair from the distance, it was white streaked with gray, it looked like the gray was made up of dirt and filth accumulated by the street. So perhaps a lot older than forty. I asked if he was alright.
He smiled revealing straight teeth that hadn’t been brushed perhaps for days. “Better than some, worse than most of the rest,” he said, “but I’m not going to complain about the rest.”
I asked him if he had anybody around here to help him, he said no. Nobody was with him, he hadn’t heard from his family since 1961. He was out here, all alone. For me, that was the final straw. I told him, “My name is Merle. I’m a journalist from Pittsburg Times. What’s your name?”
His name was Ian. Ian Carrigan, whose father was an Irishman, moving to America right after Ian was born in 1906. That made him sixty-nine. And on the streets. He had no idea where his family was, had no money, and couldn’t get a job because he was old and didn’t have the money to wash and get a home. I talked with him for a while more and said, “Get up, I’ve made up my mind.”
“What?”
“Come with me, we’re going to the Sheraton.”
“What?”
“I’m going to get you a week at the hotel, a razor, and some food. Ready? Have any stuff?”
His eyes widened in shock, and he looked down, grabbing a small leather briefcase. He said, “I’m ready. But I’d like to tell you something and ask you something. I’ll tell you first, you are the first person, ever, to offer me anything while I was on the street, besides a few coins. The second, you sure you want to take in an old, untrustworthy street rag?”
I told him I saw the people walk by him earlier, and it made me stop and think about how people don’t seem to care about fellow man as much. I told him I wanted to change that. I told him he didn’t look like the type to be faking all this He grinned and said sure – he looked harmless most of the time, and we headed off to the hotel.
I told him he had to agree to take dinner with me, that was one of my few conditions. And he asked several times how he could ever repay me. I told him again he could help with the halfway house. He again enthusiastically agreed.
Four hours later, I came back to the hotel. I went up and knocked on his door, I thought we would get a little dinner at perhaps an Italian Restaurant in town. The man who answered the door was completely changed. Beardless, his jaw line was strong and proud, and his hair, combed and washed was long and pure white, pulled back into a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck. His blue eyes sparkled and he laughed at the look of pure astonishment on my face. Using some of my borrowed shirts and pants, he looked like any other citizen, and we walked out to the restaurant. I noted how skinny he was. For sixty-nine, he was awfully thin.
At the restaurant, I asked him how he liked the hotel. He said, “Son, I have been on the streets for more than twenty years. You walking by was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” he paused and thought. “Walking here, cleaned up, no dirt, people didn’t move away from me, on the streets I’m no better than a stray dog. I’m feeling like I took a breath of air again, I’m back in the world. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll get a nice job and a home.” His eyes twinkled.
I asked him about this job he was looking forward to having. He smiled, and said,
“Tomorrow, shaved, washed, and clean, I’m going to City Council. I’m going to ask permission to commandeer one of the old warehouses for the sake of making a brand-new Halfway House on the lower end of Pittsburgh. Three blocks away from where you found me.”
My jaw dropped. How, I asked him, did he propose to do this? He had no money, supplies or helping hands, and he was still, after-all, just another homeless man.
He let rip a huge belly laugh. He said he would take any donations available, and looked forward to failing a couple times before the Council saw he was going to fight to make a difference. I said I would add my help, whatever I could do. He gave a crooked grin.
“Report the meeting.” He said, “Get the word out there that people are suffering on the streets, and that there is a way to help them.”
I swore that I would. The next day, we walked boldly into the City Hall, Ian was wearing another old shirt of mine, and walked straight and tall with battle in his eyes. He was recognized by an old woman in the Chair, and he walked forward to the podium.
“Hi.” He said, “My name is Ian Carrigan, and I am homeless. I would like to propose aid to the homeless of this town.”

Merle and the Homeless Man 1

The man sat up for a minute, holding his bare hands out to the people passing. They ignored him, skittering like scared deer out of his path into the road. They kept walking, and the homeless man stared after them for a moment, before flopping back into his previous position, a comatose looking pile of rags on the corner. I snapped a picture, nobody buys my pictures anymore. They say they’re too grim for the front page of the paper, this week I couldn’t even make page eight. Whatever.
The tourists had already reached the other side of the street, and I seethed after them. Selfish pigs. How do they look at him? A blight on the street corner they happened to be observing? An animal in the streets, perhaps a criminal, perhaps a n’er-do-well? How bout the other side? A man on hard times, trying to survive from day to day, maybe getting enough for a meal at McDonalds one day, enough for a CVS trip the next.
I stood a ways up the road, watching him with a thousand questions buzzing in my head. Who was he? Where was he from? Has he always been here on this corner? Where’s his family? Where has he been? I wanted to know, and scratched my head pensively with the camera swinging around my neck.
I walked over; my feet in their cheap Birkenstocks looking like silk slippers next to the fraying boots worn by the man. I said, “Hey.”
He sat up, looking me up and down, with a confused and apprehensive look in his eyes. “Hey.”
His voice was gravelly, sounded older than forty, and looked it too. His eyes were tired, with bags under his lids, and his beard was unkempt and grizzled. I hadn’t seen his hair from the distance, it was white streaked with gray, it looked like the gray was made up of dirt and filth accumulated by the street. So perhaps a lot older than forty. I asked if he was alright.
He smiled revealing straight teeth that hadn’t been brushed perhaps for days. “Better than some, worse than most of the rest,” he said, “but I’m not going to complain about the rest.”
I asked him if he had anybody around here to help him, he said no. Nobody was with him, he hadn’t heard from his family since 1961. He was out here, all alone. For me, that was the final straw. I told him, “My name is Merle. I’m a journalist from Pittsburg Times. What’s your name?”
His name was Ian. Ian Carrigan, whose father was an Irishman, moving to America right after Ian was born in 1906. That made him, since it was 1975, sixty-nine. And on the streets. He had no idea where his family was, had no money, and couldn’t get a job because he was old and didn’t have the money to wash and get a home. I talked with him for a while more and said, “Get up, I’ve made up my mind.”
“What?”
“Come with me, we’re going to the Sheraton.”
“What?”
“I’m going to get you a week at the hotel, a razor, and some food. Ready? Have any stuff?”
His eyes widened in shock, and he looked down, grabbing a small leather briefcase. He said, “I’m ready. But I’d like to tell you something and ask you something. I’ll tell you first, you are the first person, ever, to offer me anything while I was on the street, besides a few coins. The second, why are you doing this for me? Why not the kids at the homeless shelter?”
I told him I saw the people walk by him earlier, and it made me stop and think about how people don’t seem to care about fellow man as much. I told him I wanted to change that. I wanted to start a halfway house, and he could be the first to help me. He grinned and agreed, and we headed off to the hotel.
I told him he had to agree to take dinner with me, that was one of my few conditions. And he asked several times how he could ever repay me. I told him again he could help with the halfway house. He again enthusiastically agreed.
Four hours later, I came back to the hotel. I went up and knocked on his door, I thought we would get a little dinner at perhaps an Italian Restaurant in town. The man who answered the door was completely changed. Beardless, his jaw line was strong and proud, and his hair, combed and washed was long and pure white, pulled back into a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck. His blue eyes sparkled and he laughed at the look of pure astonishment on my face. Using some of my borrowed shirts and pants, he looked like any other citizen, and we walked out to the restaurant. I noted how skinny he was. For sixty-nine, he was awfully thin.
At the restaurant, I asked him how he liked the hotel. He said, “Son, I have been on the streets for more than twenty years. You walking by was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” he paused and thought. “Walking here, cleaned up, no dirt, people didn’t move away from me, they looked me in the eye like I was any other man. On the streets I’m no better than a stray dog. I’m feeling like I took a breath of air again, looking forward I may have a job, friends, and I’ll have a chance to help people who are just the same as I was six hours ago. It’s not just the hotel that’s great; I think my life is turning over too.”
I said I was glad to have helped him, and that I too wanted to help the homeless of Pittsburgh. It was hard to say more, I still had to think about starting a business and getting everything I needed. But I knew that finally, I had something really worth working for. It wasn’t about keeping my own head above water anymore; it was for somebody else too.

Seeing Double - Final

-Vitas and Sophie stood at the airport, not really knowing what to say. What can you say, an unseen divorce and partial custody for the next year? They wouldn’t see each other again till summer, the summer of their senior year. Sophie had driven Vitas and her dad to the airport, seeing them off. Their mother had already said goodbye to Vitas. Sophie hesitated, twiddling with her long, wavy brown hair and said, “I’ll miss you Vi.”
-Vitas grinned for a second, running his fingers over his open, honest face saying “miss you too Soapie.” How do you say goodbye to a brother who you shared stupid nicknames with? Vitas checked his watch saying, “we gotta go Soph, but I’ll be in touch, dunno about Dad.” They both looked over at the middle-aged man sitting on the airport seats, staring at his plane ticket.
-“Ok, Vi. Bye Dad, I’ll miss you.” Sophie hugged her dad goodbye, choking up as he pulled her tight.
-“Bye Sophie. Know that whatever happens, Mom and I love you ok?”
-“Yeah Dad, I’ll see you.” She turned away as they walked toward the gate. As she walked off, Vitas called,
-“Soph!”
-“What Viking?”
-“Don’t go trying to take my place at Seaport!” Sophie grinned. She was really going to miss him, especially his jokes. At Seaport, Vitas was one of her best friends. Average height for a guy, girls loved him for his gorgeous looks, the eyes and brown hair that his twin Sophie shared with him. Sophie kept with a small group of girls, tight-knit, and not the most popular crowd, but she loved them. They went shopping, lounged on the beach, and played the normal seventeen year-old-girls.
-Sophie watched planes take off from her car. She wondered exactly which one held her dad and Vitas, leaving for Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, a long call from Seaport City, California. She thought about every one at school, thinking of Vitas’ friends. There was Emily, his ‘just friends’ girl, a blonde from Tuson, Arizona with runway quality looks. Sophie was pretty positive she liked him, but wasn’t brave enough to say. Maria and Toby, Emily’s best friends, dating, and voted ‘cutest couple’ and Andrew, one of Vitas’ not-so-close friends, who was also mad over Emily. Andrew wasn’t such a hit with the girls, his average looks and terrible social skills could be held accountable. Vitas’ best friend, Luke, was also, no big surprise, crazy for Emily, Sophie thought. Somehow they were still best friends though. Sophie however, had been head over heels for Luke ever since Andrew’s beach party. They had met, and barely said 20 words to each other, yet she was still crazy for him. His golden surfer curls and bronzed California body were to die for in Sophie’s opinion. And that’s when it hit her.
-Vitas’ friends didn’t need to know that he left. As identical twins, with a little makeup, she could pass for Vitas. They had the same honey-colored hair, the same bright blue eyes, and were almost the same height. Why not do it? She’d get more friends that way, her friends would support her, it would be her own little adventure. And, she’d be closer to Luke. She could tell him that there was a last minute change, and Sophie went to Harrisburg. She changed course, and went to CVS to grab makeup, cologne and ace bandages before she went home.
-She walked into her house and called her best friend. Jess wasn’t so sure of the idea. She figured someone would find out, but agreed to help Sophie. Sophie next took all of the clothes her brother had left behind and stashed them in her closet. She figured she may need to plan a shopping trip to a men’s shop in the near future. She tried wrapping her body in the Ace bandages, to dull her curves and make her body thicker and more proportionate. She stuffed her brother’s shoes with old socks and pulled on the wig she’d picked up. It fitted perfectly, not showing any of her long wavy tresses. She grinned, putting on concealer and fake eyebrows; till she let hers grow out. The concealer dulled her feminine cheekbones and showed the tan lines on her body. The greatest sacrifice was to not shave her legs, which she figured would soon become disgustingly masculine. But in California, there wasn’t much of a pants season. Sophie called Jess and asked her to come over. Jess flipped when she walked in the door.
-“GOOD GOD! You look just like Vit!!! You’re still a cute though.”
-Sophie giggled.
-“Don’t do that Soph, you’ll give it away. If you want to be a guy, play the part too.”
-Sophie tried her manly voice. Jess howled with laughter,
-“Okay, we’ll work on that one. Good thing it’s only Saturday!”
-On Monday, Sophie was nervous. She had memorized Vi’s schedule, but wasn’t sure she could make it. When she walked into Vi’s first period, she didn’t even have time to react. Luke walked up to her and grinning, grabbed her round the shoulder.
-“You missed the action this weekend bro! I thought you were leaving!”
-Luke’s presence hit her so hard she could only stare.
-“You all right man? Hey, did you shave? Looks good, that scruff wasn’t fitting you too well.”
-Sophie finally found her voice well enough to say,
-“Nah, m’ good. Sophie left instead of me, went to Harrisburg. Miss her.”
-“Yeah, your sister was cool, never talked to her much-liked what I saw though, you’re lucky to have a hot sister,” Luke paused, grinning. “Hey, do me a fav? Go talk to Emily and try to get a date for me-please? She’s right there.” He grabbed Sophie while she was still digesting ‘hot sister’ and spun her toward Emily.
-“You liked Sophie?” was Sophie’s parting question.
-“Yeah, just a bit. Sorry bro, would’ve asked her if she was here!”
-Sophie was too dazzled by Luke’s smile to respond, and found herself walking toward Emily, never having asked a girl out before. She walked over and said,
-“Hey. Emily.” Emily looked up and checked her out. Another thing that Sophie wasn’t quite used to.
-“Luke wants to know if you’d like to go on a date with him, y’know, party? Soon.”
-“Umm, no thanks, sorry, unless-Vitas? You’re going to be there?” Emily smiled, pausing and tossing her long blonde hair for effect.
-“No-don’t think so, sorry, but Luke just wanted to know if you would. See you round.” Sophie whirled around and walked off, shoulders stiff and back ramrod-straight in embarrassment.
-As she walked away, Sophie was aware of whispering behind her back and Emily’s eyes on her back. Oh god. Why did she do this? Luke liked Emily. Emily liked Vitas. How could Sophie get Luke when she dressed as a man? Luke used to like her, but now he thinks she’s gone. Her cell phone rang, Vi’s number popping up on the screen. Great. She walked outside into the sun to answer.
-“Hey Vi. What’s up?”
-“You’re not going to believe this Soph. I’m coming back.”
-She stood, stunned.
-“Why?”
-“Dad had a change of heart, wants to come back and live here instead. I was pretty surprised myself.” Vitas still sounded a little stunned.
-“Oh god. I have to tell you something, when does your plane get in?”
-“I’m at home now. Dad’s at the hotel. Why are my clothes in your closet?”
-“Meet me afterschool by my car, it’s in your usual spot. Ok?”
-“Umm, alright,” Vitas was a little puzzled by the abruptness. “I can’t wait to see you Soph.” he added.
-“Yeah, me either. See ya!”
-Sophie whirled around when she felt a tap on her shoulder, and started when she saw it was Emily.
-“Hey Emily,” she said cautiously, “what’s up?”
-“Vitas-I kinda have to talk to you.” She had on the doll face and a hopelessly soppy look that Sophie hoped had never crossed her own countenance anywhere near Luke.
-Good lord, Emily thought, is this what girls really come across as to guys? This is sad.
-“Bout what?” was what Sophie actually said.
-“This.” Emily reached up in one quick swoop, grabbing Sophie’s neck and pulling her head down for a kiss. Sophie panicked, seeing Emily’s eyes happily closed, and Sophie turned her head, Emily’s upturned lips landing on her jaw. Emily pulled away, disappointed.
-“Well, if that’s the way you feel Vitas, I’ll see you around. And are you wearing concealer?” Emily wiped her lips, seeing the tan makeup come off in her hand, confused.
-“Umm, can I get back to you on that? Meet me in the parking lot after school? I’ll see you later.” Sophie ducked into Vitas’ last period class, relieved. That was very nearly gross. Luke was sitting there, waiting for ‘Vitas’ to walk in.
-“Hey man, I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything earlier, I just, liked your sister a bit. I’m kind of stuck between liking a girl miles away and a hottie here-though I think Emily likes you.”
-“Luke, what if Sophie actually wasn’t leaving, and was here in town?”
-“I would probably ask her out man! Why? Am I still freaking you out?”
-“No, Luke, Sophie’s here, she back, she’s not leaving. It’s cool if you like her-I think she really likes you too. In fact, I’m Sophie.”
-Luke looked at her, a little wierded out.
-“Vit, seriously, stop playing, dude, c’mon.”
-“No, really, I’m Sophie. I took Vitas’ place to talk to you, he was the one that really left. But he’s coming back. Come outside with me afterschool, you’ll see him.”
-“Seriously, Sophie? I couldn’t really tell the difference, that’s creepy. Though your face is different, couldn’t get my finger on it.” Luke tried to stare past the mask and clothes that Sophie wore.
-Sophie laughed, reverting back to her normal voice. “That must be the two tons of makeup I’m wearing-and the ace bandages I used. It’s crazy, don’t ask.”
-“So you never knew I liked you?”
-“No, we never talked – but…I…” Sophie couldn’t get the words out. Maybe she’d tell him later, but wasn’t this what she dressed for?
-“Holy crap. This is still weird coming from a guy’s face. Um, parking lot after school today? We can talk?”
-“Sure, sounds good. I’ve still got to sort out Emily Ryder, who still thinks I’m Vitas.”
-“Good luck, I’ll come over to your car afterschool, and prove it if I have to.” He winked, and went to sit in his class seat. Sophie exhaled a long breath. Did Luke actually just admit he liked her – to her face? On the other hand, she hoped Vitas would wear the cologne she had bought, she didn’t know what to do with it otherwise.
-As the bell rang, she jumped up, oblivious to Luke calling her name, and ran outside to her car – and was greeted by a strange sight. It was the real Vitas, with Emily, kissing, in the parking lot. Luke came up panting behind her.
-“Looks like everything had a happy ending huh? They look happy enough. Is she kissing the real Vitas? Or should I find that out?”
-Sophie turned and looked at him confused. Luke grinned, and bent down and kissed her, taking off the wig as he did. Sophie grinned, saying,
-“Nice. And if I had been the real Vitas?”
-“Probably would’ve beat me up, thinking I was a creep.”
-“That’s Vi for you.”
-“Yeah well. Put the wig back on, I want to see what Emily does.”
-Sophie giggled, slipping it back on. She walked over to the real Vitas and Emily, saying, “Hey Viking!” and giving Vitas a big hug. Vitas looked stunned. So did Emily. Luke was howling with laughter.
-“Sophie?” Vitas was the first to catch on, and began to laugh as Emily stuttered in the background.
-“Yeah. Long story, I’ll have to tell later. Emily, sorry, but I think you tried to smooch me the first time, not Vi.”
-Emily just stared. Sophie took off the wig. “See?”
-“Oops, sorry. Yeah, now I’m just glad that I got here to catch the REAL Vi. That’s embarrassing.”
-“You dress a pretty good guy Soph, I’m impressed.” Luke grinned, as Sophie struggled to get off the Ace bandages that were wrapped around her torso, and Emily went to assist her.
-“You said you would talk to me after school. Now can I ask you on a date?”
-“Sure Luke, anytime. Really.” Sophie smiled at him, and Luke grinned back.
-“Beach anyone?” called Vitas from the car “Now that Sophie’s a girl again?”
-Everyone agreed to go. In the end, Sophie thought, watching the sunset, legs back to normal, and makeup washed off, she was glad that being a guy only lasted one day, and she had Vitas back, along with two new friends. But would she ever pull another cross dressing? Don’t think so.