The Spiteful Hobo

"Motherfucker," said the homeless man matter-of-factly.

He sat on an overturned stacker at the edge of the curb, his back to the busy street. Balled-up napkins and hamburger wrappers rolled around on the pavement under the stacker like mice in a cage. His hair was short, white, his face craggy and red. His once-blue pants shined with grime.

"You shut your mouth," Aleesha Jones said and stood up straight in her heels, as though against a cold breeze. She switched her purse to the other hand and pressed the button for the crosswalk signal once, twice.

"Dyke," growled the man. His voice was drunk-slurred even though he had never been seen with alcohol.

"Take a bath," Aleesha retorted. She turned stiffly to her coworker Jared, standing on her other side. "Can you believe this guy?" She pushed the button again.

Jared was short and his tie hung two inches past his belt buckle. His dark hair was too shaggy for his job, so he tried to keep it tucked behind his ears. "I used to see him in Government Center," Jared said, his voice naturally soft. "Didn't used to swear, I don't think."

"He was here all last week," Aleesha said.

"I can hear you, bitch." The homeless man's arms were crossed over his knees and he looked at his shoes.

Aleesha extended her middle finger in his direction. "Yeah, Jared, while you were in sunny Cancun, we had to deal with Toiletmouth."

"Go back to Africa, bitch."

A crowd of commuters had accumulated on the sidewalk, shooting furtive glances at the man on the stacker. When the light changed they scurried across the street. Jared and Aleesha looked back from the other side. The man on the stacker was calling a trio of third-graders "douchebags."

"He's not even asking for change," said Aleesha, "not that he'd get any. He just set up shop there to screech his obscenitities."

"He'll go away," said Jared, and checked his watch.

The next morning on the T Jared spotted Aleesha at the end of the car. He pulled out his white earbuds, stashed them in his pocket, and made his way toward her.

"How was your first day back yesterday?" she said after their nonchalant T greetings.

"Took me an hour just to clean out my spam emails," Jared replied.

The T stopped at Park Street and they got off, pushed through the rolling turnstyles.

"You know what's at the top here," Aleesha said as they went up the stairs. She pointed to the doors ahead.

"Our friend?"

"Bite your tongue," she said. "Our villian."

They were lucky -- when they came through the doors the walk signal was counting down from ten.

"Come on, we can make it," Jared said, grabbing Aleesha's arm. To him it was still a game and he was enjoying this comeraderie. Nothing made friends like a mutual enemy.
They dashed past the man but did not escape unscathed. "Fucking douchebags," he called.

"He's big on 'douchebag,'" Jared said.

Aleesha pursed her lips together and squinted her eyes in anger. "Mmhm."

Jared said goodbye to Lisa at the door of the customer service office in the building where they worked. He thought he should've asked her to lunch. He had thought that every day for the past three months. He went to his cubicle, booted his computer, hung his jacket on the plastic hook on the wall.

A moment later his supervisor knocked with his knuckles on the fabric wall of Jared's cube. "Hi Jared."

Jared turned around. "Richard, hi."

"Just wanted to follow up with you," Richard said, sitting down on the edge of a filing cabinet. "The reports from last week -- did you get a chance to do those?"

"I was on vacation last week. Tom was going to take care of them."

"Vacation, right. Right. Okay then I'll ask Tom. First day back?"

"Um, no." Jared clasped his hands and put them under his thighs. "I was here yesterday."

"Must not have noticed you all the way back here," Richard said, and laughed. Jared told himself that if Richard ended his laugh with a snort, Jared would ram his keyboard down Richard's throat. Richard ended his laugh with a snort. "Ok, thanks," he said.

Jared pushed his hair behind his ears and turned back to his computer.

At the end of the day Jared walked slowly past the customer service office, glancing in through the window, and then he left the building. Out on the street in front of the Park Street station, someone was being called a cocksucker.

"Bro," said a young guy to Jared, his right arm hugged to his chest in a blue sling, "do me a favor and knock that guy's teeth out, huh? I can't hit for shit lefty." He raised his sling and then let it thump back against his chest.

"Believe me," said Jared, "it's tempting." He pushed open the station door and went down into the T.

On Wednesday morning Jared got off the T and checked his watch. He was a bit early -- probably Aleesha hadn't arrived at the station yet. He leaned against a subway map to wait for her. He scanned the commuters getting off two trains and then spotted Aleesha going through the turnstyles. He jogged to catch up with her.

"Oh hey Jared," she said shortly.

"Hi," said Jared, and then he added, to soften her mood, "It's Friday."

"Yeah, I'm glad. But it's off to a bad start. My cat had diahreea all over the apartment this morning."

"Sucks," Jared said.

"Tell me about it. And now I'm going to have to walk past that guy who's going to call me any number of things. I know he's just a fucking hobo, and they're just words, but I'm getting sick of it, you know? Someone needs to just knock that guy the hell off his stacker."

"I agree," Jared said.

They got to the top of the stairs and pushed through the doors and found the crosswalk light counting down from two.

"Dammit," Aleesha said.

"We can make it, come on." Jared took her hand and stepped off the curb.

"Not in these shoes!" Aleesha said, pulling back. Jared shrugged and returned to her side. A crowd of exiting commuters filled up the sidewalk around them as cars came past.

The man on the stacker looked up, grumbled "motherfuckers."

Jared looked at Aleesha and then at the man. "Dude, enough, okay?" he said. "We get that you're an angry homeless man. We're sorry, really. But it's fucking enough, okay?"

The homeless man stood up, the first time either of them had seen him standing. He was bent and thin. He pointed at Jared. "Fucker." He pointed at Aleesha. "Bitch." He pointed at the next guy. "Cocksucker." And he pointed down the line of the waiting pedestrians, dishing out insults, many of which were thrown back at him, to no effect.

A gray-haired woman standing beside Jared tsk-tsked. "Every day for two weeks I hear that filth," she said. "I don't like fighting usually but I'd love to see someone punch that man square in the nose, put him in his place."

The man put a greasy hand on the lightpost and began to ease himself down to his stacker. He looked up at Jared. "Tell your bitch her pussy sme--" Whatever else he was going to say was muffled by Jared's fist meeting his mouth and cheek. The man's head reeled back, partly from the punch, partly as a too-late recoil.

"He punched him!"
"Way to go!"
"--about time someone--"

Jared felt a hand clap him on the back, then another. Aleesha was smiling. The homeless man sat back down on his stacker, massaging his stubbly cheek with his hand.
Jared felt a rush of adrenaline. He was a hero! He would ask Aleesha to lunch, ask for a date, for her hand in marriage. He would get a promotion and a raise -- both would be asked for and deserved and given.

"--had it coming!"
"--that guy a medal or something--"

With his left hand Jared touched the knuckles of his right. The homeless man grumbled and let out a snarl, and Jared came alert and looked at him. His eyes were yellow, watery. Blood was running from his noise. He looked at first full of rage, but then his face cleared and even his eyes seemed to get whiter, more alert. The corners of his mouth turned up but his eyebrows bent into a frown -- it was a haunting, final smile. And then the man laughed, a twisted throaty laugh that only Jared could hear, and he lay backward on his stacker, falling backward into the street. A Hyundai's bald tires went over his neck.

Jared's bowels seized. Cars were screeching, slamming together. The thankful hands slid off Jared's back but then returned a moment later, this time not patting but gripping his shoulders, holding him.

"--killed him, killed that man--"
"--didn't have to kill--"
"--pushed him into the--"
"--murderer!"

Aleesha's eyes were wide and betrayed. "Jared," she whispered. The gray-haired lady was beginning to cry. Jared touched his knuckles again and looked with blank eyes at the body that lay across the curb. Napkins and hamburger wrappers blew against his shoes.