Lost Boy by Dean Hamid

Author:Dean Hamid
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Hamid LLC
Published: 2022-12-24T00:00:00+00:00

HE STOOD AT THE KITCHEN counter hunched over, his head bushy and grey. His brown eyes were strikingly bright white, with crow’s feet around the corners. He’d seen a lot in his long life. Hulie was awestruck by his massive, broad shoulders, arms like Popeye the sailor and a tattoo on his right arm that read: Mom!

The old man turned towards him and sat down a cup. “This that der good coffee, hear me? My gran’baby got it from one dem ‘xotic stores in New York City.” He reached on his mantlepiece and picked up a picture of a big smiley-faced, young girl and beamed. “Luv dat yungen. Luv herself some pop-pop, too!” He put the picture down and picked up the cup of hot coffee in front of him and looked around the rather dimly lit, neat place. “Ya know, I been here at dis here ‘partment for ‘bout ten years now...since me wife died.”

“Yo’ pop...sorry to hear ‘bout that.” Hulie was genuinely sincere.

He’d met the old man a couple of times out back behind his house on the railroad tracks picking up cans. He offered him some money, but the old man turned it down and said he was alright. Hulie got used to seeing him and when he found out he liked coffee, he’d leave him a cup or two out back, and sure enough, it was well appreciated. They got to talkin’ and he told Hulie he once worked at the Shipyards, but long time retired, telling him stories of the places he’d been and things he’d seen. He told Hulie he had a family, two girls, one was in Atlanta and the other left to go to New York recently. They got in touch with him on a regular basis, begging him to move but he wouldn’t, because he was stubborn like that.

Instead, he took all the money he had saved, along with his pension and paid off his grandchildren’s college tuitions. He swore they’d never have to work as hard as he did, ever. Hulie, respected him to the fullest. The old man eventually found out the lifestyle he was into, but he didn’t judge him. He just told him more stories of hustlers gone by, years ago, and gave him tips and pointers like a grand-pops would. He told Hulie he’d watch the house for him when he was gone, and he did just that.

“T’was two of dem boys. One was short and stumpy with dem long braids or sumptin’ in his head. What’s dat name for dem?”

“Dreads...”

“Yuh, dat dem. That other was an ole tall boy, ‘bout a little taller than you. He was skinny, tho...small thing. But he had a nice hair cut, real sharp der. Could tell he didn’t get it round here.” He laughed and Hulie smiled at him. His pretty white teeth and bright red gums spoke volumes. He was Charleston...the real.

Hulie couldn’t remember the old man’s name, he probably told him at one time, but it didn’t matter, he woulda called him Pops anyway.

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