The Cold and Misunderstood

The Cold and Misunderstood

Diego Del Nogal

05/26/22

I have always felt trapped within these walls. The stones that created my bedroom walls felt like the cold iron balls of a prison cell. Of course, in my little cell, I decided to confine myself there. The world felt so mundane as I watched the young blonde girl skate past my house for the second time today. She skated to and from school every day in the morning and evening like clockwork. It was almost predictable. Of course, my routine was predictable as well. I logged into my computer for most of the day, taking occasional breaks to eat, and at night I retired to my bed. Again and again and again.

Something mysterious happened on that random Saturday. I was out of the house! I had stepped out of my cocoon and walked around the city. I went to downtown Miami, where my friend Curtis lives. I wanted a gaming session at his place, and I figured I might get a few minutes of sunshine and dopamine before going back to my routine. Downtown Miami had a bad reputation; it was filthy, with men and women camped and sleeping beneath the underpass and the park. I didn't think much of it. They were probably drunks who had consumed a little too much, and it was easier to collapse on the lawn of a bridge or a park than it was to stagger to your home and the comfort of your bed.

The weather was beginning to turn as I turned the corner to Curtis's home. I knocked on the door and took a single step away from the door. An unfamiliar face opened the door and enquired about my business on the premises. "I'm looking for Curtis," I said. "I'm sorry, I don't know anyone by that name," he replied. I took another step away from the front door and double-checked. I was definitely at the right house. I assured him that he was probably mistaken because I had been over here numerous times. He insisted that no one named Curtis lived there and hesitantly closed the door. I was confused. I took out my phone from my pocket, ready to call him. "Curtis doesn't live here anymore," I heard a female voice speak to me. I looked across the yard, and a middle-aged woman was sitting on her porch smoking a cigarette and was looking at me. "He was evicted a month ago," she added.

Curtis picked up my phone call and apologized for not telling me that he had been evicted and had moved from his usual place. He directed me to his new place. The pouring rain made it darker than it was meant to be as I navigated through the public park. The little light piercing through the dark clouds glistened the green color of the grass shining in the rainwater. However, the view of the horizon across the park was far less appealing to the eye as the clusters of plastic tents and makeshift shelters scattered across the far side of the park. I caught the sight of a familiar red and white striped hoodie and recognized Curtis as he struggled to enter a dark blue tent. I called him out and approached him. His face was pale, and his demeanor defeated. He looked devoid of an ounce of enthusiasm and awkwardly fist-bumped me. The slow realization that Curtis lived in this tent in the park slowly began to hit me. Concerned, I asked him if he lived there, and he invited me in.
The strange smell welcomed me as I bent to enter Curtis's now obvious home. The air mattress and a light duvet were set up at the far end of the tent. He offered me a makeshift seat and sat down, curiously investigating the frugal state of Curtis's tent. I was curious to understand how he had gotten here. He narrated his story of how he had been fired from his job and defaulted on paying the mortgage on his house. He barely had any savings left and could not afford to rent an apartment in Miami. His story is similar to many others who lived in tents and makeshift shelters in public parks and other random places across the city. Many follow the same storyline as Curtis; losing their jobs and being unable to afford housing in the city due to the tough economic times. Homelessness in Miami is a prominent feature of the city and a sorely misunderstood phenomenon by many. Many people who have no stable housing are stereotyped as 'junkies' and alcoholics with poor life plans, the orchestrators of their misery (Rukmana, 2008). Looking at the state of Curtis's tent, I realized that most people don't get the perspective of the homeless, who often turn to drugs and substance abuse, probably to dull the reality of their situation.

I longed to share my lonely confinement with him. To have him experience a room with walls around him. According to Young (2021), Curtis and millions of Americans feel the real cold of the housing policy. It is a travesty that despite the political, economic, and social progress that the United States of America represents, homelessness is still a pressing issue in the 21st century.