The bus pulled into a hazy gray Washington D.C. and as I disembarked an agent asked, “May I direct you to your connection sir?” the words poured out like bittersweet honey, “No, I’m home brother”. After an all night journey from Boston I was home. Pulling the two bags carrying the remnants of a life lived less well, I made my way to the subway station and soon was in Silver Spring. As I exited the train Merle Haggard visited my psyche with his ballad Working Man Blues.

“Hey, hey a working man, a working man like me. Ain’t never been on welfare that’s one place I won’t be; so I’ll keep working; long as my two hands are fit to use. I’ll drink my beer in a tavern, singing these working man blues.”

Now two years unemployed my thoughts rushed to my failed employment history; long on accomplishment; short on staying power. Next stop McDonald’s then drop off my larger bag at my friend’s house for storage to be picked up later by my brother. Sitting outside the fast food joint in my once comfortable neighborhood I organized my property like a man being sent away with no hope for return. A quick awkward and sheepish walk later I snuck to the side of his house like a prowler making a contribution then moved on. The fear of conversation was overwhelming; the sense of shame breathtaking, but I reached my destination.

Once safely a few blocks away in a park I was sure no former neighbor would happen to drive by, I sat on a park bench and it hit me. I’m homeless. I’m free to go anywhere but nowhere called home. Some say it is liberating but for me it felt anything but as I immediately felt the uncertainty of this new experience. Next stop the Wheaton Library, the closest thing to home for the near future.

It was a three mile walk and one I enjoyed in the past. Not today. My first day on the street and it’s a 99 degree September scorcher. The carryon bag behind me with two Whole Foods bags neatly tied to the top seemed to weigh a ton. By the first mile, my legs cramping, my mind seized up in fear. What if I hurt myself? What if one of the rollers on my bag breaks? What if I can’t find a place to sleep tonight? The clever phrase I used ‘going home to be homeless’ now seemed wildly out of touch with my reality. I’ll never make it I thought.

The expectation that my solution awaited me online was quickly dashed as I found the usual messages on Facebook and Yahoo as if it were any other day. My sense of self awareness was distracting as I found a spot in the quiet study room to hide my bag and nest for the day. When the announcement came over the loudspeaker that it was Friday and the library was closing at 6 the moment I feared was upon me. I had a plan. Walk back to Silver Spring and hide in plain sight.

During the walk I scanned locations for my first night. A church with a down stairwell might work; a park with a water fountain and faucet seemed ideal. Reaching the town square I sat and watched the consumer class walk by as I secretly hoped an acquaintance might see me and offer a place to crash for the night. I feared they might make eye contact and be forced to say hello. The question I dreaded “How are you?” was on my mind as was my new fear of the police. To my right three police officers were stationed presumably to fight crime but apparently only to chase off skateboarders. I was a vagrant and I’m sure that is a violation of some sort of quality of life ordinance but can they tell? My hopes and fears went unrealized and after six long hours as things started to clear out I moved on.

The walk up Georgia Avenue was long and uncertain. It seemed at each side street a police officer was placed to catch speeders or drunk drivers but maybe to notice the likes of me. I had my respectful response ready and would cooperate but they weren’t interested in me that night. Eventually I made my way back to the park and found a bench that seemed to be far enough off the road and just behind a clump of tall grass and bushes to ensure invisibility from the main road. Of course to my left and right and behind me were homes.

I sat frozen in place, unsure of the time or what lay ahead. At any moment someone could approach and remind me the park was closed at dark; or a police officer could question my reason for sitting here in the dark with a large bag. My greatest fear was a random attack by wandering drunken youth; out to hassle someone vulnerable like me. I established a few rules: don’t lie down on the bench, monitor the traffic flow in case I needed to visit the water fountain, and don’t move.

I nodded off from time to time but with no sense of time; the vacuity of the experience was stifling. I could have slept five minutes or five hours for all I knew. It was unnerving. Eventually I looked up at the full moon. The moon would give me a sense of how much time passed. Each time I woke up I looked up. If the moon was in a different place then time was moving toward morning. I thought of each scary movie and how this is the set up. A guy on a park bench, down on his luck, a quiet full moon night; easy prey. It was terrifying and not romantic in the least.

Eventually I took a bold step. The library was to be my daytime home; but it was a privilege and I had an incentive to remain as anonymous as possible. So a new rule emerged: try to stay clean so your odor doesn’t become an issue at the library. This was a neighborhood park so exposure was not an option. Law enforcement may tell me to move on if they caught me here; if I was exposed it would surely be a reason for taking me in.

Taking my McDonald’s plastic cup I planned my strategy. Sensing the lateness of the hour by the moon and infrequent traffic I deftly removed my toiletries and clean shirts and socks from my bag. The zipper seemed attached to a megaphone as I attempted to be organized but efficient. I tiptoed over to the faucet and filled my cup; pouring it over my head. Filling the cup again I quickly shampooed my hair then rinsed feeling a chill from the cold water and my fear of exposure. The water felt good and as I completed each step I felt a little more comfortable in my environment. The task complete I sat and waited. I noticed the water around my bench and realized if someone came by it would be clear that I may have been cleaning myself. The implication of exposure frightened me and I took note for future reference to find a better spot to wash and rinse.

When the first Metro bus drove by with passengers I knew it was morning. I survived my first night and it was time to move on before the neighbors awoke. Grabbing my things I walked toward the library. Only five hours until it opens and I can begin a new day.