This is a work in progress (inspired by something you can see everyday in my island country)...
Freddy sat on his box and picked at a scab on his skinny knee. Nearby, Moreno, his companion, playmate and friend, lay sleeping on the hard, cement floor. They were both dusty from their long walk here. Moreno had declared he was too tired to keep doing anything else once they arrived, had located a shady spot on the floor, and had quickly fallen asleep, his mouth open, literally catching flies. Freddy had been left on his own to negotiate with the three kids that now sat by the front entrance of the ice cream parlor, begging money and food. To passer-bys, they were all alike, dusty and dirty, snotty noses, scabby knees, distended bellies from hunger and parasites, the forgotten, the embarrassment of the country. The passer-bys either gave them money or left over ice creams, or shooed them away, holding tightly to their belongings.
Freddy had agreed to stay to the less used side entrance, for his services. At first, he begun to protest, but the kids, the oldest of which was 9 years old, suddenly turned dangerous, their eyes threatening. Freddy, almost 13, realized he could not defend himself against the three, consented to their terms and now sat, waiting for a customer to use the side door.
He hated to beg; it was something he had watched his mother do before she died and vowed never to do it himself. Instead, he became a limpiabotas, a shoeshine boy. Moreno accompanied him in his travels around the city, but did not desire to clean anyone’s shoes and was not adverse to begging when hunger tightened its fist around his stomach. But he shared all he got with Freddy, thus saving Freddy’s dignity and feeding him at the same time.
Freddy caressed the old scarred box, passed on from Pablo, an older friend who had moved on to “better” businesses. Though, from his various times arriving late at night bleeding and beaten up, Freddy wondered just how better those businesses were. He said as much to Pablo, who responded that he was never hungry, could buy himself clothes and shoes, and had a weapon to defend himself. The box itself was painted a light shade of peach, a color Freddy himself had mixed from some left over paints he had found. He had also painted crude figures of Moreno and himself in their “travels” through the city, pictures he liked to stare at when sitting all alone, not hungry or worried about life, when he was just able to dream.
He didn’t allow himself the luxury of dreams too often, though, and subscribed to the belief that to survive you had to stay truly grounded in reality, a belief that his father repeated often at night, the only time the two saw each other. His father left before Freddy woke up, a day laborer who walked the streets asking for work, tending a yard, helping with an impromptu move or completing a crew in a make-shift construction yard. Roberto, Freddy’s father, was a quiet man, beaten-down by life, but surviving. His dark skin was made even darker by the punishing sun and the wind and the rain, and in some places it seemed brittle. He was illiterate, unable to write even his own name. He had come to the city from his campo as a young man, looking for a better life. At first, that’s just what this city had promised and soon he had himself a wife and baby, only to have life play a cruel joke on him, making his wife sickly, losing his job, and eventually losing his wife, left with a young son to take care of. He pushed Freddy to go to school, though he was unable to buy him most of the supplies. “Something’s bound to get in your head,” he would say to Freddy. “And one of these days, we’ll get all that stuff and you’ll show all those kids.”
For his part, Freddy didn’t like school. He liked the learning, especially when he figured new things out. But he hated a lot of the kids, who either snubbed him or outright ridiculed him for his lack of materials or his second-hand, tape-repaired sandals. He hated them because in truth they were no better than him and he knew it. He knew where they lived, in the shacks right next to him. He knew who their parents where and how they got their money. But some were luckier and had more, and they made sure everyone knew it.
He spied a man with black leather shoes walking out of the ice cream store through the side door. The man held a bag with a large container of ice cream and keys to a car on the other hand. Freddy approached him tentatively, not getting close enough to be grabbed or touched. He had received pushes and even punches from “prospective” customers who had assumed he was there to rob them. “Sir, I can clean those shoes right away, sir. I can do a good job.”
The man turned to Freddy with a look of surprise, as if he had not seen the boy standing there. Then he looked down at his shoes and back at Freddy. “What? No! No! These are fine!” He dug into his pocket with the hand the held the keys, looking for change and then offered 5 pesos to Freddy. “Here, here you go.”
Freddy shook his head. “I don’t want it,” he said. “I can clean your shoes.”
The man looked even more startled by this and instead, walked towards his car quickly, glancing once at Moreno sleeping on the concrete and then back at Freddy. He mumbled something, shook his head, and got into his car. Freddy stared at him as he left, then sat by the entrance again. Had Moreno been awake, he would have taken the man’s money, but Freddy just couldn’t do it. Eventually, he knew, someone was bound to come out and let him clean the shoes. It was a dusty city after all.
And just like he expected, eventually, a young woman in black leather boots and a suit came out, eating an ice cream cone. Freddy’s stomach turned at the delicious-looking cone, but instead, he offered his services, making sure his eyes didn’t stare at the ice cream. He didn’t really think she would accept his offer, but the young woman said yes. Sat on a bench and ate her ice-cream, quickly so it would not melt, as Freddy cleaned and shined her boots. She tried to make conversation, asking Freddy questions that he answered in short sentences. “Do you go to school?” she asked.
“Yes, in the mornings,” he answered.
She glanced at her watch, taking in the time. “Do you like it?”
“Yes, very much,” Freddy answered.
“What’s your favorite subject?” she continued.
“Ummm….math, I think,” Freddy said. He never asked anything back. His reserve, pride, and fear of offending prevented him from opening up. Had this been Moreno, Freddy knew, the woman would have already shared her whole story. He finished quickly and looked up at her with a smile. “There, I did a good job, no?”
She admired her shoes and smiled. “Yes, yes you did. How much is it?”
“Twenty pesos,” Freddy said. She dug in her purse and gave it to him. Freddy put the money in his pocket, happy that he had only eighty pesos to go. He had given himself a quota of at least one hundred pesos a day and even though sometimes he could not actually reach it, it was always his goal.
The woman walked to a dusty blue hatchback and got in. She started the car but did not pull out. Freddy watched with interest as she dug in her back seat frantically. Moreno languidly stretched out as he awoke and then walked over to Freddy. He followed Freddy’s eyes to the woman but quickly lost interest in her. “C’mon,” Moreno said. “We have to get ourselves some food!” The two boys began walking away but were detained by the young woman’s voice.
“Excuse me! Amiguito! Wait!” The woman called, making both boys turn around. She reached them, holding something in her hand, which she thrust into Freddy’s hands. “Here,” she said, “I couldn’t help noticing.” Freddy stared at her questioningly. “Oh,” she continued, “that you like to paint and draw. I wasn’t using these anymore, so I thought you’d like them.”
Freddy looked down at the watercolors in his hands. He smiled brightly at her. “Yeah, I do. Thank you!”
The woman nodded and smiled. “Good luck,” she said, and walked back to her car.
Moreno, now more interested, examined the colors, approvingly. Both boys were so caught up in the new colors that the man had to tap them to get their attention. “Here,” the man said, handing them each an ice cream bar. “Enjoy.” He offered a small smile but did not wait for the thank you Freddy called out. Instead, he walked back into the ice cream parlor.
Both boys happily went to eating their ice creams. Freddy, for his part, felt more energized. Only eighty pesos to go and it was just the beginning of the work-day. He had new colors and a creamy, melting ice-cream. Some days were like that, full of little miracles.
Copyright Karina Sang 2008
