Moving On

Marcus stormed out of the building, a tight ball of fury

knotting in the pit of his stomach. “We have to let you go. We’re
in a recession, Marcus, it’s nothing personal,” his boss, James
Brown, had said. Marcus slammed the door behind him, feeling
bile rising in his throat. Like hell they had to, he thought. Those
stingy corporate bastards don’t remember what it’s like to be at
the very bottom, to truly need your job. Turning up his collar
against the chilly winter drizzle and stuffing his hands into his
pockets, he began the trek home.
After a few minutes of walking and stewing in a silent rage,
Marcus stopped beside an old shop on the side of the sidewalk to
tie his shoe. His cold fingers fumbled with the laces, and a string
of curses flowed from his lips. As he was straightening up, an old
man shuffling by stumbled over him, knocking his bag off his
shoulder and spilling its contents all over the damp concrete.
“Shit!” Marcus exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and
rushing to collect his papers before they blew away.
“So sorry, young man,” the old man said concernedly,
reaching out a hand. “Please, let me help you.”
Marcus angrily turned to face him. “Watch where you’re
going! Jesus! Don’t bother,” he spat as the man reached to pick
up one of his papers off the ground. He shot a withering glare at
him and he retreated, hurriedly shuffling away again.
Out of a pile of rags in a crevice near the shop door across
from him emerged a haggard, middle-aged man. He stretched
stiffly, expressionlessly handing Marcus the last of his papers.
Marcus, who hadn’t noticed the other man previously, let his
mouth fall open slightly, and then closed it again, taking the
papers from him. He nodded and cleared his throat
uncomfortably. There was something about that presumably
homeless person, how he seemed to blend into the dull shades of
the rags and brick a bit too well. His impoverished, sallow body
was lost in a massive jacket with a large tear in one of the
sleeves. He had a bony face ruddy with cold, framed by messy,
straw-colored hair. Behind his grey, watery eyes was only defeat.
 Marcus swallowed and cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he said
gruffly.
“Welcome,” the man whispered, beginning to retreat back
into his corner. The rain started to fall more heavily and he
slowly, stiffly tilted his head up to the clouds, a look of pure
despondency in his eyes.
Feeling pity tugging at his chest, Marcus couldn’t bring
himself to walk away. He stood still for a moment, watching the
man. He didn’t seem to notice Marcus’ presence beside him, and
for those few moments he just stood, staring out into the street.
Marcus stepped toward the man. “Um, d’you have
anywhere to go?” he asked, somewhat awkwardly.
He tilted his head to look at Marcus. “No.”
“Want to go for a drink or something?” he asked, feeling more
than foolish. Can’t just leave him in the rain, though, can I? he
reasoned.
The main furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at Marcus as
if unsure he was still talking to him. “I don’t have any--”
“I’ll buy,” Marcus assured him.
The man looked too weary to be suspicious. “Why?” he
asked simply.
Marcus glanced up at the sky. “It’s raining,” he answered,
giving an equally simple response.
The man’s expression was unreadable. “Okay,” he said.
“Thank you.”
And they set off down the street for a bar that Marcus knew.
“I’m Clancey,” the older man introduced himself.
“Marcus Alder.”

~~~

Clancey had barely touched his drink. Instead he spun his

shot glass gently, watching intently as the liquid swilled around
the edges of the shallow glass. The same could not be said for
Marcus, who was on his third beer of the evening. He handled
everything with unnecessary force, slamming his glass down.
Clancey watched him calmly.
 “So why are you angry?” he asked, staring at Marcus.
“Eh?” Marcus asked, taking another swig of beer. “Oh,” he
sighed, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. “Lost my job
today.”
“I’m sorry,” Clancey said. “Will it be hard to find another?”
He brought the glass to his lips but didn’t drink from it.
Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know.” He coughed. “If it were
just me it wouldn’t be as big of a problem. I have a kid, though,
and I’m worried my ex-wife’s going to try to get full custody of
our son, Jason, once she finds out I don’t have a job anymore.”
Clancey turned his head and frowned thoughtfully. “I’m
sorry, Marcus,” he said, pausing to down his shot. His eyes
clouded over and he shuddered, from the alcohol or something
else. “No one should have to lose a child.” He set his jaw and
fixed his stare into the bottom of his shot glass.
“You’re right,” Marcus said. “I just don’t want her to take
him away. I don’t have any other family, besides my parents, who
I haven’t spoken to in God knows how long. I may not be the
model parent, but I love him more than anything else.”
Clancey nodded. “I hope you’re able to find a job.”
“Thanks. Me too.” Marcus tapped his fingers on the counter.
“So what’s your story? If I may ask.”
He shrugged. “Not much of a story. I just stopped caring
about my life. I’m alone,” he stated simply, a fact rather than a
lament. “No one to impress.”
Marcus paused. “Why don’t you have anyone? You seem
like a nice guy.”
Clancey’s softly spoken words were lost in the barkeep’s
rumbling voice as he sauntered over to them, looking bored, and
asked if there was anything else they wanted. Marcus shook his
head for both of them and the bartender bobbed away. “What’d
you say, Clancey?” he asked.
Propping his chin up on his elbow, he replied, “My family’s
gone. Our son really held my wife and I together, and when he
died, we grew apart quickly. We didn’t know how to handle it.”
Marcus was silent for a minute, unsure of what to say. He
tried to imagine going to Jason's funeral, and found himself
threatening to tear up just thinking about it. How could someone
deal with that kind of grief? “I’m...so sorry,” he said,
dumbfounded. “I can’t imagine that.”
“No, you really can’t,” Clancey agreed shortly. He paused,
softening. “But thank you.”
“What happened?” Marcus asked.
“There are so many ways to die,” Clancey replied
nonchalantly. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t remember exactly.”
“You don’t...remember?” he asked, incredulous. Somewhere
in the very back of his mind, Marcus realized it was rude to press
it, but a burning curiosity overtook him. “How can you not
remember how your child died?”
He pressed his lips together, turning them white. “I don’t
like to.”
“Oh,” Marcus replied. “How long ago did he...die?”
Clancey laced his fingers together. “Not sure about that,
either. Been a while, though. Takes time to get someone like
this.”
“I suppose so,” he replied. “Ever think of trying to find a
job? Just something to get your mind off it? Or, that’s stupid, I’m
sorry.” Marcus was flustered. “Of course it’s not something you
can just forget.” He winced, remembering the man’s previous
comments. “What I mean is, a distraction. Something to help you
move on.” He internally berated himself. What am I supposed to
say? It’s like I’m trying to give a cure for a disease I don’t
understand.
Clancey looked unfazed by Marcus’ tangled train of thought.
“I’ve been thinking about that, actually. Not a job, but something
to let me permanently move on. My son wouldn’t be happy to see
what a waste of space I’ve become.”
Marcus looked down at the wooden counter, tracing the
knotholes with his finger. “Wouldn’t call you that,” he mumbled.
“That’s a bit harsh.”
“Is it?” Clancey asked, challenging. “I piss away my days
loitering around the soup kitchen and in the streets, begging for
money if I feel so inspired. I sleep next to a shop entryway. I don’t
make a contribution to anything.”
 He shrugged. “Then maybe do something else with your
life.”
“I think I will,” Clancey declared, looking up. “Tomorrow.”
Marcus looked up in curiosity. “Tomorrow,” he repeated.
Clancey nodded. “Yes.” He set his shot glass down and
stood up from the bar. “I’m going to go now.” He smiled warmly.
“Thank you for this. You know how long it’s been since someone
looked at me like a real human being and not a piece of trash on
the street? Too long.” He held out his hand, and Marcus shook it
firmly.
“Good luck, Clancey,” said Marcus.
“You too, Marcus. Good luck finding a job. And thank you,
again, for everything.”

~~~

A cool, clear winter morning broke through the clouds.

Clancey stretched as he rose stiffly out of his corner. He groaned
and ran his fingers through his hair, waking up fully when he
remembered. What had he told Marcus he wanted? Something to
put him permanently at ease, that was it. And he’d have it. Today
was his day.
Leaving his few belongings behind in the shop entryway,
Clancey walked quickly through the streets. He breathed in the
cold, stale city air, walking purposely until he came to the bridge.
He traced the tarnished metal railing with his fingers, shivering as
cars rushed past, sweeping a cold breeze over him.
The frigid water swirled beneath him, clashing angrily
against the rocks. Clancey leaned over the railing, imagining his
son’s youthful face on the water’s surface. As soon as it appeared
to him, it vanished. He frowned and shook his head bitterly. He
swung his body over the railing, perched on the six inches of
concrete that extended past it.
Would anyone stop me if I jumped? Clancey glanced back,
watching the cars streak past. An elderly couple walked briskly on
the other side of the bridge, talking quietly. They didn’t see him.
Of course not, I’m homeless. I’m practically invisible. Gripping the
rail, he leaned forward over the river. Feeling a rush of
adrenaline, he closed his eyes.
He’d never been a religious man, but he figured if there was
ever a good time to pray, this was it. Still leaning over the water,
he bowed his head.
God, he began. He paused. What could he pray for?
Everything he had loved in his life was gone. There was only one
thing he’d have if he could. God, let me see my son again.
The adrenaline was gone, the tingle disappeared from his
fingers. For a moment everything was quiet.
You can be with him, a voice answered. In his mind or in
reality, he couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to completely consume
him.
Clancey’s heart pounded, tears coming to his eyes. You can
be with him.
He opened his hands.
I’m coming, son.

~~~

It was morning, and Marcus was feeling slightly optimistic.

He strolled down the familiar Reynoll Avenue, the same street
he’d walked every weekday morning to work. This Saturday
morning he was just out to buy a newspaper, to look for job
listings.
He reflected on the previous night’s talk with Clancey, and
found the man’s words about losing his son echoing in his mind.
Just thinking about it struck a painful mix of fear and sorrow into
his heart, and Marcus said to himself that he’d give Jason an
extra long hug when he went to pick him up from his mother’s,
maybe pick him up and swing him around like he had when the
boy was younger, despite the fact that he was thirteen now and
didn’t like hugs from his dad much anymore. Sure, Jason would
probably shrug him off, but if one of them died tomorrow, he
didn’t want Jason not remembering when he’d last hugged his
dad.
Yes, he’d be sure to do that. There was a certain realization
of mortality that Clancey had given him, and he couldn’t shake it.
He remembered the man’s sad, haunted eyes, the look of
constant despair. He was thin, thin like it wasn’t worth it to take
care of himself anymore, like grief had taken the place of hunger.
I won’t let that ever become me, Marcus thought, but as Clancey
had shown him, it could happen to anyone.
Marcus slowed down as he walked, scanning the sidewalks
for Clancey. I wonder what he’s going to do, he thought,
remembering the other man’s firm decision to make a change to
his life the next day. He came to the lonely antiques shop
Clancey had been sitting in front of when they’d met the previous
day, and stopped in front of it. Clancey was nowhere in sight,
though carelessly stuffed in the corner of the shop lay a wrinkled
blanket and a torn backpack. Are those his things? Marcus
wondered.
Marcus smiled. Clancey was probably out somewhere, doing
something to help himself move on like he’d said he would.
Maybe the pain of losing his son was finally starting to diminish,
now that he’d acknowledged it to someone else. His spirits lifted,
Marcus started to walk again. He had the strange feeling leaving
the shop behind that he wouldn’t see Clancey again. And maybe
it was for the best, he reflected. The man had more life left in him
than anyone would think just looking at him. It was about time he
felt able to get on with things.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets to ward off the chill,
Marcus whistled happily as he walked. He’d find another job. He’d
be able to keep his son. Things would look up.
If Clancey can turn his life in the right direction, Marcus
thought, then so can I.