[cs] - homeless
Three years of surviving on the streets abruptly came to an end when a social worker found me sleeping on a bench outside of the city park. Apparently when you get assigned to a social worker, they keep a very keen eye on you - especially when your parent’s estate consisted of millions of dollars (unknown to Marcus). The social worker approached me cautiously, I guess she was trying to identify me without having to wake me up or disturb me. It didn’t work, the not disturbing me part, as I learned the hard way that you must become a light sleeper to survive on the streets.
“Marcus Arguello Noir?” She asked. I haven’t heard my full name spoken in so long, it almost felt foreign to hear. I sat up on the park bench, giving her space to sit if she choose to do so. “Depends on who’s asking…”, I advised. I gave her the up and down look, trying to see if looked suspicious or like a cop. She went into detail about she was a social worker and how my uncle was going through the process of becoming my legal guardian for the past few years. I questioned why it took three entire years for him to become my legal guardian because… it just felt off. Did the process really take *that* long? Did he have to *think* on it for three years before deciding to essentially adopt me?
“There were… *legal difficulties*.” Her answer seemed to echo with each of my questions. Unbeknown to me at the time, my uncle was trying to find a way to obtain my parent’s estate. He exhausted all options to do so without having to claim legal guardianship of me, but that didn’t work. The next ploy to obtain it was by essentially adopting me and claiming the funds withdrawn would be used in the care of a thirteen year old boy who just lost his parents.
“If you want to gather your… *things*, I can drive you down to the office and we can arrange for your uncle to come pick you up.” She didn’t really know what *things* a homeless kid would have. I looked around, half-expecting to find the *things* she mentioned. But the answer was nothing. If it wasn’t in my physical possession, it wasn’t mine. “I guess… I’m ready.”
I sat in an office that resembled an interrogation room for about two hours. The social worker left me here while she contacted my uncle and made the final arrangements for him to finally pick me up. The doorknob made a noise as it twisted to be opened. In came my uncle that I recognized from holidays, cousins’ birthdays, and other family based events. Just when the image of my father’s face was beginning to blur in my memory, my uncle reminded me of so many of his physical features. For a moment, I imagined my own father standing in the doorway - ready to take me home to see my mother. There was a lump in my throat that burned, causing my tear ducts to betray me.
“There’s my nephew…”, his voice quickly broke the illusion. “Let’s get you out of here.” There was a numbness I felt after waking up from the earlier illusion. Though the idea of having *some* sense of a family was nice, I didn’t like the constant reminder that my father was no longer here - which was exactly what my uncle did. I took a few steps forward, unable to speak or even form coherent sounds. He placed a hand on my shoulder, walking me through the office and out to his car where both my cousins were waiting - Clyde and Lyle. Both Clyde and Lyle were older than me, at least by 4-5 years.
“Why does *it* smell like sh*t?” Clyde’s first words to me after not speaking for over four years. “Clyde! *It* has a name, and it’s Macrus.” Lyle spoke up in my defense. I was still too broken to respond or fight back at this point. Three years of living on the street while my cousins lived a normal, safe life. “Okay, okay. Why does MarcASS smell like sh*t?” Clyde made his rebuttal.
“I know how the homeless get by’, my uncle spoke up. “…stealing from whoever they can just to make it by. He’s a thief, but we’ll see what we can do about that.”