Carpenter - A Heart Without A Home: A memoir about homelessness through the eyes of a child

A trail of musty gray smoke rose in circling ribbons from a cigarette in the ashtray on the dresser. Across the rest of the dresser lay discarded sections of a newspaper, a couple of worn pieces of aluminum foil folded with tight creases into two small squares, a lighter, a pair of short straws, and a crumpled paper bag with an unopened pack of cigarettes. There was a small walkway between the dresser and the full-size mattress lying on the floor across the room. A variety of mismatched blankets and sheets covered the bed.

Among the folds of one of the blankets, a small form lay sleeping. Laying on her side, the girl, Nichole, curled her thin legs close to her stomach and then wrapped her arms around her teddy bear with its head tucked under her chin. Her light brown hair spread across the pillow and her face like a tangled spider web. She wore a royal blue nightgown that her grandmother had made her. Its sleeves and the bottom hem ruffled, and there was a thin row of lace on all of the edges. At the top of the collar was a tiny white rose. Since her grandma had passed away a few months before, Nichole had worn that same nightgown to bed every night.

Muffled shouts drifted in through the closed bedroom door, which led into the living room. The little girl began to stir awake at the noise. She stretched her arms above her head and then her feet straight out to her full length like a rigid marionette puppet of exactly four feet from head to toe. At nine years old, she was still small for her age. Her still-waking mind struggled to understand the noise that had woke her. As she lay still on the bed, she heard more shouting coming from the other room. Nichole rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she sat up on the bed.

A thick black blanket covered the window above her to block out any light from the sun during the day. Nichole turned to the window and crawled up onto her knees to find the small hole in the blanket from when a cigarette had gotten too close and burnt the fabric. The burn left a small hole with a jagged brown ring around it. Nichole reached up and peeked with one eye through the hole to see that it was still dark out. She turned to the clock next to the bed and read the time. It was 4:23 in the morning.

It was not strange for her mom to be up this early, but she was surprised to hear her dads voice as well. Usually, her dad stayed in bed most of the day unless he had to go to work, which he had not done in a while. Her mother, Madge grew up on a farm in Idaho where they woke before the sun was up. Even after all of these years, she was still in the habit of waking up early as if she still had to go milk the cows before school.

They had only moved to California a few months ago after Madges parents had died in a car crash. Nicholes father, Andy, had gotten out of jail around the same time, and he had suggested that they move from Utah, where Nichole had been born to Southern California where his family lived. Andy and Madge had struggled in Utah with drugs and alcohol. They figured starting over in a new place would do them both some good.

This was not a new idea for them. In fact, they had moved every few months over the years since before Nichole was born. From legal problems to money problems to bad relationships, they had stayed on the move for as long as Nichole could remember. From kindergarten to second grade, she had attended five different schools in different cities and sometimes even in different states. Now she was in the third grade, and she liked her new teacher and even had a best friend.

While Nichole was sitting on the bed hugging her teddy bear, her mom opened the door to the bedroom.

"Nichole, are you awake?" She whispered as her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness of the room.

"Yeah, is it time for school?"

"No Baby, you are not going to school today."

Nichole liked that her mom still called her "Baby" even though she was not really a baby. Madge had told her that no matter how big she got, she would always be her baby.

"Why?" Nichole asked, "Is today Saturday?"

"No, it is not Saturday. We have to move out today."

"We are moving again? Where are we going to go?"

"I do not know, Baby," her mom whispered and then her voice cracked from crying. Madge wiped a tear away from her green eyes. Nichole had always wished she had green eyes like her mom. Her eyes were more of a grayish blue, more like her dad.

"Is that why you and daddy were fighting?" Nichole crawled to the foot of the bed where her mom sat with her head in her hands. Sections of pitch black, wavy hair hung over Madges face, except for the bit that she gathered back in a low barrette. Nichole wrapped her arms around her moms neck and pulled her small frame up onto her mother's lap. Madge sat up straighter to make room to hold her daughter close.