<\/p>\n
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The Free Breakfast at Epiphanies<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n I lost my job. I lost my family. I lost my home. I lost everything. Last year was not a good year. The last couple of years haven\u2019t been so hot.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m doing the best I can. Living on the streets of Memphis isn\u2019t easy any time \u2013 but it\u2019s really tough in winter. It\u2019s January now and the winds blow through downtown like a wind tunnel. The buildings amplify the wind, and the wind amplifies the cold.<\/span><\/p>\n Almost all I own I carry with me in a plastic Walmart bag: some clean underwear, a bar of soap, a couple of pictures of my daughter, a few dollars, and an old cellphone that doesn\u2019t work. I carry a cellphone that doesn\u2019t work because it contains so many precious memories. Voicemails and text messages, bits and pieces of a life torn apart are all locked in that little black phone.<\/span><\/p>\n I own one other thing too. I will get to that later.<\/span><\/p>\n I take most of my meals at the food bank; I like the free meals at the churches better \u2013 when they do offer them to people like me \u2013 which isn\u2019t very often.<\/span><\/p>\n I sleep in the alley between Big Bob\u2019s BBQ and the Ace Hardware Store. It\u2019s dark and quiet. I don\u2019t know if it\u2019s safe \u2013 but no one has bothered me yet. It keeps the wind off of me at least. It offers me some protection from the worst thing about winter \u2013 the howling bitter wind.<\/span><\/p>\n My only other possession \u2013 an old sleeping bag \u2014 is hidden there. I hide it behind some loose bricks in the wall which belong to Big Bob\u2019s. Bricks that Bob needs to repair but never does. If he does, my only other possession will be discovered and I\u2019ll be left with whatever remains in the Walmart bag.<\/span><\/p>\n Every day is the same. The days of the week lost their meaning quite a while ago. I measure time in seasons, not in hours, days, weeks, or months. I don\u2019t have a calendar except for one on my cellphone. But I don\u2019t need one anyway. I have nowhere to go, and I have nothing to do. All I need to know about the seasons I can tell by looking at the sky. I can tell the season by looking at the slant of the sun\u2019s rays and the depth of the blue the sky wears. <\/span><\/p>\n The blue changes with the seasons, you know. Most people never notice it. They\u2019re too concerned with Tuesdays and Saturdays and Mondays and watches and calendars to notice the sky. They\u2019re mostly looking down. I\u2019m mostly looking up. It\u2019s funny. When you\u2019re down you look up and when you\u2019re up you look down. Life has its twists and turns.<\/span><\/p>\n I don\u2019t know what today is. I know it is January 3rd because the time and temperature sign that flashes on the Third National Bank building on Fawcett Street tells me so. It now tells me it is 24 degrees. It also tells me it is 11:34 AM on Thursday, January 5, 2023. It is just another day for me.<\/span><\/p>\n My winter coat barely keeps me warm this morning. Actually, it barely keeps me warm at all when the temperature gets much below 35. And it\u2019s much below 35 this morning. I know this courtesy of the Third National Bank of Memphis. But I really wouldn\u2019t need help from the bank to tell me it\u2019s much below 35 degrees. My body tells me just fine. I\u2019m shivering.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m hungry.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m passing an old Baptist church now, looking for free food like a squirrel looking for a nut. It used to bother me, but It doesn\u2019t anymore. I\u2019ve grown accustomed to being a forager. It is how I have learned to live in my own little brave new world.<\/span><\/p>\n The good Baptists are not passing out free meals this morning \u2013 so I\u2019ll just keep walking toward the food bank on Olcott Street. There are two more possible church meals between where I am and where I am going. I like the church meals better than the food bank meals. Less pasta. More meat. But I\u2019ve learned to take what I can get. And the most important thing I\u2019ve learned is to be thankful for the little things. If you\u2019re not thankful for the little things you have, you\u2019ll never appreciate the big things you have. I don\u2019t think many people really believe that. You have to live like I do to learn that lesson.<\/span><\/p>\n When your life is full of big dreams and a lot of material things, you forget the little dreams and the little \u2013 seemingly insignificant \u2014 things. It\u2019s hard for me to remember back \u2013 back to a time when things were good. It is difficult for me to remember what it was like when I too, dreamed big, lived big and I had more material things than I knew what to do with.<\/span><\/p>\n One thing I\u2019ve learned in my new \u201clife\u201d \u2014 if one could even call it that \u2013 is to never look back. And if you do look back, don\u2019t do it for very long or it will rip out your soul and leave you wanting to die. So I\u2019ve learned not to look back very much and to try to live one day at a time.<\/span><\/p>\n Now my dreams are very small, my wants are very few, and my expectations very low. It\u2019s funny how happy the sound of a bird\u2019s song can make me feel now. On some days the birds\u2019 songs are the only songs I hear other than the metallic throbbing bass that floats from muffled car radios as they whiz past me on the streets of Memphis. It is winter and everyone has their car windows closed. Muted music or bird songs? I\u2019ll take the bird songs any day.<\/span><\/p>\n But it\u2019s winter and there are not many bird songs to hear. Yet there are still some.<\/span><\/p>\n Well, it looks like St. Mary\u2019s Church is not going to feed me today. One more chance before the food bank: The Methodist Church on the corner of Oxley and Fawcett. The Methodists are my last hope. But even if the Methodists don\u2019t come though, it\u2019s okay. The food bank will have something for me. They always do.<\/span><\/p>\n I never gave much to the food bank in my old life. Another irony, I muse. Now that I have nothing they give me what I need most. When I had everything, I gave them nothing at all. I feel like a scoundrel. But I feel all right because I\u2019m serving a harsh sentence for what I\u2019ve done.<\/span><\/p>\n It all equals out, I think.<\/span><\/p>\n And here I go again. Damn it. I hate it when my mind starts to drift back and tease me with those thoughts of what might have been \u2013 and what will never be. Sometimes I just can\u2019t stop it. The best I can do is put the brakes on it and keep those thoughts from becoming a runaway train.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m a few blocks from the Methodist church, and even further from the food bank.<\/span><\/p>\n In times like these walking is the spark that ignites the fire of thought. In this life, thinking too much is a bad thing for me. I look down and see my brown walking boots \u2013 salvaged from my former life \u2013 the Velcro straps are so old they don\u2019t stick well anymore. My bootstraps flap in the wind; they bounce with every step. I remember when they were brand new. There\u2019s a story behind these boots. But I can\u2019t tell it without crying, and I can\u2019t cry because my tears will freeze. No that\u2019s not the reason I can\u2019t cry. I can\u2019t cry because if I start I won\u2019t be able to stop. I can\u2019t allow myself the luxury of tears.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019ve cried enough in the last couple of years to fill a swimming pool.<\/span><\/p>\n My jeans are torn and frayed, and my belt has gotten too big for me. My undershirt is ripped and my flannel shirt is ragged. I look like a bum and that is what I am. I have no money with which to buy new things so I do my best with the things I have. As long as I don\u2019t think about what I don\u2019t have, I don\u2019t have to think about what I might have or what I would have had, had things worked out just once.<\/span><\/p>\n When you don\u2019t have much, you don\u2019t want much. Well, that\u2019s not true. When you don\u2019t have much you can\u2019t want much or you\u2019ll end up disappointed and full of despair. When you\u2019re struggling to survive you can\u2019t afford the luxury of despair. Living life on the street leaves little room for disappointment. And there is certainly no room in my sleeping bag \u2013 or even in the Walmart bag for self-pity.<\/span><\/p>\n The Methodists are not feeling so generous \u2013 no Methodist meals for me today. It\u2019s looking more and more like some kind of pasta and sauce from the food bank \u2013 and an orange or apple for dessert.<\/span><\/p>\n Apples and oranges may not be cake and ice cream, but at least I can carry them in my Walmart bag and have a little bedtime snack \u2013 like I used to do in my old life. See? There I go again, allowing my mind to drift back. I shake off the past and I have to laugh at the phrase \u201cbedtime\u201d. <\/span><\/p>\n What bed? What time? I sleep when I can. My bed is the asphalt of the alley cushioned by a dirty, ratty old sleeping bag I fished out of a Dumpster behind the Old South Drive-thru over on Perry Street six or seven months ago. Who could be happy with such a shabby thing? Anyone who has ever had to sleep on the cold asphalt, I guess.<\/span><\/p>\n As I\u2019m about to turn onto Olcott Street from Fawcett and make my way to the food bank when I pass by a restaurant that until today was called \u201cMancy\u2019s\u201d. I notice they\u2019ve changed the name to Epiphanies. Mancy\u2019s for Rich People is what I called it. I pass by it almost every day, but seldom pay any attention to it. I can\u2019t afford it and I know it. Hell, I can\u2019t afford McDonald\u2019s.<\/span><\/p>\n It looks like Epiphanies is the same kind of trendy place that Mancy\u2019s used to be and that means it isn\u2019t meant for mendicants like me.<\/span><\/p>\n I see the sign in the window. I almost walk by without reading it, but I stop and read it anyway because I\u2019m in no hurry. The food bank is open until 9 PM. I don\u2019t know exactly what time it is but I can guess it\u2019s around 12:15 or so. I know how long it takes to walk to the food bank. I\u2019ve walked it dozens and dozens of times. So I\u2019m guessing it must be 12:15 or 12:20 PM by now.<\/span><\/p>\n The sign said: \u201cFree breakfast all day today\u201d.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n Well, that can\u2019t be. The rich never give to the poor without a good reason \u2013 like a tax break or some other kind of financial advantage. So I am skeptical but hungry. Skeptical but hungry \u2014 that\u2019s me. I have nothing to lose, and a decent breakfast to gain, so I pull open the heavy glass door to Epiphanies. I walk in looking like a bum. As well I should, that\u2019s what I am.<\/span><\/p>\n The place is about half-full. I\u2019m surprised. I thought the lure of free food would have attracted a more substantial number of customers. But customers are typical Mancy\u2019s customers. They\u2019re all dressed to kill, except for me. Everyone looks up at me as I walk in. I don\u2019t care. It doesn\u2019t bother me. It didn\u2019t bother me in my old life when I had much \u2013 so it sure doesn\u2019t bother me now when I have little.<\/span><\/p>\n I have nothing to lose anymore \u2013 but a solid breakfast to gain. I am brave and hungry. If they don\u2019t seat me \u2013 they don\u2019t seat me. The food bank is only just over a block away. So I will eat today one way or the other. I\u2019d rather have bacon and eggs and waffles and good coffee \u2013 but I can make do with macaroni and cheese and bad coffee. Oh, and an apple or orange.<\/span><\/p>\n The hostess glances at me then she quickly looks away as if I\u2019m not there. But I am and she can\u2019t ignore me forever. I wait and look right at the hostess \u2013 I\u2019m sure she can feel my eyes boring into the back o her blonde little head. Finally, she acknowledges me and approaches me cautiously much like, I imagine, one would approach something that they think will smell foul when they get near it \u2013 like an overflowing garbage Dumpster or a partially-opened container of ham salad that got stuck back in the back of the refrigerator for too long.<\/span><\/p>\n She doesn\u2019t make eye contact with me. She looks at me in the way you might look at a leper if you thought eye contact would cause you to contract their disease. She shows me to a table in the back corner \u2013 far from the madding yuppie crowd. It\u2019s a small table for two. I sit down and set my Walmart bag on the floor next to me. I smile a little as I think about asking her to sit down with me \u2013 as a joke \u2013 but I decided I\u2019d better not. She\u2019d not think I was joking and I might miss out on a free breakfast. She hands me a menu \u2013 which, of course, I don\u2019t need \u2013 and she turns and walks away. As she hurries away, I quietly say, \u201cThank you\u201d, politely.<\/span><\/p>\n I still remember my manners. Even in this world.<\/span><\/p>\n I don\u2019t need a menu. I have no money except for a few crinkled one-dollar bills and some change in the bottom of my Walmart bag. I am only here for the free breakfast \u2013 whatever it may be. Whatever it may be is better than whatever it may be at the food bank. I spend a long time staring out the window at the street and I see it has begun to snow. Big puffy flakes today \u2014 just what I need. I can\u2019t change the weather anymore now than I could when I had money, love, and lots of THINGS. But when I had much I could more easily escape the weather\u2019s capriciousness \u2014 and its wrath. I keep in mind that in some bizarre way, I deserve what I get so I don\u2019t dwell on fancy houses with fireplaces or California King Beds with soft, warm flannel sheets.<\/span><\/p>\n I can\u2019t let myself do that. It only makes me want things I cannot ever have.<\/span><\/p>\n I feel the stares, but I keep my eyes focused on the snow falling outside. I am careful to avoid eye contact with anyone in this place. It reminds me too much of what I used to be and of what I used to have, and of what I still could have had not been such a fool. It doesn\u2019t matter though. I can\u2019t let it matter. Life is what it is no matter how much I wish it wasn\u2019t.<\/span><\/p>\n Out of the corner of my eye, I see a server coming toward me. She\u2019s going to take my order. She\u2019ll ask me if I\u2019ve decided and of course, I have. I have decided on the free breakfast.<\/span><\/p>\n She smiles and says \u201cHi. My name is Becky and I\u2019ll be your server today.\u201d She says it cheerfully \u2013 as if I were a regular paying customer. Little does she know. I think \u201cLucky you!\u201d, but don\u2019t say it. Instead, I say \u201cHi Becky\u201d. I don\u2019t give my name though. I don\u2019t recall if I\u2019m supposed to or not. I try hard to not remember how things used to be \u2013 it would make me cry tears I can no longer afford to cry.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll have the free breakfast,\u201d I say without even asking what the free breakfast is. I say it with as confident a tone of voice as I can manage, given my rather unfortunate circumstances \u2013 and my shabby appearance. I don\u2019t belong in a place like this anymore and I know it. But I\u2019m hungry and I\u2019m tired of noodles and pasta floating in some unrecognizable sauce. I\u2019m not ungrateful for the food bank food, I\u2019m just me. I\u2019m human. OK?<\/span><\/p>\n Becky says \u2013 and with a sweet smile too\u2013 \u201cWe have two different free breakfasts. One is waffles, sausage links, and coffee. The other is the Epiphany.\u201d I must have looked confused because she asked me if I\u2019d like her to tell me again. I say \u201cNo. But what is the Epiphany?\u201d Becky\u2019s smile disappears but she maintains a pleasant expression and says\u2026\u201d You know what the Epiphany is. You\u2019ve had it before.\u201d I\u2019m confused and tell her that I\u2019ve never been here before.<\/span><\/p>\n Becky, probably breaking all kinds of rules sits down and looks at me. \u201cYou\u2019ve been here many times before. You\u2019re always looking for the Epiphany\u201d. I feel like I\u2019m caught in the Twilight Zone. I feel dizzy and nauseous. I say, \u201cI\u2019ve never been in this place in my life. Before today, this place used to be called Mancy\u2019s and I was never in there before either.\u201d I feel like I\u2019m losing consciousness and Becky seems to be floating away like a ghost in a puff of smoke pushed along by a strange green wind.<\/span><\/p>\n I close my eyes and reopen them as if to reassure myself I\u2019m still here and still sane. But when I open them I\u2019m no longer in a restaurant talking to Becky -I am sitting in an airport lounge reading an email. The title of it is \u201cAn Epiphany\u201d. It\u2019s from my former fianc\u00e9 who said she had an epiphany on this beautiful April morning. As I read that email I got that floating, drifting feeling you get when a fairy tale turns real. Or a dream comes true.<\/span><\/p>\n And just for that brief magical moment, everything was as it should be. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and so was my heart: an epiphany for her and an epiphany for me. What could be better than sharing an epiphany with the love of your life?<\/span><\/p>\n All was right with the world.<\/span><\/p>\n I feel rainy ice pellets stinging my eyelids and hear the cold, hard groan of a garbage truck\u2019s compactor squeezing another load of garbage into a small smelly lump. When I finally get the courage to open my eyes, I realize I\u2019m back in the alley between Big Bob\u2019s and the hardware store \u2013 tucked in my broken-down sleeping bag. I\u2019m alone again, naturally.<\/span><\/p>\n It\u2019s January not April, and the rain has mixed with ice. My sleeping bag is soaked with rain and covered with tiny bits of ice.<\/span><\/p>\n I shiver in my cold loneliness. I shake the cobwebs of sleep from my brain. I awake back in my own life, and I am startled by this world I\u2019ve created: a world of shattered dreams and epiphanies that would never, ever come again.<\/span><\/p>\n I start to cry the tears I cannot afford to cry. They freeze hard and cold on my cheeks. The cold burns my skin. I look up and see the morose, gray sky of winter and feel the rain and ice; they startle me and they remind me where I am and when I am \u2013 and how many should-haves, would-haves, and could-haves it took to bring me to this place.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019ve had that dream before. I\u2019ve dreamed of epiphanies that never came. I\u2019ve taken free rides for which I paid too dear a price. I\u2019ve dreamed dreams that never came true. I\u2019ve stood at the top of the world, and I paid for a ticket to the bottom of the world with sorrow, loss, desperation, and tears.<\/span><\/p>\n I think now how far away from here the top of the world is. It\u2019s hard for me to believe I was ever standing there. It is even harder to believe that I actually thought I ever belonged there.<\/span><\/p>\n I pull my sleeping bag up over my head to fend off the pellets of ice and cold rain. I pull my sleeping bag tight around me but it\u2019s ripped in so many places that the world gets in anyway.<\/span><\/p>\n All this time I\u2019ve been dreaming dreams that would never come true and wishing for epiphanies that never would come again.<\/span><\/p>\n I crawl out of my sleeping bag and stand in the icy rain. The pellets of ice bounced off my skin. I don\u2019t want to fall asleep again. I don\u2019t want to dream of that free breakfast at Epiphanies. It hurts too much to go there. It takes too much of my soul to dream it and then try to shake off the after-glow of that dream.<\/span><\/p>\n But that dream will come again. It always does.<\/span><\/p>\n I should know by now that nothing is ever really free. Everything has a price. Even epiphanies \u2014 even epiphanies that do not ever come again have a price. A staggering price that I could never afford. And nothing will ever be the same again.<\/span><\/p>\n I cry the tears I can I cannot afford to cry. And the tears will not stop this time. My tears turn icy on my cheeks. They are tears frozen in time and frozen in place. And I, alone, in the rain think of an email from long ago. \u201cAn Epiphany\u201d it was called. I\u2019ll never forget it as long as I live.<\/span><\/p>\n The icy pellets mix with rain and the world disappears into the darkness of dreams \u2013 dreams which never came true and epiphanies that will never come again.<\/span><\/p>\n I cry alone. I always do. I have a feeling that I always will.<\/span><\/p>\n The free breakfast at Epiphanies was never really free at all, was it?<\/span><\/p>\n Nothing ever is.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Free Breakfast at Epiphanies I lost my job. I lost my family. I lost my home. I lost everything. Last year was not a good year. The last couple of years haven\u2019t been so hot. I\u2019m doing the best I can. Living on the streets of Memphis isn\u2019t easy any time \u2013 but it\u2019s really\u2026 Read More »<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":13582,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[228],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24785"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24785"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24785\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":24787,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24785\/revisions\/24787"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/13582"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24785"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=24785"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.thundercloud.net\/infoave\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=24785"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}