Sing Your Dreams For Me (standalone)

I shivered as another gust of October wind blew down the street. People were struggling to keep their umbrellas from upturning and folding their warm coats around their cold bodies. This wasn’t the worst of the winter weather; there was more wind and hail to come before spring eventually rolled around again.

Winters and autumns are always hardest for homeless people. In summer you can sleep on your coat to stop the concrete disfiguring your back too much and forage for scraps in the bins left outside cafes but in winter, especially in this place, you needed your coat to keep yourself from dying of hypothermia. There are barely any scraps as well. They make for good fuel I suppose and it’s far less expensive than buying coal. Sometimes people will pity and throw a couple of cents your way but I’d rather not have that. A couple of cents can buy you nothing in New York, least of all a place to sleep, but I appreciate the gesture. Just does more harm than good in my head.

My current sleeping place is inside a doorway to a lawyer’s office. People with suits and briefcases leave at 6 and I can curl up on the stoop to get some sleep and get away from life in general as soon as they leave in their flashy Mercedes. I have to leave before 7am in the morning to escape their disapproving grunts and disgusted sneers. They're better than I am. Of course they are - they have a car to ponce around in, a family and a dinner to go home to and a bed they can sleep in without worrying who'll steal it the next day. For all intents and purposes I was the lowest on the rank compared to them and their cushy life.

A yawn shuddered through my body. I had to keep walking to stay awake; it was only 4pm but my body was so exhausted and weather-beaten that it was closing down.

I only moved to New York recently. It was a dream of mine as a kid to see where those men ate lunch on a crane and see the beautiful lights at Christmas time so when I turned 20 I packed up and went. Life was pretty damn good until I started falling behind on my rent and my job as a waitress wasn’t coughing up enough to pay for it. I ended up losing my apartment when I was fired for coming in late too many times. Sleepless nights worrying about landlords often equate to long lie-ins. Since then I've been among the rats. It wasn’t a hard life by any means - I had my good health and while I could keep my fingers around that I’d be fine. It was when I started developing whooping cough that I swore I’d begin to worry.

I turned the corner and shoved my hands deeper into my pockets to keep my fingertips from numbing. The streets of New York were dirtier than I ever imagined when I was a child - watching the city from behind a television screen in South London had clearly hoodwinked me into believing it was the most perfect place on Earth. The atmosphere at Christmas was magical, with snow blanketing the high rise offices and English accents everywhere you turn. It was like home but with more people and less weatherinduced traffic jams. Unlike South London, New York didn’t come to a standstill as soon as a snowflake hit their windscreen. They soldiered on until the snow was black from exhaust fumes.

See that's where I don’t think I fit in here. I’m lily-livered, always have been and probably always will be. New Yorkers are hard with an equally as brutal solution to any problem. I let people walk all over me generally; New Yorkers would rather die than let their pride be stamped on. You look out for yourself here but there’s also a huge feeling of family protection, particularly around the Bronx. Family is everything; especially to the moms who are working in diners full time to make ends meet and to keep her children off the street.

I missed my own family. We were so tightly knitted together back in London that I think my move devastated them. A link was broken and it’s still broken to this day. I haven’t seen them in nearly a year because I just cant afford to hop on a plane and neither can they. When I left Mum was having trouble with her knees and my dad was terrified of flying so the chances were slim that they were coming over anyway. I couldn’t offer them a place to stay anyway.

Tears streamed down my face. I could feel the air getting colder and the night getting closer so I took another corner to skulk back to the lawyers. My breath was evaporating into air as I struggled to take deep breaths and calm down; the tears were coming thick and fast down my cheeks and I couldn’t feel myself stopping anytime soon. I pulled my hood around my face (attention was one thing you didn’t need in New York) and wiped my eyes furiously with my sleeve.

I was swallowed in the mass of people trying to get home to their families and my tears started again when I realised my own family were oblivious to my battle. Men with briefcases pushed past me with their shoulders, telling me to watch where I’m goin' but my vision was so blurred that I couldn’t walk in a straight line. I didn’t understand myself - I was a pushover but I rarely cried on this calibre (I was the ugliest crier in the world when I started; my face contorted into a great slobbering mess and I lost ability to speak at best) but when I did start it was a task to make me stop. I kept things bottled up for far too long, that was my problem.

I managed to shoulderbash my way through the sea of people and slip onto the stoop, my head in my hands and my body shaking.

'It might never happen girl,' the man sleeping on a cardboard box to my left said cheerfully.

'Sod off, it’s already happened.' I retorted coldly. With a few tears dribbling from my chin, I brushed a spider’s web away from the step and lay my body down on the hard brick. Exhausted by my outburst and my life in general, I drifted away.

'...About an hour sir. Been cryin' by the looks of it.''

‘Thanks for your help sir. Take this and have a meal tonight. Enjoy it too.''

I awoke suddenly, groggy and disorientated, with a man stood staring at me.

'You’re awake miss,' the stranger said in surprise. 'The good man with the cardboard told me you’d been asleep for an hour but you weren’t waking for anybody.'

I glared at him. 'I ain’t got nothing you can steal.' I said suspiciously. He laughed warmly and shook his head.

'Is this where you’re sleeping tonight?' he asked gravely, his expression changing.

'Yes.' I said defensively.

He scratched his head and looked around as if he were checking the streets out.

'Hey girl, is there anywhere we can sit? Chat for a while, I don’t know.' he muttered secretively. 'I can take you for coffee if you'd like.'

I pursed my lips. 'I don’t need lookin' after if that's what you're tryin' to do.'

'Oh no miss. You can look after yourself I know that. Its just...I need someone to talk to and so do you by the looks of things.' he shrugged reasonably.

I thought the situation over in my mind. He didn’t look like a murderer or a rapist. I measured my odds of getting murdered on a stoop whilst asleep and getting murdered in a cafe sipping espresso. I dragged my aching body up, brushed down my butt and smiled brightly at the stranger. He grinned back (a beautifully lopsided grin) and held an arm out for mine to loop through.

'Where to good maiden?'

'Mmm there's a gorgeous place that has hot chocolate to die for down the boulevard.'

He tugged on my arm and pulled me down the street, parading me (who was dressed far too shabbily for a date in a parka and old joggers I’d managed to salvage from my apartment) happily about.

The cafe, as small and as cosy as id remembered, was practically empty. There were a few people dotted around - men who'd been kicked out for cheating, women who had just finished their shift and were enjoying relaxing and teenagers with darting looks and suspicious behaviour.

'Hey girl,' the man nudged my arm. 'Go get that table by the window and ill order. Hot chocolate, right?'

I nodded and collapsed into the huge leather armchair. It was an old joint; you could tell by the peeling wallpaper and the cracks in the leather but the place was still deliciously fresh. It made you feel welcome rather than needed for profit. The waitresses spoke to you with a smile, the owner came out to chat with you. It was genuinely one of my favourite places in New York.

'One hot chocolate my good lady and one...well, uh, several homebaked cookies to be getting on with. And a lot more stuff too if you’re still hungry.' the stranger said as he slipped the tray onto our table. It was laden with cups and plates of food, so heavy he struggled to hold it properly as he walked over.

He smiled sheepishly at my open mouth and said 'do you think there'll be enough?'

I scoffed. 'I should think so! I can't eat this stuff. I don’t even know your name!' I protested. He picked one of the still warm cookies and pushed it into my mouth.

'Eat.' he softly said and I did. The man had one of those gentle voices that could persuade you into any situation.

'So you’re not from these parts, huh?' he asked, sipping his hot chocolate and leaning back in the far too comfortable chairs.

'Was it my accent that gave it away?' I said sarcastically. 'Nah I’m not. Born and bred in South London but I got out as soon as I turned 20. There’s only so much of English weather you can stand.'

The man laughed warmly, a proper laugh from the pit of his tummy. 'Why New York? The weather's awful here especially in winter.'

'It was always a dream of mine to see the city, ever since I was a little girl. I saw it on telly but I always wanted to see it all for myself.'

He sniggered again but tried to shield it with a cough.

I glared at him and asked why he was laughing defensively.

'Telly,’ came his sheepish reply. 'You British always get me with your lingo.'

I gave him a withering look and took a swig from my cup. The hot chocolate slid down my throat and warmed me to the bones. Its taste lingered around my tongue and kissed every tastebud. It was heavenly.

'So how long have you been here and is it as good as you anticipated?'

'Barely two years and no. I expected it to be like 'Miracle On 34th Street' but less Christmassy.' I paused to shoot him a look for laughing. 'Its not at all what I expected. Kinda disappointing really when my childhood was spent yearning to be here.'

I stared into my cup to hold off any tears. He reached over and squeezed my shoulder reassuringly.

'Its okay though,' I continued thickly. 'I’m trying to get another job so I can get enough money to go home with. People don’t seem to want to employ bums though.''

He sighed thoughtfully and said 'maybe its because you’re out of a job and a home that you think New York is lousy. I might be wrong but it could be better when you finally get back on track.'

We talked until our throats grew hoarse and the tray grew bare. I learnt he was 23 years old, he originally hailed from Indiana and he had a child’s heart. Even from just a couple of hours of knowing him I could see that shine in his eye when he talked about children.

'I’ve never thought that deeply enough about having kids really. I kinda live for today, not for tomorrow. What about you? I asked. He gasped softly and brought a hand to his heart.

'Ever since I was a little boy I've wanted to be a daddy. A real good daddy who'd brush his little daughters hair and teach his boys how to shave without nicking your skin,' he breathed happily but his face dropped in painful realisation. 'You have to be in love to have children though and there's no-one at the moment.'

'One day though. You seem destined to be a daddy.' I assured him with a hand clasping his.

'Really?' he breathed with a smile.

'Of course. You can see it in your eyes and everything.'

I studied him closely as he talked. He was African-American with beautifully smooth skin and high cheekbones. His eyes were a gorgeous deep brown and were huge, outlined with long eyelashes that cast shadows across his face. His smile was breathtakingly perfect despite the fact it was lopsided. He was a stunning young man but I had yet to believe he knew it.

'You’re gorgeous.’ I blurted.

He choked on his mouthful of hot chocolate. 'Well.. um...thank you, I guess? You’re very beautiful as well.'

I snorted and shook my head. I was nowhere near beautiful and I told him that too.

'Oh you.' he grumbled. 'I took the compliment when I thought you were lying, you should take it for the same reason. Except I ain't lyin' girl.'

We spoke more about childhoods (from what I could tell, his was dreadful) and dreams. The waitresses were waiting around for us to leave so they could shut up shop and go home but still we nattered on about anything and everything. By the time the owner came over to ask us to leave, it was approaching midnight and my exhaustion was beginning to catch up with me.

We apologised for keeping them so long and stepped out into the freezing night.

'Look,' he whispered, looking towards the sky. 'There are no stars tonight.'

I glanced upwards too and chuckled humourlessly. 'Too cold for 'em by the feel of things. Tonight should be exciting back on my little step.'

He quickly turned his head and gazed at me, pondering and squinting in concentration. 'You do know you’re not going back there? You did pick up on my plans to take you home and give you a bed, right?'

I froze, shock pulsing through my body. 'Erm no I did not realise that.' I said eventually.

He giggled shyly and grinned. 'Well I plan to take you back to my house tonight where you can sleep in warmth. And eat in warmth. Or, erm, just generally be warm.'

'Thank you,' I gratuitously whispered.

He cocked his head. 'The name's Michael by the way.'

I snorted. 'I'm Jessica.'

Michael smiled happily and pressed his palm up against mine, knitting our fingers together in a blatant attempt to generate some heat. ‘C’mon girl,’ he said (to my surprise) tenderly. ‘Let’s go home.’

For the third time that night tears sprang to my eyes and a lump forced its way into my throat. I could barely breathe from the heat in my belly, the unmistakable fire when you know somebody cares about you. Not 5 hours ago, it felt like my life was in tatters and I was pretty set on giving up. Giving up on the world, on me; on everything really. Then Michael appeared and a little light, not so bright I couldn’t see but just bright enough, started flickering at the end of the tunnel. It was a strange kind of hope, the kind where I was frightened to pin everything onto it until everything seemed okay but he was such a wonderful person I couldn’t help but slip into the security. I’d barely met him really but he made me feel safe in a world where I was totally vulnerable and I couldn’t form the words to tell him how much I appreciated his hand to get out of my hole.

I wiped my tears away with my sleeve and flashed him a watery smile. Leaning over, I pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek and giggled with the kind of embarrassment you get when you fancy your schoolteacher.

‘Home,’ he whispered with a squeeze to my hand and we wandered off into the cold October night; Michael with a goofy grin plastered on his face and I with childhood dreams of a ‘Miracle On 34th Street’ New York finally returning.

fin.

thank you for reading <3