Chapter 2

Aaron arrived back at the entrance to the shelter right at 6pm, with little in the way of expectation, so he was not surprised the redhead calling herself Amber was nowhere to be seen among the comings and goings of dozens of homeless folk.

He waited for 10 minutes, then figured he may as well say hi to the manager and see if they’d set up the air conditioner.

Walking in through the open door, he nearly collided with an old woman pushing a walker who was mumbling to herself while eating something directly out of a grocery bag. He apologized and it was as if the old lady couldn’t see or hear him. She simply ignored him.

At the desk, the day manager was performing a handover to the night manager and Amber was perched on the corner of his desk as if she owned it. It was like she was holding court, but mutely. In the time it took Aaron to reach her, she’d flipped off three separate people.

“You’re fucking late,” she accused him, her scowl firmly in place. “Fucking make me wait here and there’s no smoking inside. I wouldn’t have waited this fucking long if I’d had a fucking cigarette,” she said as if that was his fault too. “I was getting ready to come hunt you down for that ballectomy I promised.

Her expression probably would have had some trembling but it went right over Aaron’s head. He’d never been good at reading people, since he spent so little time with others. To him, he just saw a woman who wasn’t smiling, and who wanted him to feel bad even though he had no reason to.

“If you’d been where you should have been, outside where we agreed to meet, you wouldn’t have been kept waiting,” Aaron replied. His passive aggressive response was quite unlike him. Usually he would apologize for the misunderstanding, but he was irritated that this ‘person’ was blaming him for something she screwed up, not to mention that he was here for HER benefit.

“One of us screwed up and it wasn’t me. Anyway, I assume you made an attempt to do your part? Did you bother to write up a rule that covers not listening?” As he asked this, he held out his hand, expecting to be given what she’d written.

Amber slapped his hand away. “Din’ your fucking momma teach you it’s rude to point?” She asked? Intentionally misinterpreting his intention. “Ask nicely,” she finished with a smirk.

“Or save myself the hassle of dealing with you, not ask at all, and get home where I can help grateful folk,” he replied. “You probably didn’t write anything up anyway and wasting my time is the height of entertainment for you. So run along. I came in to talk to Mr. Taylor.”

“Don’t you DARE talk to me like that!” Amber screamed back, but Aaron, along with seemingly everyone else in the room, ignored her, as if someone suddenly screaming at the top of their lungs was a regular occurance and in this place. It really was.

“Mr Taylor? I’m glad I caught you before you left. Were you able to...” Aaron began, seeing the Manager’s attention was fixed on the pair of them, but unable to finish his question because Amber hopped off the edge of the table and with a hand to his arm, pulled him around to face her.

“Look. I forgive you and I did put together a list of requirements,” she interrupted, truly sounding sincere in her absolution of his perceived sins. Aaron realized she really did blame him. She was even managing to lower her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “These fucking asswipes wouldn’t let me even use a sheet of paper, much less their computer, so I had to write it on toilet paper. It’s all there was. At least I can recycle it, right?” she suggested, now trying for a smile that looked forced and fake to everyone but Aaron.

Aaron sighed. He was well past berating himself for making such a stupid suggestion earlier and now he wanted to simply tell her to stick her toilet paper where it belonged. He didn’t though. Doing something like that just wasn’t in his nature. He’d made an offer and he’d see it through, no matter how ridiculous this was all becoming.

With a quiet click of his tongue, he once again held out his hand while apologizing to the Manager. Amber dumped an actual roll of toilet tissue into his palm. He could see she’d written all over it then rolled it back up.

“How long is it going to take me to read all this?” He asked.

“I tried to use little words for you so you could understand it,” Amber sarcastically replied. “How the fuck would I know, dumbass!” She added caustically.

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Allow me to finish my business with Mr Taylor. He probably has loved ones he wants to get home to. Then I’ll find a seat and read this. That’s non-negotiable either!” Aaron said in frustration when he could see that Amber was about to argue.

Aaron only spoke with Mr Taylor for a couple of minutes, including the time it took the manager to introduce his counterpart, the night shift manager, but to Amber, who was feeling unnaturally nervous all of a sudden, it seemed like hours. Somehow she held her tongue. Not without physically scrunching up her face in impatience though.

Those two minutes were well invested by Aaron. The night manager, impressed with Aaron’s donation and curious about what was going on with the troublemaking Amber, offered them the use of the family counselling room, usually strictly off limits to the general homeless.

“About fucking time, Stan,” Amber complained when the night manager pointed to the counselling room door.

“His name is Cory, Amber. Didn’t you hear him introduce himself?”

“He looks like a Stanley to me,” Amber retorted. “Who gives a fuck anyway. He’s a fucking loser.

“Says the homeless person,” Aaron said under his breath before heading for the indicated door.

“You may as well come along. I probably won’t be able to read most of this chicken scratch anyway and I’ll need it decoded,” he said, waving the toilet paper.

In the room, he laid out the roll on the table. When he began carefully unwinding it, he realized there really wasn’t all that much written on it. It just looked like a lot because most of the roll had been unwound and rewound, giving it bulk.