by Jaye Lewis

Junie and Sam were an inseparable pair.
Just seeing the way they looked into one another’s eyes, you
could tell they loved each other.  Life changed for both Junie and Sam,
the day they met.  It’s true, they were homeless, but now, they were no
longer alone.  They had each other.
Junie and Sam could not have been more different from one another.
Junie was a tall, elegant woman, and Sam was only a dog. Sam was,
however, a discriminating diner.  He didn’t go for garbage. When he
and Junie went out to eat, he headed for the best restaurant in town,
where the kitchens threw away the good stuff, before it was spoiled.
Junie and Sam led a life that was both noble and sad.  They lived
together in a run down garage.  Most folks didn’t even know they existed.
They spent their nights by the light of a hurricane lamp.  When it got
cold, they cuddled close together on an abandoned couch, under an old
moving quilt.  When Junie gathered the courage to look for work, they even
had heat by an old kerosene heater.  Those were the good times, when Junie
could overcome her fears, just for a temporary job to help them get by.
And that is when I met her.
Every morning Sam and Junie ate breakfast together at the
fast food restaurant.  They had perfect timing.  At “ten to eleven”
the restaurant disposed of their left-over breakfasts, still in their
little boxes, and, according to Junie, there was “a glorious selection.”
Sometimes there would even be pancakes and sausage. Junie’s eyes glowed
as she enumerated her favorites to me.
After breakfast, they would walk around together.  Sam would
wait for Junie outside the bus station, as she went into the wash room
to freshen up.  Junie dressed well, since she carefully shopped at the
best thrift stores.  She was careful of her appearance.  She had an eye
for fashion.  She was neat, and she kept her nails perfectly manicured.
When folks saw Junie with Sam, I doubt it occurred to them that here
was a homeless person being followed around by a dog.
In the afternoon, it would be back to one of their favorite
dumpsters for lunch.  Junie’s favorite was the big cheese burger, with
all the fixings.  Occasionally she would find a salad.  “I love Caesar
Salad,” she would say, her eyes sparkling like a girl.
As Junie shared her typical day with me and confided some of her
most precious secrets, I realized something.  There is more to homeless
than homeless.  There is a heartbeat.  A soul.  A fellow human being
who hopes and dreams, just like me.  I saw a fragility to Junie’s life,
much like my own.  I slept under a roof, and so did she.  I had a family,
and so did she.  She had Sam.
Junie jumped up at quitting time, one day.  She freshened her
make-up, and she grabbed her purse that contained half her life.
“I have a date,” she said, her eyes gleaming.  “Sam is taking me
out for dinner and a movie!”  She laughed, merrily, and so did I.
“Come with us?”  She asked me, suddenly.
“Uh.  No thanks,” I replied, very uncomfortable.
“Oh,” Junie said.  “I understand.”  Then she turned to go.
I knew I had offended her, and I was immediately ashamed.  I tried
desperately to explain, but I could tell in her eyes, that she
really understood, that I did not want to be seen rummaging through
a dumpster with Junie and Sam.  She left me feeling helpless.
But she carried on cheerfully.
“Well, see you soon,” she called to me with a wave.  Then she was
around the corner and out of my life.
I never saw her again.
I looked for Junie day after day.  At lunchtime I’d drive slowly by
the best restaurants and burger joints.  I’d leave for work early, and
I’d drive through the parking lots looking for a tall, thin, attractive
woman and a dog named Sam.  I never found them.
I’ve thought a lot about them through the years.  Junie and Sam
taught me that no matter who we are, our needs are much the same, whether
privileged or homeless.  A warm meal.  A pair of loving eyes to look upon.
The rise and fall of the chest of the one you love. The warmth of a touch.
A kiss.  Devotion.  And trust.  The trust of one whose heart beats just
for you.
Yet, if I could relive just one moment of that time I spent with
Junie, it would be to shout, “YES!  Yes, Junie, I will dine with you
and Sam!”