Thirty-One Years Ago

The bus pulls in and settles with a hiss. Shelley steps down and off.

The night is cold, with a mist that clings and swirls. Miserably she pulls her creased and filthy jacket tight around her. Shivering and numb, moving awkwardly in her outsized trainers, she looks around at dark streets.

She has never visited the City before, does not know where she is, has no friends here. Late though it is, people move around her going this way and that way. None of them looks at Shelley. A group of rowdies spill from a bar, yelling and pushing and singing obscene songs.

Cars drive past, splashing through ice-rimmed water and over anyone incautious enough to walk too close to the road. Neon signs dazzle in the darkness and in the distances, sirens wail. The night smells of fog and gasoline.

She fingers the coins in her pocket.

So few of them….

And she’s hungry.

She spots a late-night diner across the street. Scurrying across she walks past graffitied walls and steps nervously over the outstretched legs of a bum, lying on a sheet of cardboard by the entrance.

But inside, at least it’s warm. She checks out the menu, choosing the cheapest meal she can find; a bowl of soup, paying with a couple of her precious coins.

Cheap it might be, but the soup is hot and filling and delicious. She takes her time eating it - Where else is she going to go? - but by the time she has finished it, she feels much better.

But what to do now?

The clock above the door displays well past midnight.

“You new in town?” The woman who served her the soup stands over her, holding a coffee pot.

“Yes.”

The woman looks at her with an assessing eye. “Family here? Friends?” She has a harsh accent, but her tone is not unkind.

Shelley shakes her head, looking down at her empty soup bowl. “No.”

“Anywhere to go?”

“No.”

The woman sniffs and shifts then a cup appears on the table. The woman splashes it full of coffee. “New start, huh?”

“I suppose.”

be on the streets at this time. I’m on the night shift ‘til six. So, stay here.

*****

shows a quarter to six. Outside it is still dark. Shelley wakes, stiff from sleeping propped up in her seat. But as she opens her eyes, there

in a few minutes. If you don’t find somewhere to stay by tonight, at least get yourself into one of the flophouses. Don’t

I could get

luck. What’s your name

“I’m Shel…. I’m Mitch.”

you, Mitch.

*****

hours. Good rate of

notice, then walks into the

can I do for you?” The be-spectacled woman looks her up and down, then down

I’m interested

dear, let me take your details.” She takes a pad and pen, fingers poised to write. “It’s only shelf stacking

fine. I just

we all dear. Name

hesitation, then, “Mitch

“Address?”

don’t have one yet. I’ve

her long, then, “Can I see

don’t

I can't employ you like this. It’s against the law.”

*****

on cardboard at the local

eyes the girl standing there, in her dirty clothes and absurd shoes. Her red hair hangs in rat-tails and

“Can you start now?”

“Yes, I’d love

cash

smiles. “I'll work

Get them unloaded then stack the veg on the display. Potatoes there, cabbages there

work is back-breaking. Constant lifting,

the heavy steel parts, icy in stiff hands, stacked back

going

Mitch, Here's your

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