When Mark was laid off, he was forced to drain all of the money from his retirement fund, taking on hefty tax penalties for withdrawing early. He racked up $10,000 in credit-card debt and large medical bills because without a job, he had no health insurance. His house, which he bought at the height of the bubble, lost its value. As a last-ditch effort to try to start from zero again, he let it go to foreclosure and claimed bankruptcy. The expensive contents of the storage unit that he had stuffed his life into when he lost the house were sold at auction. Now, only the sales pitch of his voice hinted at his previous life.
“It was nice talkin’ to you!” Mark said before he left, extending her the kind of handshake you would expect to get after a sales pitch instead of from a friend. He stood up and put on his secondhand blue suit jacket. On the street, every part of life was about survival. It was impossible to think about how to get ahead instead of how to keep your head above water. The people who said “don’t give a man a fish, teach him to fish” about the people who were low-income or homeless – those were the people who never knew what it was like to have all forces in life against their fishing. Still, with the knowledge Mark had, Aria wondered if the emotional crush of having gained everything only to lose it was what kept him from getting back on his feet again.
For whatever reason, Aria had enjoyed listening to him talk. She enjoyed the authority that life had not beaten from the sound of his voice. In his absence, she didn’t want to sit there any longer. She dropped her trash in one of the large blue bins and started to head out of the building when she saw Pedro and Consuelo sitting at a table. Pedro had noticed her before she had noticed him. He got up from the table to walk toward her. Consuelo stayed seated, but waved from a distance.
“Maybe you think we are stalking you, eh?” Pedro said as he approached, shaking her hand but pulling her into a half hug.
“Ahh, I’m so happy to see you again. Do you guys come here often? I’ve never been here before!”
Pedro, who always seemed to be on the edge of laughter, put his hands sheepishly in his pockets. “Not too often, pero when we come here, I think it’s nice. Come, come sit with us,” he said, ushering her over to the table.
He introduced her to the three other Mexican men sitting with them before taking a navel orange off of his plate and handing it to Aria. “Here, you will like. I think since the season is harvest, it taste pretty good.” He sat on the edge of his seat, watching Aria peel the rind away from the flesh of the orange, separate off a segment and bite into it.
Aria smiled and nodded her head. Pedro was right. It was a living example of the succulent potential that an orange could live up to. Having been a farmer all his life, he had developed an appreciation for produce. Pedro rejoiced in her enjoyment of it.
As they ate, Aria tried to understand what was being said between the men. Occasionally an English word she understood would be peppered into their Spanglish and Pedro tried his best to rope her into the conversation again and again. When the meal was over, having worked out that the house they were staying at was in the same direction as she would be walking, she accepted his invitation to walk with them instead of by herself.
The downpour had turned into a sprinkle. Aria felt safer walking with them through the roadsides of the city. When they arrived at Pedro and Consuelo’s place, Aria felt sad at the idea of parting ways with them. Pedro lifted himself from the lawn onto the first step of the house. The exterior of the tiny house had been painted aqua green with a pink trim. The windows were covered in what looked like cages, painted white. “You wanna come in?” Pedro asked.
She did want to go in, but as usual she was afraid to be an imposition. “Nah, that’s OK, I gotta catch a bus that won’t be running soon if I don’t go get it now,” Aria said.
Having grown used to the tendency whites had to turn down offers when they wanted to accept them, Pedro pressured her to accept again. “Ah, come on, Consuelo needs to practice his English,” he said, tipping his chin at his brother who was standing behind Aria as quiet as a statue.
“OK. You sure it’s not a problem?” Aria asked.
“No, no, I love it,” Pedro said, opening the door and stepping through it to announce their arrival.
At first, Aria thought that she had interrupted a party. Almost every inch of the house was crammed with men, women and children. When Pedro introduced her as his friend, they looked at her like he had brought her as the party entertainment. But it wasn’t a party. Most of them were relatives or friends living there, practically on top of one another. One of the older women got up to give her a seat and asked her if she was hungry. When she said no, the woman
