I wrote this fictional story in December 2024. Based in Ottawa but likely similar in every other Canadian community, the story is of a man who is living on the streets. We hear many stories and see many faces. This is my attempt to tell a story of the reality faced by so many, no matter the reason. The drop-in centre I refer to in the story is real, and makes a difference to so many hundreds of people.
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Frizzy
“Get out of here ya bum. Go sleep somewhere else” yelled the middle-aged man from his front porch.
What a way to start the day thought Frizzy as he knelt and folded his thin blanket, before sliding it into his knapsack. Looking about to see whether the man was still hanging out on his porch, which overlooked the side of a building near the intersection of Murray and Dalhousie streets in the Ottawa Bytown market area, Frizzy took a moment to make sure he had his meager belongings.
Other than the blanket there was not much. An old favourite Blue Jays baseball hat. A pair of extra socks. A comb. A toothbrush. An old filthy t-shirt that was more like a rag. A couple of large black garbage bags he used for keeping dry. An old wallet that contained but two items: an outdated Health card and a photo. The card was for identification if ever it was needed. The photo was of his family. Cracked and worn from being carried in the wallet and handled frequently, the faces were barely discernible.
Frizzy as he’d become known on the streets, grabbed his toque and pulled it down over his ears. The wind was cold and biting, much more than he had expected for early December. He pulled the winter bomber jacket closer, trying to eliminate the cold air. That was almost futile given that the zipper was only partially functional, going half-way up his chest. However at least the lining provided some protection. He would have to see whether he could find a scarf and mitts, and maybe a hoodie sweater as the one he currently wore was like a decoration more than for any warmth.
The vent he had slept on, if one could call closing one eye at a time sleep, had been extremely uncomfortable. He had found a large cardboard box that he had placed over the grate while still being able to feel warm air but that had been rough. And the concrete foundation of the building while offering support and protection, had done nothing for comfort. At least it was not wet out he thought That would change later as he noticed the snowflakes beginning to fall more heavily on his head.
Standing up, Frizzy staggered as he slowly turned and pulled the knapsack onto his back. His body ached all over. His knee joints were stiff and his back cracked as he stretched and twisted. He decided to head over to an old coffee house down a couple of blocks. Bending forward into the wind and the snow, he slowly walked and then picked up speed. It dawned on him I really have to go.
He slipped through the side door that was used by staff at the coffee house. He had discovered this place a few weeks ago and it had served his needs, and likely the needs of many others. And it was also very likely that the coffee house owner conspired to leave the side door propped partially open so as to minimize the front door being used as a hang out and entry point for those with no real intent to buy food and beverages.
Frizzy entered the small bathroom. Not very clean but functional. After using the urinal, he turned to use the sink. A feeble trickle of water from the tap, and barely warm, he rinsed and then touched some water to his lips. He dug out the toothbrush from his bag, and passed the brush over and around his teeth. He had once been very proud of the condition of his teeth; no longer. They were dirty and yellow, and his gums were showing signs of infection. He cupped his hands and poured a few drops of water into his mouth. That at least helped to wake up his mouth, although it did nothing for his taste buds. Finally, he looked into the cracked and dirty mirror. His eyes were blank and he barely recognized himself.
He estimated that he had aged about fifteen years since beginning to live on the streets eight months ago, which made him look far older than his thirty-eight years. His brown eyes had no life. His skin was creased. Unshaven for a couple of months, the so-called beard was straggly and long, not adding in any way to his cleanliness. He ran his hands over his face and beard, and gave himself a light slap on each cheek as if to add some colour to his face. He removed his toque. He smiled ruefully as he gazed at the mop of hair. The hair was full and very frizzy, not helped by the dirt and by the constant wearing of a toque.
The little smile could not replace the sadness which seeped from every pore of his body. Lonely and alone. Exhausted from a lack of sleep. Hurting in all his joints. His heart devoid of any happiness. His stomach aching from lack of eating, never mind nutrition. His pants held up by bungee cords that he used as suspenders. He had lost probably twenty-five pounds over the past several months. And he stank like a sewer, and could not remember the last time a bar of soap had touched his body. Time to find a place to fix the smell and remove the dirt.
Frizzy opened the bathroom door, and glanced down at the table by the door. Good he thought, they’ve left some large cups of coffee. He shifted his bag onto his back and grabbed a coffee. Nice and hot. Stepping outside, he stood on the little porch that was protected from the wind. He sipped the coffee slowly, enjoying the taste and the warmth. He could even taste the sugar that had been added. Tucking the cup inside his coat so as to protect it and keep it warm, he stepped down from the porch and decided that it would be best if he could get out for a long walk before the snow conditions made walking too treacherous.
Fortunately, he had grabbed himself a decent pair of boots from a nearby second- hand store, and his feet were warm and dry. It had been worth the twenty bucks from his rather limited money supply. His money was almost non-existent and it was not going to be a good day for trying to collect any change at intersections. He hated begging and that was one reason he was not eating – he had no money for food. Yet he needed to find a way to get some food…
Frizzy walked slowly, pausing now and then to sip some coffee while it was still warm. The weather was getting worse, and the sidewalks slippery. He stepped under the cover of a hotel entrance, and stood there for a few moments. He thought of entering but from experience, knew that would not go over well. By hanging outside though, he gained both time and shelter before security staff would attempt to shew him away. Looking around, he noted the large number of people entering the hotel, all very well-dressed and chattering with each other. A year ago, I may well have been in that crowd. He was not noticed, as he blended into the background and the stonework. Time to go before any issues.
He walked across a bridge over the canal, and then crossed in front of Parliament Hill. Two years ago, the family had travelled from south-western Ontario for a Canada Day visit to Ottawa. That was back during the good times. Smiling through the memory of that visit, Frizzy thought of the festivities, the kids’ laughter as they played on the Hill and watched the airplanes, and how he and his wife Rachel had sat on the picnic blanket and held hands as they listened to the entertainment.
The snow had let up a bit even as the wind picked up. He decided to head south down Bank Street. He did not usually venture into this part of Ottawa but with the north wind at his back, this might be the time to check out the surroundings. Maybe even get lucky with a handout. He walked slowly along the sidewalk, stepping out of the way of those too busy to even notice him as they talked with others or had their heads down in their i-phones. Car horns honked as he slid on some ice in front of a car, trying to keep his balance. This is not going well. Perhaps let’s take a minute over by the wall of that vacant men’s clothing store.
Banging his hands together to warm up, and stamping his feet to increase the circulation, he stayed under the protective cover of the store’s overhang. The coffee was long gone. His stomach was grumbling loudly. I had better resume walking, and maybe then he could ignore the emptiness of his stomach.
He paused and did some window shopping as he sauntered down the street. Windows were dressed with Christmas decorations and flashing signs of ‘savings’. How do you save when you don’t even have money to eat, he thought. The wind had died down, and the sun had broken through the grey skies of earlier. Maybe, it might be an okay day if only it was a bit warmer.
He noticed a clock in a store window, and it was a few minutes after noon. He had walked a good distance and did not recognize his surroundings. Fatigue was setting in given his lack of sleep and the cold. There may be no place to sit nearby but across the street, on the side where the sun was shining, he noticed what looked like an old church. Grey stone with large windows. That might be a great place to relax and perhaps even shut his eyes while leaning against the walls, out of the way of foot traffic.
Frizzy crossed the street, looking carefully both ways as he stepped between traffic. He’d never been a big fan of stop lights so had become quite adept at learning the ‘side two-step car avoidance shuffle’. Making it safely, he crossed the sidewalk to lean against the church wall where he faced into the sun. That felt good even as he pulled his jacket tighter to his body.
He tried to shut down his mind and not think of his situation. But to no avail. He had left his home and family in Brantford back in late March. He had been devastated when he had been let go from his job and could not face his wife or her family. On top of that, he had been struggling with PTSD from a work incident and he and Rachel had been living in a hellish relationship for over a year. He had not been able to get over the affair Rachel had had, and was not able to forgive her. It had all been such a mess, and he knew that he had not handled it well. He had run.
He had made his way via Hamilton, Toronto, Coburg, Kingston, and Brockville before landing in Ottawa in September. A knapsack on his back and with no family or friends along the way. His phone had long ago been lost, and he had made only one attempt at contacting Rachel when in Kingston in August. He had sent an email from an internet café, but had not waited for a response.
Tears rolled gently down his cheeks as the hurt he felt crept through his body. He cried out Rachel’s name, and it was then that he noticed he had said it loudly enough that people were looking at him strangely. Turning, he wiped his face with the back of his hand. God, I am so friggin’ lonely. I can’t go on like this. This is insane.
Frizzy sank to a squatting position with his back against the church wall. He reached into the knapsack and pulled out his wallet and the photo of his family. Passing his hand tenderly over the photo, the kids and Rachel took on a life form in front of him. Patsy who had recently turned six was identical to Rachel with her long blond hair, dimples and a smile that could melt even the most frozen heart; Vincent who was three, and as depicted in the photo a go-getter even as he struggled to run out of the photo; and Rachel. She was laughing in the photo, with her head thrown back and her arms about both Patsy and Vincent.
With a whispered voice, Frizzy said, I need you and want to part of your life as a family. God, give me the strength to forgive and to seek forgiveness.
An ambulance siren broke his prayer. Frizzy looked up and stood as the ambulance passed down the street in front of him. Maybe God’s way of saying ‘heard you.’ He chuckled to himself as he remembered something he had read in a book about a year ago, “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.”
Frizzy hoisted his knapsack onto his back and began walking away from the church, and as he did so he looked up at the church. There was a large sign, announcing Centre 507 as a ‘Safe Haven, Stepping Stone’. Wonder what that is about thought Frizzy. Maybe worth checking out, and the sign says it’s open.
Frizzy approached the door, and hesitantly pulled it open. There were stairs and he heard voices coming from the second floor. He mounted the stairs slowly, passing two young men on their way down. Opening the door at the top of the stairs, the warmth spilling out was wonderful, and the noise of people laughing and talking sounded quite welcoming.
“Hey there. How are you doing? C’mon in. Soup’s on.” A woman of about sixty-five beckoned Frizzy in even as she reached out to hold the door, “My name is Shirley. Welcome to Centre 507.” Her smile was wide and friendly. Dressed with a seasonal apron with Rudolph’s nose beaming red, she reiterated her welcome, “C’mon. You look like you could use some food and a place to sit, and I promise, we don’t bite.”
Frizzy entered the large room. There were about ten others sitting and eating at tables and he could see three people in the kitchen. Christmas music was playing. Shirley ushered him in, “Your first time here? Feel free to sit anywhere, and I will get you some food. How does a bowl of soup sound? And perhaps a hot chocolate or water?”
Frizzy was almost overwhelmed. Nervously he nodded his head, and said ‘yes please.” Pulling his toque off, he sat down at a table by himself and placed his knapsack between his feet. Shirley returned, with a tray carrying a bowl of soup, a sandwich, an apple, a steaming mug of hot chocolate, and a glass of water. “Here hon. You look hungry. Eat up, and there is more. Any questions, you can ask any of us at the kitchen counter.” Then she turned on her heel and rushed off to help an older man who had just come in.
Ten minutes later, and the only evidence of food was an empty bowl and a dirty napkin. The water glass was empty and the mug of hot chocolate now half-full. Frizzy smiled contently. His stomach felt good and he felt warm inside. He cupped the mug as the warmth on his hands felt good. A young man approached, and asked if everything was okay, “My name is Charlie. I help out around here. Is there anything I can do to help you, or questions I could answer?”
Frizzy responded, “Thank you very much. This place looks wonderful. I have never been here before.”
Charlie took that as an invitation to explain about the Centre being an adult drop-in centre that operated with a number of partners, and that served food and take out as part of its service. He pointed out a room to the side where there was a set of shelves which held different bins of clothes and personal items.
He went on to add “If you are in any need of stuff, we may have it. We just received a large donation of coats, sweaters, socks and mitts along with such things as soaps, toothbrushes etc. Let me know if that interests you and I can give you a hand looking. And just in case you want to know, we don’t have shower facilities but one of our partners just down the street does. However, feel free to use our washrooms.”
Frizzy stammered his thanks, “I think I just might use the facilities, thank you. Perhaps I will look at the other stuff later but I don’t want to impose.” On his way to the washroom, he noticed two women playing a game of cribbage and an older man playing solitaire. They look comfortable. Fifteen minutes later, and feeling very refreshed after a quick clean-up, Frizzy re-entered the hall. It was even busier.
Shirley came up to him, “You look a lot better. How do you feel? And can I help you with anything? In fact, let me show you around…”
Frizzy smiled as he followed and listened to her, not wanting to say that he had already had a quick tour. “This is fantastic. I have not felt so good in months.” He continued to look about as he walked. There were offices with people talking away, and bulletin boards with signs and information. Twenty minutes later, he had a red Senators hoodie, a scarf and mitts, a bar of soap, a face cloth and some toothpaste. His knapsack was now full. And Shirley was introducing him to others who offered various help and services. He heard himself saying, “This is amazing. I feel almost human. Thank you so much. By the way, my name is Bryan but I am called Frizzy.”
Shirley laughed. “You are welcome Frizzy. You can stay until we close in a couple of hours but feel free to drop in any time. Other than time when we need to close for cleaning and maintenance, we are open almost twenty-four hours a day. We do not provide beds though – simply a drop in. We are here for you.”
Frizzy said, “Just one more question for now. I need to contact my wife. Is there any way I can do that from here?”
Shirley ushered him over to Charlie who was now sitting at a table with a couple of computers, and a telephone, and spoke quietly with him. Turning back to Frizzy, she said “Charlie will help you.”
From a day that had started in such a bad place, to moments outside this place where he had felt the lowest he had ever felt, and now to this chance. Frizzy could not believe what had happened in such a short period of time.
It was too much. While waiting for Charlie, Frizzy slowly turned in a circle. The sound of voices was drowning out everything, and crowding in on him. A middle-age woman brushed him as she passed by. He felt the eyes of others staring at him. He squeezed his knapsack to his body, and nervously glanced at Charlie, who returned the look and indicated another moment.
Perhaps I will come back later. He headed towards the door. Looking over his shoulder, as he pushed through the door and past someone at the top of the stairs, he quickly headed out…the streets were calling.