Destitution

"Jonathan Reid Coates, you have been found guilty of..."

But Jonathan was not listening. He could only see the fear on the boy's face as he rode out of the night. Yes, he was speeding, but he had never imagined hitting anyone or them dying in his arms. Reliving the moment again during the mother's harrowing victim statement to the court.

"...in view of your previous good record, this court sentences you to five years gaol or two years destitution. You may choose."

Jonathan consulted his attorney. They had not been expecting such a long sentence. He chose destitution. The court security officers seized both his arms to escort him from the court. Not back to the prison where he had been waiting, while on remand pending trial but down a short flight of stairs and along an underground corridor to the police station adjacent to the courthouse.

He was ordered to remove the suit his attorney had brought to him for the trial. Also shirt, silk tie, hand made shoes. They had all been carefully chosen from the full wardrobes in his apartment. Naked, he was handed a bundle that had a strange smell. He would remember that smell the first time he was rounded up. A stretched gray tee shirt, faded but thick denim jeans, sturdy boots and a long khaki overcoat. The string that held the bundle together did dual duty as a belt. The policeman in charge appeared apathetic but was watching him intently. He gave him a plastic covered card to read about the terms of his destitution.

"Do you understand the conditions of your sentence as specified on the card?"

"Yes." Of course, he had voted for the law in the Citizen Initiated Referendum. He had read the pros and cons carefully.

"Be in the zone by sunset."

They escorted him to the front doors and left him standing on the steps of the station. As he stood there the sun shone on his new status and as he eventually walked down the steps to the street below he had his first taste of being homeless. Everyone walked around him without seeing him, all avoided contact. Jonathan had not needed to read the card to know about being homeless he knew the conditions, everyone did. He had never expected to be subject to them but he thought he could handle two years. He had only the clothes they had given him so his first priority was cash. He headed for his bank.

Before he entered the plush interior he tried to make himself look reasonably normal, as normal as a man dressed in old clothes tied with string could. The teller he approached seemed not to notice his appearance. He explained that he had mislaid his card but wanted to make a small cash withdrawal. When she asked him for his account details his memory almost failed him. She stood silent, waiting as he came up with the correct numbers flawlessly.

"Your account has been frozen, no access for two years."

"But you don't understand I..."

The teller did not argue with him, his 'uniform' marked his status. She just looked over his shoulder at the security guard. 'Stupid, stupid' Jonathon thought out on the street again of course his funds were frozen. He was not thinking clearly, he decided to try and reach his apartment before the sun set. It took much of the rest of the day to walk up town. As he neared his apartment building's front door, he faltered but then saw Harry the day doorman sitting behind the desk. The glass doors opened automatically for him and he stood in front of the desk.

"Harry, Hi! I've mislaid my keys can you give me the passkey. I need to change clothes."

The false note in his voice struck him; he did not need Harry's hard glance to feel it. Harry did not reply he just came around the desk and took Jonathan's arm. The two moved silently through the rear door. Standing in the blank area between the front entrance and the rear door, Harry whispered.

"Mister Coates, your not going to give me any trouble are you? They came and took away all your stuff for storage this morning, first thing. There's no point in going upstairs, there's nothing left up there. Please, just leave OK?"

Harry opened the door and guided him out into the alley and, as the door closed behind, he said. "Don't come back here again."

The sun was low in the sky, if he set out now he could just reach the zone on foot before nightfall. The crowds parted before him as he walked. There was no effort or recognition in their movement, they just allowed him passage without touching. He reached the zone as the sun set but did not know what to do or where to go. He passed deeper into the oldest part of town. Most of the buildings here were not houses but warehouses or vacant places where no sign or detail of there original purpose remained. He soon came upon an open area, noisy with people and lit with many open fires. Stuff was burning in a myriad of containers, tins, barrels and drums. Dim figures crouched in the shadows around these naked flames all dressed like him in caste off clothing. As he reached the first fire he tried to speak to the group clustered around it but they all ignored him. He could not push through for a place at the blaze. This rejection was repeated at each fire, large and small. Soon he was on the other side of the open area back on the edge of the darkness. As he walked away a voice carried from the last of the fires.

"Yeah, that's right keep moving. We don't want no sentenced around here."

He woke not knowing where he was, he was cold and the cold was a memory of a dawn he had missed. The sun was up but had not reached the doorway where he was slumped. His whole body ached, especially his back and legs where they had rested on the cement. Slowly his senses returned and he sat immobile. The memories of yesterday returned, he had not thought his plan through. Knowing that he would not be able to access his money, that his apartment would be emptied and his possessions put into storage, he had still run heedlessly from one shut face to another. Stumbling to his feet he turned his back on the communal area where the real homeless gathered. They had not been sentenced to destitution but had embraced it. They would not help him, only one person could. He walked in a long arc around the city until he came on the workers moving to their offices. He stood passively for a while reaching out only his hand but the crowds just flowed past him after a while he became more resolute, not yet desperate and stood in the way. Some continued to brush past, others stopped just long enough to put coins in his hand. When he had enough he found a public phone.

"Mister Coates' office, who's calling please?"