Crossing the Tracks: The Idea of Homelessness Essay
Not being able to walk home on a cold night and get welcomed to a warm bed. Sleeping on a park bench with nothing more than a parka as your belongings. In the book " Crossing the Tracks," Barbara Stuber defines Iris as just that. The word homeless actually sums it all up for you. "Crossing the tracks" not only tells a story on a child with no home but how meeting new people and helping others can seem like you haven't lost your home in the first place.
Iris can be summed up in about two words. Spunky, and helpful. These two words for sure can't go together but they describe Iris perfectly. When she first becomes homeless her appearance changes. She is not the spunky and helpful girl she used to be. She was truly only that way when she had a home and someone to care for her. Just imagine being sold to someone that you don't know, have never met, or can barely be trusted. Now imagine being sold to those people by your own father. So what you can't do is blame Iris for changing because she was changed by someone first.
Change can be a wonderful or a horrible thing. You can never really tell what the end result may be. Not being able to walk home on a cold night and not having anyone there may be a horrible change for something you have done or something that has been left undone. But a wonderful change may be having a new family. Of course you can't replace your old family and leave to fade away in the back of your mind; but you can try to overcome what bad things have happened to you when you lived with them. A wonderful change like this may bring out the best in everyone.
Walking home; numb on a Tuesday night. No dinner to have and no pillow to rest your head. Homeless is what most people would call this. To me homeless is not about where you live or how you live your life ; to me homeless means not having anyone who loves you. To me homeless means that someone is not there for you when you need them most. So, sure many people all over the world are left without a home; but are they really homeless??
Too Quiet
The quiet streets came to an uproar by midnight the night of December 16, 2077. Bodies were strewn across the street and there were ambulances blocking the roads. People came out their houses to see what had just occurred on their normally peaceful street. All of this seemed to be an accident just waiting to happen. None of these streets were plowed by big truck companies that normally snowplowed in the city. Then a freezing night would approach and the roads would turn to cold hard ice. Two hours passed and the night seems to quiet down. Though, the houses down the street would erupt with light and the voices questioning what had just happened. But one house had stayed quiet the whole night. No lights came out of the dusty shades and no voices echoed through the thin walls. The next day people would knock on doors and question people on what they saw or what they thought happened. The last door those people would knock on would be the address of 2345 West Maple Lane, South Virginia 44356. No one would answer and they would all walk in to a see small house; bare.
" It wasn't me. Ok maybe it was me but I still didn't mean to do it. How was I supposed to know there would be a dozen cars coming down the street that night? I hadn't meant to kill all of those people. I didn't know I could control what people did. I just wanted to make them feel scared and afraid of what might happen next. I couldn't tell you, journal anything that I made them do, because the ways that they died were horrible. How could I have done that to ordinary people I didn't even know? Journal, I know that if you could talk you would tell me to stop writing all of this junk on your page and to go and turn myself in right now; but I can't die or go to jail. I know that there is no way I would ever get out of jail even if I had bail. The death chair was another option. They would kill me the way that I had killed all of them. Painful, gruesome, horrible deaths I made them all suffer through. I could tell you my whole life long story on why this had happened. But to shorten it up for you I had a horrible childhood. My mother and father were never home and even when they were no one knew I was there. So journal I wanted revenge at 20 years. I wanted to take it out on anyone and everyone. I'm so so sorry but I can't take back what I did'
Lucille turned into the Tresh Hotel. Dirty and ugly from the outside many had only dared to take a look at this place and drive off again. Unfortunately this was the only place the Lucille could afford. What awaited her inside was for her to find out. The door creaked open as Lucille walked in. Looking down she saw the roaches that scattered at the light. No one was at the check in desk so she took a key from behind the desk and went to room 100 where the key was supposed to unlock the door. Lucille stepped inside only to find a bed unmade and moths attached to the only window in her room. This is what Lucille got for being a criminal. She would never feel right about what she had done. What could she do though? Nothing, absolutely nothing. Lucille lay down and dreamt.
Chapter 2
Spiraling out of control. Tumbling toward the center of the earth. Wait, no, this was not the center. This was the rough patch of ground that she lay on while waking up. Sh*t. There was a dead rat sitting just feet away from her. Her hands felt like jello and her legs were numb. The carpet smelled like feet with mold. Lucille slowly lifted her head and looked at the clock. It was 5:30 am in the morning. "I could have had a warm shower, put on fresh makeup and a made a chocolate latte. Nope; because you decided to go and kill all of those people. You stupid.. Stupid…………"she whispered to herself. Then there was a muffle/snore. Frozen into place. The ground felt like it was giving away. Slowing and quietly Lucille got to her knees. Right on top of her bed was a old, white bearded man. Who was he and what was he doing in her room? Technically it wasn't her room since all she had was the key and she didn't pay for it; but she was still in the room. What was she to do? " Pack up your stuff and get out of here. Sleep in your car. Take the food and water from the fridge and slowly pull of the comforter and leave!!," She silently whispered to herself. He stirred and awoke with a start. All that she could do was stare at him. " GGOooooddd mooornining…." he said groggily to her. He was drunk and she knew it. Slowly, Lucille lifted herself off the ground. " I must go!" He was slow and he could barely move. By the time she was packed she was already pulling the comforter off the bed and heading out the door. The silent plea in the background made her almost turn back to go and help the old man but she couldn't. He was just drunk… He would get up….. Right?? Two flights of stairs later she was to the door when she heard the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Sprinting to the door and throwing everything in the backseat she waited. Praying, silently holding her breath. Ten minutes passed; twenty minutes passed. Nothing. She swung the door open and silently stepped inside of the Tresh Hotel. Convincing herself she made her way toward the stairs to see if she could help him. Dead silence. A pin could drop, a mouse could squeak and you wouldn't hear them for what Lucille saw made her scream louder than your ears could handle. ' I've killed yet another man journal. This wasn't my fault though. He tripped down the stairs and it wasn't my job to get him up. I was just a stand by already out of the hotel by the time he fell. You can't blame me for this journal. Right??? Though if I would have gone back and helped him he may still be alive. He just cracked his skull when he fell and journal this is not working. I can't keep accidently or purposefully keep killing people. One day journal I will get revenge on myself. One day I will. No matter how long it takes there will be a day.
??
Questioning yourself about anything; everything. Why are you here with this person, why did you blurt out the secret to everyone, why are you here in this world? Questions that haunt people till they die. Yet do they still haunt people even when we think they are put to rest? Haha, yet another question that can be answered. Of course many scientists or smarty pants people could look up all these questions and come up with simple answer. But think, do you really want a simple answer?? Do you want something you are not satisfied with. Questions? What are they really?
