A simple act
by Carrie Harris

Dave looked at the empty bottle in his hand, his eyes struggling to focus. He didn't feel good after a drink any more, he only ever felt disgust at himself.

"I don't even know who I am any more!" he cried out to nobody in particular, then threw the bottle against a wall and sat on the kerb sobbing. A few people walked by, but they saw only a drunk in torn clothes, not worth their time. One or two made a derogatory comment, but none stopped. A couple even went so far as to cross the street to avoid him.

The night wore on, and the alcohol wore off. Dave's hands started to shake, and he instinctively sought another drink. With the loose change he still had in his pocket, he wandered over the street to the bottle-o and bought a bottle of beer, then disappeared down a dark alley. The man behind the counter at the bottle-o tut-tutted, then forgot all about Dave as he served the next customer.

Dave curled up in the recess behind someone's garage in the darkened alley, and pulled his thin coat tight around himself to keep out the cold. He popped the lid expertly off the top of the bottle, and took a deep gulp. Almost immediately, the shaking in his hands eased, and he felt the familiar rush of liquid pouring into his stomach. As much as he hated his dependance on drink, he always felt better for a short time after opening a new bottle.

The bottle finished, Dave pulled the beanie down over his ears, lay down, and slept.

The next morning Dave awoke suddenly after being nudged by someone's foot.
"Oi you, get outta here, you bum! I gotta get my car out and go to work, and you're in the way!" In the way, in the way, always in the way ...

Dave stood up and held his throbbing head, then wandered off down the alley. When he reached the main street, he held out his hand to every person he passed, asking if they could spare some change. He got the usual responses; looks of disgust, people who quickly threw some change into his outstretched hand and hurried away, people who crossed the road to avoid him, one person who went so far as to tell him he was on the road to hell ...

It all rolled off Dave like water off a duck's back. Every day it was the same, and Dave was used to it. He stumbled down the street, asking everyone for change, not in the least surprised when they turned him down.

After a while he got to the park, having collected little more than a dollar. Not enough for a drink, but it was a start. He sat down on the park bench, nursing his throbbing head in his hands.

"Mate, you look like you need a feed," said a voice beside him, and he looked up to see a man sitting beside him. He hadn't felt the man sit down, and he instinctively inched away.

"Don't worry about me, mate, I won't hurt you," the man continued calmly, as he rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a wrapped sandwich, and offered it to Dave.
"Go on, take it. You need it more than me," the man coaxed, when Dave hesitated. Dave debated in his mind for a second, then decided that a meal was a meal. He quickly snatched the sandwich, unwrapped it, and shoved it into his mouth eagerly.

"Thought you looked hungry," the man continued. "Name's Aaron. On me way to work, but I got time to stop with you awhile. I can get you something at the deli if you like. We can talk on the way." Dave looked at Aaron suspiciously as he ate, thrown off balance. He was used to being overlooked, swept under the carpet, that he could handle. He couldn't understand why this blue-collar worker would bother with someone like him.

"Well, come on then. Let's get you a decent feed, eh?" Aaron said cheerfully, and stood up expectantly. Dave followed, intrigued.

Two streets later, they came to a sit-down deli. Dave stopped outside as people glared at him, him, daring to step into their deli! Aaron looked at Dave, looked at the people who had leaned over to whisper to each other, then held the door open for Dave. "Come on in, then."

The man behind the counter stared as Aaron walked in with Dave.
"Um, sir, I'm afraid you'll have to wait outside ..." he said, and Dave turned to leave, but Aaron touched him on the shoulder to encourage him to stay.

"Why should this gentleman wait outside, sir? He's not a dog, you know." He ignored the shop-keeper's stunned gaze, and turned to Dave. "Now, what would you like?" When Dave didn't answer, Aaron pointed to a pie and a sausage roll in the counter oven.

"One of them and one of them, please. Oh, and I'll also have a bag of chips and a coke while you're at it." The man behind the counter did as he was told, and gathered the items together.

"That'll be $8.50 then," he said, his composure regained. Aaron handed him a ten, gave the change to Dave, pressed the bag into Dave's hands and led Dave out of the shop.

"Okay mate," he said, when they were out on the street. "I've got to go to work now, but you enjoy that, okay." Finally Dave found his tongue long enough to ask why Aaron had done that for him.
"Because God gave me so much more," Aaron replied, smiled, and walked away.

Dave looked from Aaron, to the bag in his hand, back to Aaron, then to the sky. His hungover brain struggled to make the connection, so he returned to the park and ate.

Once he had eaten, he thought about the dollar fifty Aaron had given him. Together with the dollar something he had collected earlier, that was enough for a beer. He stood up, threw the rubbish in the bin, and headed for the bottle-o.

"What can I get you?" the man behind the counter asked, and in that moment Dave finally made the connection. "Nothing mate," he said, and walked away. Three streets later he used the money to catch the bus to the community centre, walked in, approached the desk, and said, "I need help ..."