"Fast-Life Blues" (StoryADay Challenge/Day 28)

THE PROMPT: (BY JONATHAN MAEBERRY, WHO IS A NEW YORK TIMES BEST-SELLING AND FIVE-TIME BRAM STOKER AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR, ANTHOLOGY EDITOR, COMIC BOOK WRITER, MAGAZINE FEATURE WRITER, PLAYWRIGHT, CONTENT CREATOR, AND WRITING TEACHER/LECTURER. HE IS THE CREATOR OF V-WARS AND THE JOE LEDGER SERIES.)

Write a human-experience short story about a homeless person during the Covid-19 outbreak.

*

“Fast-Life Blues”

I first met Reginald “Reggie” Peters at a red light in afternoon traffic. I saw him asking for something from the two drivers ahead of me. As he made his way towards me, I reached in my backpack on the passenger seat, to see if I had another probiotic orange and cranberry breakfast bar. I had one more, a leftover from lunch.  Reginald was wearing a maroon sweatshirt, green tracksuit pants and oversized work boots. He had his face mask below his chin.  When he came near my driver window, I lowered the glass and reached out my arm with the bar. 

“How are you doing?” I asked.

He looked at the texture of the bar in my hands and opened his mouth with two fingers. “I don’t have any teeth,” he said, slowly.

The traffic light turned green and the driver behind me blew his horn, so I had to be on my way. I felt like a total jackass. An attempted act of kindness, on my part, now felt like an act of disrespect. The breakfast bar had a rough surface texture, teeth was essential for this process. 

The second time I met Reginald Peters, I was riding a bicycle down the same street on a weekend. I saw him sitting on a bucket on a median strip between traffic. He was wearing a face mask due to the recent covid-19 pandemic. I slowed down on my bike and got off. 

“Hey man, I just wanted to apologize for the other day,” I said.

“Who are you?” he said, looking at me like I was lost.

“My name is Sean. The other day I was in my car and I tried giving you a breakfast bar--”

“No teeth.”

“Yes,” I said, relieved. “I just wanted to apologize for that.”

“It's okay. You didn’t know.” 

I shook my backpack off my shoulders and placed it on the ground. I sat down beside it, next to him.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Reginald Peters. Reggie Peters.”

I pointed at the shelter diagonal from where we were sitting. “Do you stay there?”

“Sometimes,” Reggie said, looking down at the ground. “Sometimes it gets full, and I sleep outside.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“Sometimes in the park. Sometimes right here.”

Behind him, under a canvas blue tarp, he showed me a small cart with some unclean, damp clothes, a small quilt and a banjo.

“Where are you from Reggie?”

“I’m from Mississippi. I used to play music there.”

“Really?” 

“Oh yes.”

“What kind of music?”

“The blues baby,” Reggie said, his mask hiding his grin.

“Can you still play?” 

“Oh no. The arthritis, too painful to play for long. I keep the banjo just to remind me.”

“Do you have any family here in Philadelphia?”

“No family here, that’s my one regret.”

“What do you mean Reggie?” I asked.

“I was a Bluesman. Traveling in and out of states, playing music and living fast with the band. I fell in love in many towns, in many clubs. But I never settled down to have a family. That’s something I wish I could re-do. Sometimes I feel like my life is meaningless.”

Reginald reached for the bottle of water between his legs on the concrete, and took a sip. “The fast life leaves you before you’re ready to leave it. That’s something a lot of men learn too late. Do you have a family Sean?”

“Not yet.” I said. 

“Maybe that’s the point of life, to keep this human species thing going. I was the one of four children.”

“I thought you didn’t have any family?”

“I don’t have a family here in Philadelphia. I haven’t spoken to my siblings in over three decades. They owe me nothing. I have no malice in my heart towards them. I wish them all the best from right where I sit.”

“You never thought about finding them?”

“I thought about it years ago. But that was when I was riding high on my horse. I had money falling out of my pocket. They tried to get in touch with me at the time, but I was too high and mighty to want to be bothered. My life was a brothel. Music, drugs and women, women, drugs and music. Rinse and repeat. It all went fast too. A drug-fueled blur. The indulging of every vice can destroy you. It ruined me. The temptations of the road overpowered my common sense. None of us are any match for the devil. Lucy shows up exactly how you desire her. Then she slaughters you.”

We were both silent for a moment. The sun was beginning to set. “Will you get a spot in the shelter tonight?”

“I will tonight. I’ll be heading in before the sun fully sets,” Reginald said.  “There I will say my prayers and thank God for another day before falling asleep. I had to walk through the fire to learn. And I’m just glad I’m still alive. Everyone from the band either passed away, two from Covid-19 recently, or are terminally ill at home with their families. Me, I’m not dead just yet. I’m homeless, but still I have much to be grateful for. And I’m still hopeful. I lived a full life. My desires now are simple and modest. And I’m thankful.”

I got up off the floor and got ready to hop on my bike.

“I haven’t spoken this much to anyone in years Sean. Thank you.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For asking questions. For listening. You’ve blessed Reginald Peters with your company. Thank you.”

“Thank you Reginald.”

I got on my bike and rode off. 

“Hey!” Reginald shouted. “You left your backpack!” 

I turned my head and shouted back. “No I didn’t!”

Reginald picked up the backpack off the floor and walked towards the shelter entrance. After he was assigned a bed and was cleaned up and fed for the night, he sat upright on his bed. He unzipped the backpack and looked inside. A huge smile manifested on his face. “God you are able,” he whispered to himself.

The End

**This is a work of fiction. Names. characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.