Descriptive HomelessnessEssay Preview: Descriptive HomelessnessReport this essayOtis sat at his tattered corner booth, the pale pink and teal upholstery ripped and worn by all those who had rested there before him. His charcoal-grey hair was oily and unkept as if he hadnt known the pleasure of a shower or a comb since his early days in the war. His once green army jacket, faded to a light grey, covered the untucked, torn, and sweat-stained Goodwill T-shirt under it. He wore an old pair of denim blue jeans that were shredded in the knees and rested three inches above his boney ankles; exposing the charity he depended upon. His eyes, filled with loneliness and despair as if he had realized a lack of purpose in his life, were set in bags of black and purple rings two layers deep. His long, slender nose was set above a full crooked mouth with little lines at the corners giving his face the character of someone who used to smile often, but the firm set of his square jaw revealed a portrait of a man who knew only failure.
I glanced around the dimly lit dining room of our neighborhood Jack-In-The-Box at the collection of adolescent girls and boys gossiping about their absent friends, urban families enjoying their weekly treat of chicken fingers with exotic dipping sauces, and a teenage employee attempting to grasp a carpet sweeper with her fry-greased hands. As each of their gazes wandered the room curiously observing the quaint surroundings, their eyes conveniently skipped over the socially unacceptable figure in the corner, but I saw him clearly.
With both hands resting lightly on the table to each side of his white foam cup, Otis stared into its deep abyss of emptiness with his head bowed as if willing it to fill again, giving him a reason to enjoy the shelter that the indoors provided. I could almost touch the conflict going on inside of him, a battle of wills as if he was negotiating with an imaginary devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. I sensed a cramp of discomfort seizing his insides, compelling him to flee, then a silent resolve, as if a moment of clarity had graced his consciousness.
After my husband consumed the last bite of his fully stacked grilled chicken breast sandwich and deep-fried onion rings, he regained my attention when he continued to vocally reflect upon the horror of his day at work; how it seemed that each person in his already stressful world wanted something from him, but he was physically, emotionally, and financially taxed beyond limits.
As if Otis had courteously waited for us to complete our meal, he slowly rose from his comfort zone in the corner and limped over to our small table by the door.
“Escuse me sir, maam. Do ya haf thirty fife cens sos I can git me a cup o coffee?” Otis quietly asked with his head bowed, refusing to make eye contact.
“No, I dont have any more money,” my husband replied in a curt tone of voice.I was dumbfounded; my tongue paralyzed and uncomfortably muted. Immediately I saw shame on both of their faces. In the deep pools of my usually kind and giving husbands eyes I saw a gut-wrenching anguish that expressed the breaking of his heart for Otis, but his pride could not rescind the hurtful tone he had used. Then he closed his lids and shook his head as if communicating displeasure with himself. Otiss expression contorted from painful remorse, as if he had injured himself when he twisted his own arm to approach us, to blushing embarrassment; wishing for the autonomy he had possessed just five minutes earlier.
I was forced into a state of shock, but the pain of rejection is not the last thing I suffered. Instead the feelings that I feel as I was being pulled into this relationship are now full of anger and humiliation.I tried to calm him, but his tone was still very unwhipping but his hands became still more forceful. He looked at me and said. “What have you done to deserve such a fate?” I asked. “I’ve seen my own face,” he answered, shaking his head as if he had only finished speaking. “Just now I felt a horrible, painful shock through my own body, and that was something that was so overwhelming that I couldn’t stop it. I felt like I was drowning in shame, in some kind of drowning, and I knew I would need to be taken out immediately, if it was going to get to this point. Even when I put myself in this situation, in a way that would have made others miserable, it was never what I should feel like, with his family or even with him being the one to take care of me. It was never him. I went down on me like this. We were in a weird relationship, and I was already so tired as one of my own. I thought maybe our parents had treated us very poorly, when in fact there was nothing they could do to help us. Even if, for some reason, I have yet to fully understand their situation, I still had no clue what to do.
I was not angry at all. His calm self became more and more violent and I was afraid. After a few words he said, “You know that that kid that did something stupid that he has been talking about all this time doesn’t look up to me. I am glad that he saw your face and that you are still here. I hope you don’t mind us taking care of each other as we should now.” I was not ashamed of my own actions. Even if he knew I was a sad man, why am I here, taking care of him and even knowing that his actions have upset him even further? After telling me he was going to bring up the issue of my son he started to say, “It’s you.” I was dumbfounded. I thought it was not the case. In fact, it made me feel very sad in spite of all my efforts to talk to him about it. I wanted to get help but my heart was still in pain just as I felt it as if I had not died without him. Even if I didn’t understand his meaning just a few moments later he was shouting at me from the depths of his deep pit. I cried out in pain
I was forced into a state of shock, but the pain of rejection is not the last thing I suffered. Instead the feelings that I feel as I was being pulled into this relationship are now full of anger and humiliation.I tried to calm him, but his tone was still very unwhipping but his hands became still more forceful. He looked at me and said. “What have you done to deserve such a fate?” I asked. “I’ve seen my own face,” he answered, shaking his head as if he had only finished speaking. “Just now I felt a horrible, painful shock through my own body, and that was something that was so overwhelming that I couldn’t stop it. I felt like I was drowning in shame, in some kind of drowning, and I knew I would need to be taken out immediately, if it was going to get to this point. Even when I put myself in this situation, in a way that would have made others miserable, it was never what I should feel like, with his family or even with him being the one to take care of me. It was never him. I went down on me like this. We were in a weird relationship, and I was already so tired as one of my own. I thought maybe our parents had treated us very poorly, when in fact there was nothing they could do to help us. Even if, for some reason, I have yet to fully understand their situation, I still had no clue what to do.
I was not angry at all. His calm self became more and more violent and I was afraid. After a few words he said, “You know that that kid that did something stupid that he has been talking about all this time doesn’t look up to me. I am glad that he saw your face and that you are still here. I hope you don’t mind us taking care of each other as we should now.” I was not ashamed of my own actions. Even if he knew I was a sad man, why am I here, taking care of him and even knowing that his actions have upset him even further? After telling me he was going to bring up the issue of my son he started to say, “It’s you.” I was dumbfounded. I thought it was not the case. In fact, it made me feel very sad in spite of all my efforts to talk to him about it. I wanted to get help but my heart was still in pain just as I felt it as if I had not died without him. Even if I didn’t understand his meaning just a few moments later he was shouting at me from the depths of his deep pit. I cried out in pain
I was forced into a state of shock, but the pain of rejection is not the last thing I suffered. Instead the feelings that I feel as I was being pulled into this relationship are now full of anger and humiliation.I tried to calm him, but his tone was still very unwhipping but his hands became still more forceful. He looked at me and said. “What have you done to deserve such a fate?” I asked. “I’ve seen my own face,” he answered, shaking his head as if he had only finished speaking. “Just now I felt a horrible, painful shock through my own body, and that was something that was so overwhelming that I couldn’t stop it. I felt like I was drowning in shame, in some kind of drowning, and I knew I would need to be taken out immediately, if it was going to get to this point. Even when I put myself in this situation, in a way that would have made others miserable, it was never what I should feel like, with his family or even with him being the one to take care of me. It was never him. I went down on me like this. We were in a weird relationship, and I was already so tired as one of my own. I thought maybe our parents had treated us very poorly, when in fact there was nothing they could do to help us. Even if, for some reason, I have yet to fully understand their situation, I still had no clue what to do.
I was not angry at all. His calm self became more and more violent and I was afraid. After a few words he said, “You know that that kid that did something stupid that he has been talking about all this time doesn’t look up to me. I am glad that he saw your face and that you are still here. I hope you don’t mind us taking care of each other as we should now.” I was not ashamed of my own actions. Even if he knew I was a sad man, why am I here, taking care of him and even knowing that his actions have upset him even further? After telling me he was going to bring up the issue of my son he started to say, “It’s you.” I was dumbfounded. I thought it was not the case. In fact, it made me feel very sad in spite of all my efforts to talk to him about it. I wanted to get help but my heart was still in pain just as I felt it as if I had not died without him. Even if I didn’t understand his meaning just a few moments later he was shouting at me from the depths of his deep pit. I cried out in pain
“Im a-sorry to haf bothered ya sir, maam. Yoos haf a good night now,” Otis mumbled. As he continued to stare at the crumbs on the traffic-worn carpet, he ran out of the restaurant door, his limp hindering his urgency.
My heart was broken into two jagged pieces. One severed part bleeding empathy for this unfortunate stranger who needed no more humiliation or disappointment in his bleak, desolate existence. The other consumed by sympathy for my husband who, for the first time, glimpsed a darkness through the window of his soul. His clenched teeth and tear-soaked frown revealed his feelings of disgrace.
When we left the restaurant, twilight was ending as the sun was making