Christmas day dawned gray and damp. Jack observed, “Looks like snow before mornin’.” The area, being on the east end of the Great Lakes, was famous for the amount of snow it received.
“What should we do to get ready?” I asked.
“Well, first we need t’ be sure everythin’ we own is under the overpass an’ as far away from the edges as we can get it. Then we need t’ collect a lot of firewood. It’s gonna get damn cold.”
So during the day, we both foraged for firewood or anything else that would burn. Jack went behind one of the concrete walls and rolled a 50-gallon drum with holes in the bottom of it under the overpass. “If we build a fire in this,” he said, “it’ll give us more heat.”
Meanwhile, Evan was nowhere in sight and I was getting more and more worried.
Christmas night the snow began falling, gently at first and then harder and harder. We built a fire in the drum and fed it throughout the night. By midnight the snow was falling constantly and rapidly. The strong wind was blowing it sideways so that even huddling under the overpass didn’t keep us completely free of snow. We wrapped ourselves in our sleeping bags and dozed off and on sitting up.
When morning came, the sky wasn’t much lighter than it had been at midnight, and the snow was still falling. At one point we went looking for more fuel for our fire but returned with little. Because of the snow’s mounting depth we didn’t search for food and had had nothing to eat but a few stale pieces of bread. Snow fell all that day and through the night, finally stopping in the early morning. Somehow we slept all night sitting up once again. Each time one of us woke up, he fed the fire.
We awoke at dawn to discover that nearly three feet of snow had fallen. This was especially hard on us, because we only had sneakers, no boots. The sky was a deep, crisp blue, with not a cloud anywhere, and there was not a breath of wind. Finally, feeling the need to pee, I waded through the snow a little distance away and relieved myself. Turning, I saw a ways away what appeared to be a boot in the snow. I thought, Great. Maybe somebody’s lost a boot I could use.
Slogging over to it, I saw that there was indeed a boot and I immediately knew whose it was. Fearfully bending over, I began to clear snow away, calling frantically to Jack. As I cleared more snow I found the small body. Finally coming to the face, I brushed the snow away, seeing Evan’s pale face, his blonde hair matted to his forehead, and his eyes staring open as if in surprise. I thought for just an instant that I should wake him up before I realized that Evan would never wake up again.
Jack arrived, looked down, and said, “Fuck! Shit! God dammit to hell!” Finally leaning over he gently closed Evan’s eyes. I stood gazing down, thinking that Evan looked more peaceful than I had ever seen him. Then Jack looked at me and said, “He was prob’ly high and froze t’ death before he could get back t’ the overpass.”
I stayed standing there, just looking and weeping, tears freezing on my cheeks. This was the first time I’d actually seen a dead person and I struggled to grasp what it really meant. I’d been truly fond of Evan and had tried to help him, but, in the end, I knew that nobody could’ve helped him. Evan, I understood, had been doomed for months and most likely knew it. All I could hope was that he hadn’t suffered too much before he lost consciousness.
Because the little road over the overpass hadn’t been plowed, Jack had to wade through the snow to the road to find the police, who soon arrived. They talked with us, trying to find out if we knew anything about Evan’s family. We didn’t. All we knew was that he was from somewhere around Grantham and that his name was Evan.
Finally, some EMTs came plowing through the snow, carrying a stretcher. They placed Evan on it and trudged slowly back to the ambulance on the road. We followed them to the ambulance and stood as the men loaded Evan in and then remained for a long time after the ambulance left, not saying anything.
Finally, we plodded silently back to the campsite, took off our soaking sneakers and put our feet as close to the fire as we dared, trying to warm them.
Gazing into the flames, Jack said quietly, “Well, that’s one down. I wonder how many more there’ll be this winter.”
I was furious! “How can you just dismiss him like that? He’s not just a statistic, Jack; he was a human being. He had a name. He had feelings. Suddenly, he’s nothing but a ‘Dead on Arrival’?”
Jack looked at me for a few moments, silently nodding to himself before saying quietly, “All DOA statistics was once human bein’s, Willy. They all had names; they all had feelin’s. I guess that makin’ them inta statistics helps us deal with it so we don’t have t’ say t’ ourselves what we can barely think – that we might be next. Evan was a good kid, but he was lost. We can feel sad for him, but we can’t bring him back. Our job’s t’ see this don’t happen t’ us.” He put on his sneakers, saying he was going to find food, and left, leaving me to feed the fire.
While he was searching for food, Jack learned from a police officer that Evan was to be buried the next day in a cemetery for the indigent just outside of town, so he spread the word among the homeless community.
In the afternoon, I went foraging again for wood and was lucky enough to find a small tree which had fallen in the storm. I hauled it back to the campsite where I found Jack with some stale bread and juice. We toasted the bread over the fire as we quietly talked but never mentioned Evan or what Jack had said.
By noon the next day, there was a stream of homeless young people walking to the cemetery. Since most sidewalks had not yet been cleared, we all walked in the streets, slowing traffic as we went. Arriving at the cemetery, I saw the open grave in a field which gave no other indication that it was a cemetery. There were no grave markers — no formal gates or fences.
A hearse arrived and some men unloaded a plain pine box. When they had carried the box to the grave, one of the older boys said a few words, remembering Evan and reminding everybody that we needed to support each other. The box was lowered unceremoniously into the ground, and two of the men began shoveling in the dirt.
I was badly shaken. I turned away from the grave, tears again streaming down my face and began walking across the field, Jack beside me. “Is that going to be us?” I asked.
“Not if I can help it,” said Jack, “but I bet Evan won’t be the only one this winter.”
On our way back to the campsite, we stopped at the library, where it was wonderfully warm so we took our time. I had two emails from Dexter and one from Adam. Dexter told me that his mother had moved out and he didn’t know where she was, so now he was living with his father and hating it.
I wrote to both Dexter and Adam, telling them about Evan and how I had tried to help. Again I was in tears as I wrote, but I felt better for telling the story.
When we arrived back at the campsite, we checked that our belongings were still intact and then talked about what to do with Evan’s few things. Since his clothes were too small to fit either of us, we decided to take them to the Salvation Army to see if we could trade them for things that fit. We were fortunate enough to each find a pair of boots which fit reasonably well, so we silently thanked Evan before we left.
We talked about where to spend that night. We knew if we stayed outside too long we wouldn’t survive. Late in the afternoon we went into a Catholic church and hid under the pews until we heard someone lock the door. When we emerged we saw there were other homeless people there as well. Many of them were young. We kept to ourselves and spent the night trying to sleep on the hard pews.
Since it was still bitterly cold the next day, after we stole and ate some food, we walked to keep warm, coming eventually to the high school. Although it was still vacation, we found the door unlocked and discovered a basketball practice going on in the gym. Searching the empty halls, we came upon an unlocked classroom where we thought we could hide undetected. It was wonderfully warm and we decided to try to spend the night there.
We waited for hours, whispering very quietly. Long after all sounds had ceased in the building, we finally emerged, and made our way to the kitchen, hoping to find some food. We found a refrigerator which had been left unlocked and discovered some lunch meat and some milk which we gratefully devoured. By the time we finished, it was nearly dark outside.
Half-seeing, half-feeling our way, we came to the gym, which was likewise unlocked. Not daring to turn on a light, we felt our way around the walls until we came to a locker room entrance. The locker room had no windows so we turned on the lights. We stripped off our wet clothes, found some unused towels, and went into the shower room.
I looked at Jack, who looked back at me. This was the first time we had seen each other naked. We both appeared rather undernourished. After sizing each other up, we laughed and got into the warm streams of water. What a luxury! Although we had washed ourselves when we went to the lake, I had not had a hot shower since the day I left home, and for Jack it was even longer. We basked in the warmth, washing ourselves thoroughly and scouring each others’ backs.
Drying off, we wrapped ourselves in more towels and considered what to do next. We discovered that the coaches’ office had two cots in it, presumably for sick or injured students. We hung our clothes to dry and then spent the night there, luxuriating in sleeping on cots under blankets instead of on hard, cold ground.
The next thing we knew, a light flashed on and a voice said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
We looked up groggily to see a heavy-set man towering over us. We jumped up, covering ourselves as best we could with the towels.
“Well?” he demanded, “I want an answer.”
“We was just sleepin’,” Jack mumbled.
”Uh-huh. And how long have you been here?”
Jack told him.
“Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you? I will personally escort you to the door, and if I ever see you in here again, I’ll call the police. Now put your clothes on and let’s go.”
We followed him to the front door, looking from time to time at each other. The man asked us where we lived and Jack said, “In a park.”
He asked how we got food and I answered, “Lots of times we panhandle.”
“I bet you steal, too.” We didn’t respond. He just smiled a little and shook his head.
At the door, we said a hasty goodbye and went back out into the freezing cold.
By the time we left it was past 8:00 AM, so we walked to the library and again enjoyed the warmth. I had an email from Adam and one from Dexter. Adam was horrified to hear about Evan and asked if I was safe. I replied that I was, and that my friend and I were helping each other.
Dexter was also alarmed and asked about my safety. I answered,
Dear Dexter,
Yes, I’m all right. Jack and I are taking care of each other and neither of us is doing drugs.
I told you before that I had changed my name to Willy. I decided to make my last name Evans to honor my friend. I hope you like it.
I need to tell you that Jack and I have been jerking each other off. We don’t love each other; we just relieve each other. I love you and want to be with you always, but I just find I need the relief sometimes. Please don’t blame me. Please tell me you understand.
All my love, Willy Evans
When I finished I told Jack what I had written. From then on, until I heard from Dexter again, I was worried he might be angry and dump me.
We went looking for food and then panhandled, but with little success because there weren’t many people out walking. As we talked we decided to try to get away with spending the night in the library.
The library closed at 9:00 PM, so around 8:00 o’clock in the evening we went back to the library and tried to appear as if we were looking for books. About fifteen minutes before closing time, we went into a rest room and hunched down on the toilets with our feet off the floor.
A little after nine, somebody came in and switched off the lights but fortunately didn’t check the stalls. We waited another half hour in that cramped position until we finally decided the coast was clear. By that time our feet and legs had gone to sleep, so we had to sit on the toilets with our feet and legs stretched out on the floor until the tingling stopped. Finally we went into a reading room where there were comfortable couches and slept until nearly 8:00 o’clock in the morning.
Two days later we were panhandling once again when two men walked up to us. One of the men placed a ten dollar bill in each of our cups. We looked up, startled. We knew if we were careful that would feed us both for quite a while.
One of the men asked, “Are you by any chance the two boys who were caught sleeping in the high school coach’s office the other day?”
Without answering the question, Jack asked, “What’s it t’ you?”
Seeing the wary expressions on our faces the man said, “Don’t worry. We’re not cops and you’re not in any trouble, but if you are those two boys we’d like to talk with you.”
“Why?” I asked.
The man replied, “I’m a reporter from the Grantham Times, and we’re doing a report on homeless people in the city. I got talking with the coach the day before yesterday and he told me about you. I’d just like to ask you some questions.”
Standing up and pocketing his ten dollars, Jack said, “If ya buy us lunch and hot drinks we’ll talk t’ ya.”
“But you have to understand,” I said, doing the same, “that there are some things we won’t tell you.”
The man agreed and took us to a fast food restaurant, where he let us order whatever we wanted. When we sat down, he introduced the other man as a photographer from the paper.
“OK,” said Jack. “First rule: no pictures.”
“Do you mind telling me why?” asked the photographer.
“Because,” I said, “being anonymous is our protection. We don’t want people knowing who we are.” The photographer nodded and sat down, laying his camera on the table.
“I suppose,” said the reporter, “that if that’s the case you don’t want us using your real names.”
“Right!” we agreed together.
“Not a problem,” said the man. “So what can you tell us?”
“Well,” Jack began, “there are maybe a hundred or more homeless kids under the age of 22 or so in this city.”
I continued, “We don’t get any help, but we’ve all found out-of-the-way places to sleep and we do what we must to get food.”
“Such as…?”
Jack said, “Such as raidin’ dumpsters, stealin’, beggin’, and some, not us, doin’ survival sex.”
When the reporter asked, I explained what the term meant.
“Are you really outdoors all winter?”
“A lot of the time, yes” replied Jack. “Most’v us got sleepin’ bags. Sometimes we’re able t’ sneak inta a buildin’ like the high school and spend a warm night, but when we can’t do that it can get pretty damned cold.”
I nodded in agreement and then told them the story of Evan.
“My God,” said the reporter. “He was only eleven? What a horrible life he must have had.”
“We tried to help him,” I said. “The hospital got him clean once but he just couldn’t resist the drugs so he wouldn’t let us help anymore. His parents were both into drugs and I think he was just sick, mentally, you know?”
The reporter nodded and then asked, “But aren’t there shelters you can go to?”
“First of all, this time of year all the shelters are full. Second, they’re really for adults. Kids who try to go there can get into trouble. Sometimes the adults throw us out. We have kids who’ve been raped by the adults in shelters. So why would we want to go?” I asked.
“What about foster homes?”
“There ain’t close to enough of ‘em t’ take everybody,” answered Jack.
“Besides,” I added, “many of these kids have been in foster homes and left. We like being independent, and most of us have learned the hard way not to trust adults.” Jack nodded his agreement.
“OK, but why are these kids homeless in the first place?”
“Well,” I answered, “every kid’s got his own story. Some of us have left home because of abuse; some have been thrown out because they were pregnant or gay, like me; some nobody was taking care of them anyway; some, like him,” I gestured towards Jack, “are in families where there’s just not enough food to go around; some are here because they have mental problems.”
“What else can you tell us?”
“Well,” I said, “we need a shelter just for kids. Then maybe we wouldn’t have kids dying in the streets and parks like Evan. Maybe we wouldn’t have kids stealing food and money. Maybe we wouldn’t have kids panhandling. Maybe we wouldn’t have eleven-year-olds selling themselves for sex.”
“But,” said Jack, “we don’t want a free ride, ya know? We just want a chance t’ survive. If I could get a job, I would, but I haven’t been able t’ so far. There just ain’t any for kids our age. We need help but we don’t get our hopes up. People know we’re here; they just don’t give a damn.”
The reporter and the photographer thanked us, handed us some more money, and left.
On our way back to the campsite, we once again stopped in the library. I hadn’t heard from Dexter since I had told him what Jack and I were doing and I was afraid of what I might find in my email. There was, indeed, one from Dexter, which said,
Dear Willy,
Sorry I haven’t written for a few days. I was really sick and I felt too lousy to even sit up. Of course, my dad was no help at all. Now I’m feeling better and I’ll probably go back to school in another day or two.
I’m glad you’re safe and that Jack’s helping you. As for jerking off with Jack, I don’t blame you at all. You probably both need it. I do, too, and I suppose I would do it if I could find somebody, but I can’t. All I can do is use my good right hand and dream of you. I’m just waiting for the day when we can be together and love each other again.
I do like your new name. It’s like a constant memorial to a kid who never had a chance.
Dad gives me some money for clothes and school lunches, so I’m beginning to save some of it. I have to be careful because if he figures out I’m not spending it all on clothes and food I’ll be in deep shit. Please write again soon, and give my best to Jack.
I love you and miss you, Dexter.”
As we left, I told Jack what Dexter had said. That night, even though it was freezing at our campsite, we satisfied each other and I felt much less guilty.
Jack had told me that dumpsters full of bagged garbage were actually warm, so a few nights later, when it promised to be very cold out, we found a large dumpster and burrowed in. He was right. It was warm and we could actually keep out the cold. Even though the dumpster did stink, we were able to get a pretty good night’s sleep.
The next week we were panhandling once again when we were approached by a woman who looked old enough to be our grandmother. But when she spoke we realized she was younger than that.
“I’m trying to find the boys who knew Evan. Did you know him?” she asked. We looked at each other and nodded. “I read about him in the paper…He was my son,” she said sadly, tears starting in her eyes.
We didn’t know what to say. I thought, should I say she must have been a terrible mother? Should I tell her what Evan’s last days had been like and where I found him? I was sure Jack was thinking the same thoughts. But she was so obviously hurting we simply said we were sorry.
She sobbed for a few minutes before saying, “When my husband threw Evan out, I decided to get myself clean from the alcohol and drugs. It was so hard, but I thought I needed to do it for Evan. But when I was ready, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was and how I wanted him to come back home, but I never got the chance and I guess he never had a chance either. All I can do for him now is to give him a decent burial. I’ve found out where he’s been buried and he’ll be exhumed tomorrow. Then there’ll be a funeral on Saturday at the United Church of Christ. I think he would be really pleased if the two of you came to it.”
“We’ll try,” I said. Then, pausing, I asked, “Do you want to know what you could do to help him rest peacefully?” She nodded. “You could help kids like him and us. Maybe you could get somebody to open a shelter in his name for homeless kids.”
“Thank you,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll certainly see what I can do. Maybe the church would help.”
On Saturday morning, once again young homeless people from all over the city proceeded, this time to a church, disrupting traffic along the way, and attended a second and much more fitting funeral for Evan.