Mugged

I'm sorry for the lack of posting. I was mugged a little less than a month ago and I've been lying low and trying not to use the computer, since there's no other reason anyone would want to mug a homeless person. Someone must've seen Sam's computer and figured I'd be an easy mark.

It's strange, though. I didn't recognize the gang. By now I know all the gangs in my area with territory that's more than a couple blocks, but these guys were new. Their sign was a mask. Any mask, it didn't seem to matter which one, so there was an array of masks that ranged from a ninja turtles mask to a hand-painted one done in abstract reds and blacks that was surprisingly intimidating.

They never said a word, and they were surprisingly good at stealth. I'm not exactly a slouch, but I didn't even know they were there until I was surrounded. I never really had a chance against six big burly men who'd blocked off all means of escape.

It was... bad. I honestly thought I wasn't going to survive. Two of them had baseball bats, two were very good with their fists, and the last... he had a knife.

I woke up in the emergency room. I'd needed stitches in three different places, and I had a concussion and two broken ribs. According to the doctor that dealt with me, I was lucky-it was almost as though they'd been deliberately trying to not kill me.

That was about as much interest as I got. There was a bit of a fuss about me being a girl from one of the nurses, but even the police that came to make a report since I'd obviously been attacked didn't give a shit. I'm homeless after all, therefore even in the hospital I'm invisible.

Unsurprisingly, the cops decided that it was inter-gang violence and blew off my protests about being mugged and not having anything to do with that bullshit. Instead of offering protection they threatened to arrest me.

Dad would've been furious. He always said that cops owe /everyone/ their protection. Unfortunately these big city cops only protect the people that make them look good. No one cares about a grubby imitation boy.

So I was released two days later and have spent my time since then hiding-I can't defend myself or flee in this kind of shape. If they catch up with me again, I'll be killed.

And they will be looking for me. Because it wasn't just the masked men. There was a tall guy in a suit that only came out when I was passing out. I couldn't see him very well, my vision was all blurry, but I'd bet money that it's the same guy I saw when I found Sam.

Last Moments

I've been delaying this post a lot, and for that, I apologize. I wish I could say I had some reason-trouble finding a hot spot or having to hide the laptop. There's a million reasons that could explain away my absence, but they would all be lies, and the one thing I never want to do on this blog is lie. This blog is in his memory, and I don't want to dishonor it with lies or excuses.

The truth is, this blog is all I have left of Sam. Each story shares him with all of you, but also makes the loss more final. I know he's gone. I was the one who found his body, though that's a story for another post. I know that he is dead, and he's never coming back. These stories are all I have, and as much as I want to share them, a part of me wants so badly to hold tight to them and to his memory and never speak of it again, to cling tight to all that is left of the man I loved so much.

I can't do that, it won't change anything, only ensure that the only one who remembers him is a bum on the street corner. He always did deserve so much better.

So today you get the story of his last night on earth. I think he knew, too. Though he wouldn't tell me that, didn't want to worry me. But he was quiet and scared and a lot huggier than usual, as we sat that night on the fire escape in the cold, sharing the warmth of the blanket we'd managed to get. Doing so wasn't exactly unusual-considering the lack of properly warm places we could go, oftentimes we would spend the entire night asleep together under a pile of blanket and newspapers and whatever else we could get to help.  Last winter was mild, yes, but still potentially dangerous to a man alone outside all night.

The two of us had been talking for hours, about anything and everything, the kind of easy conversation that you only get with someone you've really connected with. And considering we'd both been alone so long, that alone was worth reveling in.

But he was fidgety and nervous, and eventually he turned to me, and because of how close we were huddled together our faces were inches apart, and he blushed and I swallowed hard and tried not to think too hard about it. "Lils, I've been thinking a lot, lately. About... stuff." He cleared his throat, then continued. "About what I'd regret most, if they caught up to me right now."

I shook my head fiercely. "They won't, they won't, you're safe, I won't let them hurt you!" If only...

"Maybe." He replied patiently, though it was obvious as always that he didn't think I could help. "But that's not the point. The point is, I've been thinking, and if I were to die tonight, I know exactly what I'd regret, and I want to fix it." A faint smile lit up his face.

"What's that?" I replied quietly.

He paused, took a deep breath like he was psyching himself up to say something. "Lils, I love you."

I gaped at him. "What? But you're gay!"

Sam shook his head. "I am. But I'm in love with you anyway. I don't care what you are, I'm completely in love with you and I have been for a while."

"Do. Do you really mean that?  You really love me both ways?" I think I teared up a little from the impossibility of it all.

He wiped a tear off my cheek, beaming at me. "I do. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

I leaned in to kiss him then, overwhelmed by all those feelings I'd been suppressing. "I love you too"

When we pulled apart, he was crying, so I held him close and kissed his temple, fear quickly overtaking the joy. "What's wrong, Sam? What's going on?"

"It doesn't matter. Not important. Just. Lys, you're the best person I've ever met, and I want you to promise me something."

"Anything"

"No matter what happens to me, stay good."

"What?"

He shifted to look me in the eye, his expression deadly serious. "After everything you've been through, you're still so good and kind and noble, and I'm scared that if something were to happen that'd change. So, promise me you'll stay good."

"What could happen? We're together and safe." It was denial, of course, but I'd just gotten here and I didn't want to entertain ever losing him.

"Promise me." He insisted

I swallowed hard and nodded "Alright. I promise. For you and Dad both."

Sam relaxed and kissed me again. "Thank you."

I attempted to find out what this was all about, but he wouldn't say. We held each other for a while longer that night before Sam announced that he needed to do something and I couldn't come with him. He told me to meet him in one of his usual sleeping spots, the next morning. He promised me that he'd be there, safe and sound, and so I let him go. I refused to entertain the thought that I might not find him alive and whole, and so I let him go.

That was the last time I ever saw him.

A Dream

I can't sleep tonight. Fell asleep early, managed to get a spot on a roof of some office building with wifi. I've been trying so hard to keep writing, to keep sharing the story, but now I'm drawing to it's close and all I can think of is his body, chopped into bits and stuffed in trash bags... It was the most horrific thing I'd ever seen in my life. My guess is whoever did it was trying to dispose of the body and got scared away...

But tonight I dreamt of Sam. Standing there on the roof, same as always, crying and hugging me and telling me how much he loves me and how much he misses me. It was beautiful and wonderful and everything I could've wanted.

It felt so real! He was so firm with me, telling me I had to keep going, that I have to find something to live for, since he's not there with me anymore.

I woke up crying.

One more post left of his life.

I'll be getting back on that soon.

Telling Secrets

Apparently I have followers now. I wasn't expecting that, I kind of figured I'd tell Sam's story in silence. I mean, he definitely deserves to have people reading this. Poor guy deserves to have everyone in the world remember him. He was an amazing man. So, welcome, I suppose.

Secondly, in the spirit of this post, I'd like to draw all of your attention to this. Both because it's important /and/ because it's a story that hits close to home for me-as you're all about to find out. I actually went into a book store and dealt with the glares while I read the entire article-I was so shocked, and thrilled, and... Well, I guess I have a bit of a new hero. She's got guts.

The story I want to tell, as I said, is related to that. The next big landmark between us happened one night sitting around chatting on a rooftop, as had quickly become our habit. He always preferred being up high, and as I had no objection, that became our standard.

For the life of me I can't remember what we were talking about. Something random, probably pointless except for entertaining us for a little while. But we'd ended up sitting close together and leaning in talking about it... and next thing I knew, we were kissing.

It was cheesy, cliched, and so stereotypically Hollywood. Or at least it would've been, if it weren't two dirty, unkempt homeless 'men'. The kiss was sweet and loving and so very, very eager on both sides. But I pulled away. Because I wasn't being honest with him.

"Sam, there's something you should know."

He flinched, thinking that I hadn't wanted the kiss. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."

I shook my head. "No, I wanted it. But. I'm not quite what you think I am..." At Sam's look of confusion, I continued. "I'm not exactly a man..."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever heard the term 'genderfluid'?"

"No..."

"Sometimes, I am a man. Sometimes, I am a woman. But, biologically, I'm female, and I know that's not what you're into."

It took him a minute to process. "So. What were you when we kissed? A man, or a woman? Because. That's all that really matters. Biology's not important."

I couldn't look him in the eye. "I was a woman. I /am/ a woman tonight."

"... We can stay friends, right?" He looked about as heartbroken as I felt.

I attempted a smile, for his sake. "Of course."

"... What should I call you? When you're a woman, I mean."

I paused, uncertain. "Lily. My dad named me Lily."

"Well, then, Lily. You'll always be my friend. Man or woman."

After that, he offered to help me steal some clothes so that I could be a girl when we were alone and the mood struck me, but I knew it wasn't safe. A woman on the street is at risk of a whole category of things that a man never has to worry about. That's why I stay a man, these days. At least outwardly. I don't have enough curves for anyone to be able to tell what's underneath.

He tried to give me the clothes anyway, because that's just how sweet he really was. He was so sad for me, that I couldn't be who I want to be.

Things were awkward for a few days, but we really only had each other, so we got over it quick. A failed romance was far less important than having someone we could count on.

Friendship

When I saw him again, it was in this one little coffee shop that managed to survive in spite of the army of Starbucks and the like. It was known among the homeless folk for having donuts and kolaches for under a dollar-a pretty sweet deal for us. Even the worst busker could make that much in a day.

Sam hadn't figured out that much yet, he just knew they didn't shoo him out for not ordering anything and they had free wifi and outlets for laptops. Which is why I ended up giving him half of my donut. Only food I had all day, but seeing the heartbroken way he eyed the thing-and how baggy his clothes were-I couldn't hardly eat the whole thing in front of him. And the way his eyes lit up... I'll never forget it as long as I live.

I think even more than the donut itself he was so excited to have someone being nice to him. He always said he had problems making friends, even moreso than most of us. Probably because he was a little bit crazy, as he proved that day. We decided to go to the comic shop nearby. I'd never been but apparently it was one of his favorite hangouts and I really liked the idea, it'd been a while since I'd done something just for fun like that.

We got about halfway there before he got quiet and scared, staring off into the distance before apologizing and telling me he needed to head to a roof. Sam was so jittery and scared, and there was nothing there. But he was far more comfortable on the roof, so we went and spent a couple hours talking up there.

It was really nice, having a friend, even if he was a bit certifiable.

Meeting Sam

We never would've met if I weren't a nosy little fucker sometimes. I've lived in the City for years, I know all the gang signs, the taggers, the showoffs. Some people go to school to learn how to dissect 'fine' art, but I've got an unused degree and a desire to do anything to prevent mental stagnation, so I started doing the same with the graffiti.

Call it a stupid hobby, but even a bum has to have something to do, right? I don't spend all my time busking or doing odd jobs any more than you do. So when I noticed a new sign showing up, over and over, in this certain shade of turquoise blue, and always on buildings with accessible roofs, I got curious. I mean sure, I've seen it occasionally before, at random,  always done by scared runaways, but this was /methodical/. Like hobo sign, which I'm passingly familiar with, but one I've never seen.

So I started looking for whoever was doing it. Hard to find a good tagger, really, their work depends on secrecy, but the homeless around here keep their eyes open. People never think we see anything, we're just part of the furniture. But we do. We see everything.  So I heard about the sweet looking blond kid. One of us, in fact. Though he did have a laptop-no one was sure if it really ran. But the kid is pretty much only ever seen on rooftops, which isn't a bad strategy for a  homeless kid, the gangs don't bother you up there  unless you owe them something.

From there, it was just finding the right rooftop. And there he was, with the laptop out, though he stashed it when I came through the door. I wish I could remember exactly what was said, but that was a year ago and my memory's not that good. But I introduced myself, got his name, and asked about the tags.

He got scared then, I remember that specifically. I think he thought I was a cop or something, there to arrest him for vandalism. Sam was so scared, so outrageously skittish. Very secretive, even after I'd known him for as long as I did. Even after... well, that's another story.

As it turned out, they were X-Men symbols. He'd been trying out tagging as an outlet, but he wasn't actually any good, so that was about the best he could do. But it got us started talking-nerds of a feather and all. It'd been a long time since I'd had someone I could have a conversation about comics and the like with. It was nice.

For Sam

Don't expect much from this blog. This isn't something fancy, don't expect grand stories or daring adventures. I'm not here to deliver cutting commentary on the world or to share you useful advice on life. I'm just here because my friend Sam died, and I love him, and if I don't do something no one will even know he ever existed.

That's what happens when you're homeless, after all, and being in no better state myself, all I can do is tell stories about him on the internet. I couldn't afford to give him a burial or anything, couldn't even get too close when they were looking into what happened for fear of being accused. No one really cares what happens to us, after all. At least the police care about doing their jobs.

Sam really loved the blogs. His prized posession was this tiny beat to shit laptop that looks like it shouldn't even run anymore, and he used that to write a blog I was never allowed to see. He always said he was a writer, and he was too embarrassed to let me see his stories.

I've inherited the laptop, so I suppose it's really all I can do  to tell his story to all of you. Or at least the bits I know.