by Jackson Honey
Bill after bill after bill, the trash is filled now. Yesterday there was a note on the apartment door titled “Eviction Notice.” I don’t know what it means but it must be bad since it was in big bolded red. I showed Uncle Justin the letter but he threw it away. I decided to read the letter for myself. “Mr. Justin Sparks, you have 25 days before you must exit the apartment building. You owe $4,982.87 in rent. I am only giving you 25 days because you are 7 months behind on your rent. I gave you a little bit of leeway but enough is enough. If the money isn’t in my office by December 16th you will have to leave. Good day, Phillip Goresh.” the letter read.
December 18th came and we were getting kicked out. Uncle Justin had to give up his key. “We’re on the streets now, this is your fault for reading the letter” Uncle Justin scolded me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to” I responded on the verge of tears. He’d never been so angry at me in my life.
About 3 weeks later and we were barely surviving. Sometimes we lived in shelters, other times we stayed by a park. Western Philadelphia doesn’t really like the homeless. We get looks. Sometimes I dig in the trash for food. The Krispy Kreme store throws out loads of perfectly good donuts so I eat them when I can. It’s hard. To have people noticing me but not doing anything. The way people stare at me like I’m an alien or some exotic creature. It’s just painful. The fact that I used to be one of the people who was snobby and rude and mean to the less fortunate, and now I am pleading and begging them to help me. I just wish someone noticed me.
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