Love's Journey- Makaila's Story Read online

  His body fell to the ground. Our eyes locked for what would be the last time. I could hear him gasping for air, reaching out for my hand. My hands were shaking so bad that the gun fell to the floor. Chris started coughing and trying to speak.

  “I love you,” he said with a strained voice. I sat there for a moment in shock at what had happened. He loved me. Why did those have to be his last words?

  Scared out of my mind, I gathered up the few belongings I had left and ran out of the run-down hotel. Unlocking the car, I took the money that was located underneath the seat. I never had learned how to drive so taking the car would do me no good. We had never had a car growing up. We always got by taking the bus or train.

  There were so many options for transportation that learning to drive seemed so trivial. Chris knew how to, though. He had said that it was part of his job to know how since he would have to travel from city to city and state to state. He never wanted to teach me. I guess he saw it as an opportunity I would use to escape. I didn’t need this car to be free. I only needed to be strong enough to leave.

  He loved me. His last words kept repeating in my head. With every step I took his voice got louder and louder. What had I done? Now, instead of just escaping my abusive husband, I would always be on the run, trying to get away with murder. Did it even matter that Chris beat me every day? Would the police care? Would they even believe me? I could not stick around to figure it out. I ditched the gun and the life I left behind.

  5

  Present Time

  That was part of my story that led me here, but there was nothing that could have prepared me for the life I was living today.

  “Bella, Bella can you come over here and help an old man out?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Garett,” I said, getting up and leaving those thoughts of the past in the back of my mind. I had met Mr. Garett a few months back when I first came to this town. Mr. Garett was at least 6’2” with the darkest brown skin and the most wonderful reassuring smile. He was in his late fifties, fifty-six to be exact. I was tired, dirty, and discouraged by life. I had nowhere to go. I walked around for days trying to find food and shelter. People would pass me on the streets with repulsed looks on their faces.

  I should’ve been immune to it. I’d had years to get used to those looks, going from city to city. The difference now was I wanted a place to call home. This was where I had stopped. I stopped running from the past and from the demons that had been chasing me. I guess you could say that was where Mr. Garett found me lost and ready to be found. He was the first person to smile or to show me some compassion. Imagine my surprise to find out the only person to help me was a homeless man.

  As I helped Mr. Garett up he said, “You know in the morning it’s hard for these bones to get going, but I tell you one thing, Bella. You can’t keep this old man down.” He laughed at his own joke before turning back serious. “What are your plans for the day?”

  “Well, Mr. Garett I plan on going down to the shelter to see if I can get a shower. Then I am going to see if I can find myself a J-O-B!”

  These past few months had flown by. It had definitely been hard. There were nights that were too cold and days that were too hot. Between those days there was the rain. Thanks to Mr. Garett, I learned the hustle of these streets.

  Sure, I could have gone to one of those shelters he referred me to, but the truth was I did not want to leave the one person who had befriended me in the last few years. He often told me I reminded him of the daughter he’d never had. I could tell he longed for a family of his own. He would tell me stories of how his days were in the army. He spent many years endangering his life abroad. He often spoke of seeing things that would haunt him until the day he died.

  He never went into too much detail, often trailing off, lost in his train of thought. He only stopped when those memories became too much to bear. When he returned home to the States, he would forever be a changed man. He was no longer Major David Garett. He was a civilian. Those first few years were tough. He found a job doing manual labor and an apartment to live in. Even though things seemed to be looking up for him, he soon started to drink to cope with his post-traumatic stress disorder. He became a functioning alcoholic. Major or Mr. Garett, as he has told me to call him, did this for many years.

  Then everything slowly fell apart and he lost everything. With nowhere to go and no shelter that would take in an alcoholic veteran, he started living on the streets. He eventually sobered up, but by then it was too late. He had nothing but a cardboard box to his name and now me. I walked around with him while he picked up his things and set his box to the side, along with my things.

  Mr. Garett turned to me expressing some sadness and said, “Okay, Ms. Bella, I guess that means this old man is out of a partner in crime.”

  “Not at all. In fact, you are a part of my plan. I need to find a way to get us out of this situation. You and I have lived on these streets long enough. I want a place to call home and you’re coming with me,” I said, determined to speak a better life for us into existence.

  “You have a beautiful spirit, Ms. Bella, but don’t let me or anyone hold you back from your dreams. If you take me with you, I’ll become a burden to you. I don’t want to do that. You are too good of a person for me to burden down. I don’t know what got you to this point in your life, but you deserve better than this.”

  That was the only part I agreed with. It had taken me a long time, but I finally felt like I deserved better.

  “Bella, Bella,” I heard a voice say. It sounded so far away. Then I felt someone shaking me, calling out my new name. “Bella, Bella.”

  I blinked a few times realizing that the voice belonged to Mr. Garett.

  “Young lady sometimes you make me wonder who is the one that has PTSD. Where does that mind of yours go when you zone out like that?”

  “Mr. Garett, I was just thinking of how happy I am about the idea of us living in a real home together.”

  Mr. Garett studied my face for a minute. “Well, that isn’t the look of happiness I see. Besides, it’s not going to happen. While this isn’t the best environment, it is what it is, and I have made my peace with it.”

  “With all due respect, I am not taking no for an answer. I have lived on the streets long enough. I want more than a box under a bridge to call home. Like it or not, you are stuck with me,” I told him this with confidence. Everything in me wanted to believe I could get us out of this situation, but I was not too sure on that. What I did know was that I was tired. I was tired of running from my past.

  I had spent the last couple of years running and never looking back. I was no longer Makaila Taylor or Windstorm. Makaila or Me-Me, as most people knew me back then, had died right along with Chris. While I might have taken his physical life, he had taken everything from me that had made me Makaila. All those years with him had left me broken. I had no family or friends. There was not a smile or a joyous feeling left inside of my spirit. No life existed outside of him.

  That was why in order to survive I had to become someone else. I was Bella Chapman and I was tired of running. I had decided on that name to pay some type of respect to my mom. She wasn’t the best one, but she was my only one. Plus, no matter her faults, she knew how to put men in their place. I promised myself, moving forward I would never let a man have power over me again.

  I was done being a victim. Becoming someone else came with challenges. Unlike a newborn baby, there was not a birth certificate or a social security card issued. Those significant documents had prevented me from actually having a life outside this bridge. I vowed to Mr. Garett and myself that I would do everything I could to change that from this point on. I didn’t know why I had taken on the responsibility of Mr. Garett when I could hardly take care of myself.

  Perhaps, it was because he was the only person since I had left home who had befriended me. Not only had he won me over with his friendship, but he also always looked out for me. Mr. Garett was no spring chicken either. He was i
n his mid-fifties. He deserved to have something more than a box to call home. He was a veteran who had fought many years for our country.

  Giving him a place to call home was the least I could do. I could never go back to the place I called home. That place was where my sisters were. Well, at least where I hoped they were. It had been so long since I had seen Maci and Maddi. I missed them so much. It had always been the three of us against the world and now it was just me. I wondered if they had graduated college. Had they found careers for themselves, maybe even started families of their own? Did I have nieces and nephews? These questions plagued my mind every day.

  Sure, it would be easy to hop on a plane and go home to put an end to my miserable existence. Every day I lived on these streets was a struggle to survive. The truth of the matter was even if I went home, the happy reunion I sought so much would only be short lived. If and when I returned home, I was sure there would be a room waiting for me. It would be shared with other women and bars, probably with no chance at ever seeing the sunshine again.

  I could never claim to be Makaila Taylor or have the family reunion with my sisters. That was all because of Chris. Even in death, he haunted me. After years of abuse, I knew the only way out was either his death or mine. Unfortunately, the law would never see it that way. Sure, I could say he had beaten me on a daily basis or that he had dragged me all over the country against my will. What proof did I have? It wasn’t like his associates would testify on my behalf.

  Most, if not all of them either were on drugs or sold them. Even though I yearned to go home, my new home would have to be here right alongside of my new friend, Mr. Garett.

  “Did you hear me, Bella?” Mr. Garett asked with confusion on his face. “My Lord, child, you might need to go seek help before you do anything else today! You keep zoning out like that and you will never get anything done.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What did you say?” I asked Mr. Garett.

  “Never mind that, Bella, I’m worried about you. It seems in the short time I have known you, that spacing out is getting worse by the day. What’s on your mind? Do you wanna talk about it?”

  “Nothing is wrong. I’m fine. I was just thinking of where I need to go to ensure us a place to stay, but I guess I would need to get a job first. And before you protest, no matter what happens, you are stuck with me.” I must have had a look of determination on my face because he only glanced at me and smiled.

  6

  I knew finding a job in my circumstances was going to be hard, but these past few weeks have been brutal. I walked around this small town twice and had yet to find anyone who would hire a girl like me, with no identity. I understood their reason behind not hiring me. I mean what twenty-something had no proof of identification. I was lucky no one had reported me, or I hoped not. With no physical address, they probably didn’t even know where to begin looking.

  This was a hopeless situation. How had I thought this was something I could pull off? Most of the time I could not even get the application process completed. Name check, Bella Ann Chapman, I had that part down. Age check, 28, date of birth check, and since I didn’t want it to coincide with my real birthday to make it obvious of who I really was, I chose a whole new month and date. I left the year the same.

  Now, what had been left blank was a Social Security number, driver’s license number, address, previous job experience, and education. I found out very quickly that filling out applications was a very moot point. Therefore, I just started pitching myself. Who knew the lies would come spilling out of my mouth so easily? There was, “Oh I don’t have any of that info because it was all destroyed in a fire and I had to relocate.”

  Then if that didn’t work it was, “I just moved here and all my personal info is still in boxes or I don’t know the street address I live on because I have been using the GPS on my phone, which I left in my car.” The lies went on and on. Some of them sounded like a load of crap even to my ears. But I still found myself giving excuse after excuse. That itself was a job.

  Every day I would go back to my little part of the bridge that I called home feeling defeated. How could a public bridge really be in any one’s possession, let alone be someone’s home? I was lucky enough to have chosen a town where the weather was always warm. The highs were near the 80s and 90s most of the time. Occasionally, it would creep up to triple digit numbers. The lows never went under 50 degrees unless it was late at night. That was when the temperature really dropped. There was rain, of course but never any snow or too terrible weather conditions.

  I often heard stories from some of the other homeless people about not being able to survive in far worse climates. We all had our stories. Some of us were running away. Some had drug issues. Then there were those who had been done wrong by society in general. Through it all, Mr. Garett was always there to lift my spirits.

  One day, I felt like my legs would not be able to move from the concrete ground. My body ached from fatigue. I knew I had to explore other options. It was one thing to go every day with never meeting the normal calorie intake in order to survive. However, to go like that every day for weeks and walking several miles took a toll on my body.

  I had already lost a lot of weight living on the streets. I was now able to see almost every bone in my body. The free clothes I got from the neighborhood’s clothes closet kept falling off my body. The next size down had to be in a child size because a woman’s small was not small enough.

  Mr. Garett came and sat by me. “Bella, I got you a muffin from that breakfast shop up the street. You know that breakfast shop should be ashamed. They always were throwing away good food. I remember having to grovel with them on just getting a few leftover crumbs off one of the trays before they kicked me out like some damn mange dog. They say one man’s trash is another one’s treasure and I am gonna treasure this breakfast right down to the last bite. Now, go ahead and eat up young lady,” he said with a laugh.

  “Thank you for the breakfast,” I told him. I remembered feeling sick to my stomach at just the thought of eating food that was in someone else’s trash. As the days went on with no money or home, I saw no other choice. It was not as bad as it seemed. Mr. Garret showed me where to get the best of the best of the thrown-out trash. He had most restaurants throw out schedule down pact. Breakfast bagels at nine, Jerk chicken at one, and Italian at seven, was just an example of the cuisine he could get us in one day. Even with all the planning he did, there were days where we went without because the restaurants did not put anything out or we would end up getting sick from something we ate. We would always try to be very careful about what we got. There was always a risk. It really was a toss-up. Most of the time there was no clear way of knowing if you won. Often you would find yourself too hungry or too sick to care.

  After eating the muffin that Mr. Garett had gave me, I felt a little energy return. I soon found myself in front of the women’s homeless shelter. I was nervous as hell. My hands were trembling. My throat felt like it was dry and closing. I was so scared of my past catching up to me.

  What if they asked me questions like, where did I come from and why was I there? How could I tell them the truth, without telling them everything? Would it be just like all those countless jobs attempts? Not one person was buying my story, and I wasn’t so sure these people here could find it believable either. Nevertheless, it had come down to wanting to survive. It was time to move on and start a new chapter.

  7

  I chose this shelter in particular because I had heard how they help people like me get on their feet. I needed their help. The question remains up in the air, if they will be able to help the person I had to become, in order to erase the person that used to exist. As I pulled open the door, I realized I had nothing left to lose. This was it.

  The inside was in good condition. On the right, there were a couple of brown leather couches parallel to each other with a red square rug in the middle. Small wooden tables were at the end of each couch with a longer one sitting in the mi
ddle of this living room area. There were a few ladies sitting around watching TV on an older model big screen. On the left side of the room was a large desk with piles of files and paperwork on it.

  A lady that looked to be in her late forties or early fifties was sitting amongst the disorganized area. I watched her for several minutes answer several phone lines all while scouring through that jungle of mess on her desk.

  “Is there something I can help you with or are you just going to stand there all day and watch me?” the lady asked, as she stood up. She was about 5’5” with dark brown skin and eyes. Her hair was cut in a short pixie cut that had been dyed platinum blond.

  “Child, why are you looking scared to death? This is a safe place. Nobody here is going to get to you. But if you are running from someone best believe, we will get them before they ever even think about running up in here. My name is Ms. Brenda, by the way. What’s yours?” Ms. Brenda asked.

  “My name is Bella, Bella Chapman,” I apprehensively said.

  “Well, Bella Chapman, it is nice to meet you. I am the owner and director of A Promise of Hope. Our shelter here houses about twenty to fifty women at any given time. We also have a few other locations. Some are hidden for those who need a little bit more protection. And some are like this, providing a lot more resources for the community other than shelter. Now, today I have on a couple of hats, so I apologize for the craziness. My secretary called in sick today and it’s been one hell of a day!”

  “I can come back later if you are busy,” I said, already making up my mind. Maybe today was not the day to open up to even more craziness.