I was born on a leap year, so technically I guess that makes me nine and a half. As a child, my parents used to joke with me after my birthdays, saying, “Just another four years until your next birthday!” I wish I was nine years old again, not a care in the world, nobody to support, not even myself. Kids really don’t know how good they’ve got it until they’re all grown up. Even then, hordes of people grow up to be thankless sons of bitches, and they know who they are.

I’m sure many people have seen the guy standing on the street, asking for change. He gives you the old line, “Hey man, just wait one second, can you spare some change? I ran out of gas and I need some money to fill up.” Of course, being naturally suspicious and distrustful--one of adults’ worst qualities I might add--most people stroll by with a disgusted look, or at most, a swift rejection and a few pennies. Well, not many people have actually been in that situation.

Tonight, in front of the bus stop, that is exactly where I find myself.

The condescending stares of all the passersby make you feel terrible. I know in my heart that I’ve worked hard to earn my wages, but they don’t know that, and now I just wish I could get an advance on that paycheck instead of begging on the streets.

A homeless man once told me, “Ah’ ain’t too proud ta’ beg, man!” I’ve temporarily adopted that outlook on life, because it’s my only chance of getting home to that warm apartment and all the comforts within.

Thank god for the idiotic tendency of people--especially adults--to judge things based on how they see them. Sight is such a bad judge of anything, but luckily I know how to use that to my advantage. If an unkempt man is wearing six layers of dirty clothing, carrying a garbage bag, and is telling you his sob story about a broken down car, you know he’s lying. But if a clean-shaven man is wearing a wrinkle-free business suit, carrying a briefcase and is running his mouth about needing some change to get home, people are a bit more sympathetic. They think, “This guy is in a real pickle, he needs to get home to his wife! I better give him money!” Strange then, that when the people who really need the money ask for some change, these people are filled with contempt and immediately guard all their money. Why does the wealthier man deserve the money more than the vagrant? People will say it’s because he’s got a real job, a real life, and plenty of ‘important’ things to worry about; homeless people have nothing to worry about, they say. In reality, any human is arrogant to believe they have the ability to judge the importance of others.

People don’t really ask themselves why they have such an aversion to homeless people, but it’s a behavior learned from their parents, who learned the behavior from their parents, and so on. Now I understand how the homeless feel, and even though I’m in my business suit, carrying my briefcase, it’s as if some people are so hard-wired to avoid homeless solicitations that they automatically shy away. Maybe it’s because my homeless friend Marv is standing by me.

Marv is here every day of the week, when I walk to lunch or to the newsstand to buy the paper. He prefers to be called careless instead of homeless, because he says he doesn’t have a care in the world. In a way I envy him; he’s accepted his life, and his home is the streets, wherever he wants. The money he gets every day--which is quite a bit, actually--is spent on food, clothes, or luxury.

Yes, luxury.

Marv tells me that he stays at a nice hotel once a month, but then again how do I know if he’s not just imagining things? He still insists that every ‘careless’ person has to find some pleasure, even if they’re just delusional. Happiness is the key. Anyway, if I wasn’t in this position, I would be one of the kind people giving him fifty cents or a dollar.

“Hey Marv,” I say. “How’s business tonight?” He is one of the most sincerely generous people I know, and until now I haven’t had the chance to share his lifestyle.

He walks over to me with his characteristic strut, his arms held closely to his chest as he sways to and fro. He says, “I should be asking you the same thing, buddy. Did you make it home alright last night?”

The cold is getting to my brain and for a second I can’t remember, but I tell him no.

“Your wife must be worried man,” he says, his face full of sympathy. “Just keep it up man, someone will end up giving you a break. Shit, I make five hundred dollars a day sometimes! You shouldn’t have any trouble in that fancy get-up!” He laughs to himself as he strolls back to his normal spot, taking a seat on his Radio Flyer and pulling out his collection cup.

As workers continue to board the buses, some of the women are suckers for my ‘fancy get-up’, and they are glad to give me some extra cash. The smell of their perfume reminds me of Julia. She went to visit her mother, and I was supposed to replace the spare tire with a nice new one before she left. I’m two hours late now and luckily the kids are with her, or else they’d have gone without dinner. Last night I got locked out, and all I can figure is that Julia must have been angry that I didn’t get home on time, either that or she left early for her mother’s. I had to sleep in the alley next to our apartment building, but I deserved it. I just hope I can get home on time tonight, call her, and apologize for what went wrong. I hope she understands.

As the last of the work crowd gets ready to be shuttled to their happy homes, I realize that I’ve only got one dollar and twenty-six cents. The tears begin to well up, and I feel like a failure. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my wife because I fucked up.

I look at Marv as he begins to pack up some of his things, and he smiles, saying, “Well, I’ve got to get some shelter now, I’m all done here. Did you get what you needed, buddy?”

I shake my head no, too proud to cry. Right now, I feel like Marv is a greater man than I, but I keep my composure. “This is going to sound like a selfish question, Marv,” I begin to say, but he cuts me off before I can finish.

“But can I give you a little bit of change, and you’ll get me back tomorrow? Sure buddy, you know I’m good for it anytime.” He says it as if I do this all the time.

As he begins to dig in his dirty pockets for some money, I start to feel guilty, and I say, “Wait, Marv, I’m sorry, I feel like a prick asking you that, you don’t have to do this. I’ll call a friend.”

I hear sirens as an ambulance drives past, making me hope that Julia and the kids are safe and sound. It feels like I haven’t seen them in weeks.

“Oh come on, man,” says Marv. “What friends are nice enough to help you out of this mess? I didn’t have any friends that nice,” he says to me, grinning. “Anyway, your wife is going to go crazy if you don’t get home tonight, buddy, and I don’t have anything like that to worry about.” He winks at me while saying this, and it evokes a smile from me, as depressed as I am. I know that I can pay him back tomorrow, or the next day. “Look Sam,” he tells me. “Here’s five bucks, okay? Get a taxi home and buy your wife a rose, then you can tell me about the look on her face the next time you see me!”

I smile widely, and I take the five dollars and step to the curb, waiting for a cab. “Marv, I can’t thank you enough pal, you don’t know how much of a lifesaver you are,” I tell him. “If it weren’t for people like you, there’d be no generosity left in this world!”

He looks at me, with his permanent grin, and says, “I know, Sammy boy, I know. I understand how you must feel right now, and I just want to be as helpful as I can. You’ve been through a lot.”

He couldn’t be more right, but I don’t want to admit that just yet. Things can always change, you’ve got to be optimistic; you’ve got to have hope.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam,” he says as he walks away. “And make sure you dress for the weather!” I can hear his laugh trail off as he walks away. I hail a taxi cab to stop, getting in quickly to bask in the heat. I tell the cabbie my address and we’re on our way.

Pulling up to my house, I pay the fare and step outside. Even though I’m home, I don’t feel relieved. I notice a large pile of wilted roses in a trash can as I walk into the lobby. I feel myself start to choke up as I knock on the door but I’m not sure why. I hope Julia will understand what went wrong.

I hear someone at the door, eyeing me up through the peephole. The door opens, but it’s a fat guy with no shirt on. He glances down at some rose petals on the carpet, then back up to me. He looks annoyed, like he’s seen me before or he’s waiting for something.

“Okay buddy, I don’t want to be the bad guy here,” he says. “But your wife and kids ain’t here.”

I wonder how he knew what I was going to ask, so I say, “But I live here, why are you here!?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, shifting his weight to one side as he leans on his recliner. “This is where you used to live. Look man, you’ve been coming here every night for almost the past three months. I’m not sure if you keep forgetting or you’re just crazy, but your wife and kids are gone. They ain’t comin’ back.”

I don’t quite understand, or maybe I don’t want to understand. “Well, where did they go? Did she say when she’d be back?” I hope this time he tells me something I don’t know.

For as big of a guy as he is, it almost seems as if his eyes are welling up. He looks down at his feet, takes a deep breath, and looks me in the eyes. “Look, your wife and kids died in a car accident almost four months ago, and I’m real sorry about that, but this is my apartment now.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “They’re not coming back, buddy. Now please, I gotta say goodbye now. I’ll prob’ly see you tomorrow, pal. G’night.”

As he shuts the door in my face, I lay the rose at the foot of the door. I know Julia will find it and forgive me.

I slowly walk out of the building and into the alley, the cold wind biting at my earlobes and nose. I really miss Julia and the kids, and I wish they’d get home soon.

Maybe they’ll be back tomorrow.