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- Being homeless is difficult for an underage person. Sure, I thought I could handle it but…
- Like I said, it’s difficult.
- I was kicked out of my home today. I thought it was my home. Just as I had thought I had a friend. /co/ is not my friend; fuck that faggot.
- I have a plan at least. Go to the homeless shelter at the church and try to pick up the pieces. I may be an atheist but it’s not hard to pretend I’m religious.
- That’s what I have planned after I am done with my visit with Ponychan. Visiting hours only go on for a few hours before they toss him back in his cell.
- My face is pressed against the cold window of the public bus as it makes its way downtown to the jail. My legs are crossed and my mind is a lulled daze. I feel sick thinking about the fact that I won’t be sleeping in my own bed tonight. Better to avoid thinking about it or I might just break down.
- I wonder what /co/ is doing right now. Ever since that fuck threw me out, I bet he’s been pretty pleased with himself for not having to deal with us ponyfags.
- Whatever; fuck him. He can be happy with his bitch girlfriend, Korra, who I bet got him to throw me out.
- We’re almost there. I didn’t even notice the trip go by. I sit up and peer over the bus driver’s shoulder. I can see this bus stop approaching. I reach for the string hanging above the window and yank on it.
- A ring chimes throughout the bus. “STOP REQUESTED” scrolls across a red screen above the exit.
- After we pass a stoplight, the bus slows to a stop, the brakes squealing like a dying animal. I gave a curt wave to the driver and hop off the steps onto the sidewalk. It’s pretty chilly out; what a shitty time of year to become homeless.
- I’m glad to have arrived at the jailhouse and off the windy street. The lobby is surprisingly stuffy for what I expected of a jail. Soft blue carpets, plain white walls and faded fluorescent ceiling lamps; the place looks positively modern. I step across the room and approach the receptionist.
- “…Excuse me, ma’am?” I place a hand the counter.
- This woman appears to be in her early forties but I could swear she was at least double that age from the looks she gives when I get her attention. “Can I help you, young man?”
- “I’m, eh, here to visit an inmate, the One o’clock appointment?”
- She sniffs more audibly than it really needed to be and she opens her book. I could swear I saw dust caking the pages.
- “…Yes… Can you give me your identification, sir?”
- What’s this lady’s deal? I wonder. Being a receptionist in a jail must suck. I ignore the awkward vibes and finger my pockets for my wallet, snaking past the spaghetti.
- I give her my credentials and sign some boring looking papers.
- “Please wait here, young man. An officer will come when we are ready.”
- I pocket my belongings and plop myself onto a cotton chair. Why is the jail-house so damn comfy? A crazy part of me considers going to jail as an option other than homelessness. I crane my head against the back of the chair and count the white squares that make the ceiling.
- I hear a click from the corner of the room, it sounds as loud as a gunshot in this empty lobby. A police officer stands at the cracked door.
- “/mlp/! Your visit is ready.”
- I pull myself to my feet and approach the officer. He opens the door for me. “You have one hour.” He informs me.
- As I enter the white room, I feel a spinning in my gut. There are no other visitors or inmates, only the guard who stands in an isolated corner. The place feels so empty. I take mile long steps towards the one chair prepared for me and for a brief second, I consider turning around and leaving the room.
- Ignoring that urge, I take hold of the chair and press myself against the seat trying to find a comfortable angle. I have to force myself to stop avoiding looking at the man I’ve come to visit.
- There he is, Ponychan, sitting on the other side of the glass wall in all his autistic glory. The kind of autism I fell in love with but also the kind that got me into this mess. I could swear the room smelled of spaghetti and meatballs with an extra dash of basil seasoning.
- I grin awkwardly and wave to him.
- He does the same.
- We stare at each other silently for a moment before he leans forward and grabs the phone connected to the wall; he motions the plastic thing at me expectantly.
- Jumping for action, I yank the object from its hilt and hold it the side of my head. My mind races for the proper greeting. I eventually decide to say the only thing that is appropriate to say when dealing with Ponychan.”
- “Hey, sperglord.”
- “Sup’, horsefucker.”
- I’m a little surprised; usually he acts nice when I call him ‘sperglord’, spouting ‘love and tolerance’. In any case, we both grin at each other’s joke.
- “…How are you doing?” My voice is shakier than I’d like.
- He shuffles in his seat, “Well, I’m in jail for a crime that I’m not especially proud or even feel like I deserve.”
- “No, you don’t deserve it.” I’m quick to say something comforting but I really didn’t know anything about the so-called ‘crime’
- “How’s /co/, is he happy I’m gone?” He raises an eyebrow with the of the question.
- I bite my lower lip, “I wouldn’t know. He… threw me out.”
- Ponychan seems to lose the color in his face. It looks like he wants to say something but he’s holding back.
- “Ever since he found out about us, he hasn’t really looked at me the same way. I suppose he got tired of dealing with my faggotry.”
- He licks his teeth and scowls; I almost think he’s going to punch something.
- “…Do you have anywhere to go?”
- I slump in my chair and shake my head, “I…I’m heading to church shelter after this. To try and figure out what to do next.”
- The air grows heavy in the room and can barely draw a breath.
- Ponychan rubs his forehead and sighs deeply.
- “I’m…” He mutters weakly.”
- “…Sorry” I finish.
- “This is my fault. I should have known that ‘we’ were a bad idea. I was too old for you…”
- He says it so matter of factly that I feel like he just punched me in the chest. I want to yell at him and tell him that it IS his fault, yet at the same time, I want to take the blame for myself. It should be me sitting behind that glass wall, in the orange jumpsuit. I just don’t understand why it had turn out this way, I can take care of myself, I may not be of legal age but isn’t that enough?
- I swallow and take a breath “It’s not fair.”
- He raises his head and stares in my eyes. He has that longing looks that he’s always had. Those longing eyes that I stared into as we shared our first kiss together. The eyes I watched in delight as I asked him to kiss me again.
- We watch each other for a short while.
- “I’ll always be waiting for you, Ponychan…”
- He shakes his head, “Don’t.”
- My head spins and my vision grows misty.
- “Move on with your life, /mlp/. You don’t need me around to fuck it up even more.”
- “I love you!” I nearly shout it, desperate to let him know before he shuts me out forever. My nose is starting to run. “…I love you….” I sniff and wipe my eyes dry.
- Ponychan doesn’t reply.
- Why is he doing this to me? Why doesn’t he say anything back? He told me that I could be honest with him about anything, that I didn’t need to worry because he would be someone I could talk to. Now, here we are, possibly seeing each other for the last time, and he won’t tell me that he loves me back.
- He rubs his chin and he speaks into the phone firmly, “Forget about me.”
- The police officer approaches me and another enters the room behind Ponychan. “I’m sorry, young man, but your time is up.”
- This can’t be happening…
- “Please don’t go…”
- I say it so quietly and pathetically that I’m not sure he even heard me. The guard stands him up and he complies without a single grimace.
- When they turn away from the phone, I feel something inside me break when he gives me one last longing look. Suddenly, they exit the room and he is gone.
- I sit in stunned silence, trying to accept that he’s gone. The officer beside me grips my shoulder and politely informs me that it’s time to go. I slowly rise to my feet, keeping a stoic face yet refusing any eye contact.
- I leave the white room behind me and give a quick sideways nod to the officer. All I can focus on is escaping this building and every bad feeling associated with it. No more blue carpets, no more soft chairs, no more white walls or fluorescent lights. I just had get outside.
- I exit the premises and stand on the sidewalk. I struggle to catch my breath and stare at the sky. The sky is choked with thick clouds and the wind is ice cold, much colder than it was when I got here. It might snow tonight.
- I’m not completely cold; however, as I feel warm tears run down my cheeks and drip off the tip of my chin. I silently stand, crying softly and thinking about which way to turn to reach the church shelter before the weather gets worse. I’m cold, hungry, and tired and I have no bed to curl up in.
- I take in a deep breath and wipe my face dry again, only for more tears to fall. I feel like a broken vase cheaply taped together to keep from falling apart. I’m certain the slightest tap will be the breaking point and all my pieces will be scooped up and thrown away with rest of the garbage.
- I stuff the thoughts of my visits in the back of my mind, more shit to not thin about. All I can do is try to move on. Although, I wonder how it will be possible as I wander away in the chilly evening…
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