Someone Was There
by Denise Atzori
“HELP, PLEASE!”
The chattering of Sam’s teeth made it hard for him to get the words out, but he carried on screaming, panicking and staring at the discarded Gregg’s bag that someone left hours before, when the winter sun was still smirking at them.
“Someone, please… My mate… My friend… he’s not moving!”
But no one was around, why would anyone be? After all, it was cold and dark, why would anyone be outside, at this time of year, when snow is about to fall and a home is all you need. Perhaps everyone knew about this cold snap. They must have seen it on the news, on social media, or television. Families warning their loved ones: “Stay warm, it’s meant to be cold these days.” But not them. No one would tell them, no one would bother, no one was there. They didn’t matter, they should have known better. No, no, it was more than that. They should have been better, work harder. “It must be easy doing nothing all day.” It was almost as if he could hear those voices, sharp words, cutting deep.
Are we even human?
A hug, an embrace, and a tear, falling slowly from Matt’s closed eye. His friend’s screams were echoing in his mind, like cotton wool, like a lullaby.
“We are invisible, as always.
But I am at peace, at last.”
***
Sam’s days were repetitive, dull, colourless.
Utility bills started piling up even in the summer after the last few heat waves, and watching the news about the climate crisis, and the increasing weather warnings, going into the winter months made his skin crawl and his anxiety peak. The housing crisis had already taken a toll on his mental health, the rent spiking up as landlords wanted more and more and more… But he was just good old Sam, a simple street sweeper cleaning the roads and trying to make a living in this life. Some mornings, his mind would wander in a panic, even before his eyes were open. To the point that he felt petrified, his body couldn’t move – there was too much on his mind, and he would just spiral into despair. He started going to work less and less, chained to his bed, trapped in his own mind.
“I don’t know what I am supposed to do, I keep trying to do the right thing, but it doesn’t matter, I keep failing, I cannot keep up with this, every month I must decide what has priority. Is it going to be food? Warmth? Fuel? What life is this? Why would anyone have to deal with this? It’s just… I am such a failure. What good do I bring to others? Why would I matter? I guess I don’t, nobody cares. And soon… soon I will lose everything I have got. Why do I care anyway, I have always been a loser, weak, I can barely keep up with life.”
Ultimately, he lost his job.
He used different online platforms to sell his last sort-of-valuable items, to scrape by, to somehow survive.
But then the final eviction notice came. As much as he asked for help from his landlord, the answer was always the same “We are also struggling, Sam. Nothing more we can do, unfortunately.”
At first, his car didn’t feel like a bad alternative. After all, he was always on the move anyway. “Houses are overrated,” he kept saying to himself, perhaps truly believing it or maybe just to make himself feel better.
Days swung between bitter cold and sudden heat, and he never knew which he’d wake up to – scraping frost off the inside of his windshield one morning, then sweating through his only clean shirt the next. He kept his car always in the same spot, near a Tesco in Camden, while going to the library to apply for jobs and looking for a flat. But no one was keen to hire a struggling man, with worry in his eyes, and without a permanent address. And then one day, his car was gone along with everything he had.
“Turns out you cannot park on a public road with an expired MOT and flat tyres… I will have to stay just here outside Tesco for a few nights, it won’t be for long, I will be fine… Right?”
He could feel a sense of despair creeping in, especially when the weather flipped without warning, frosty cold cutting through his jacket in the morning and shimmering heated asphalt by afternoon. He tried his best, but he couldn’t help but think that he was just a stain in a candid world that had no space left for him.
Days, weeks, months passed by and the more people he met, the more he realised that so many were victims of the housing crisis and climate change just as he was. Families, veterans, elderly. He felt like he had seen it all, and the more he saw, the more he lost hope in ever making it back to a decent, stable life. Shelters were overfilling, and weather conditions grew increasingly unstable. He had lost friends. People he met and started to share food, change, substances, to keep their mood up. Some were already suffering from asthma, heart diseases, addictions. But outside, with all the smog and temperature changes, every condition was exacerbated, becoming, too often, lethal. He was used to his goodbyes, his losses, his solitude.
Every so often, someone would stop by and listen to him, ask how his day was, offer some food, new clothing. Sometimes, on Sunday mornings, a group of people would show up in front of the market and offer warm drinks and a chat. Sometimes, it felt like he wasn’t alone after all. Sometimes he felt warm and seen – he wasn’t invisible, he was there. He mattered. He felt like he belonged. Sometimes, he felt there was still hope.
WENSUM 