The security guard leads us across the lobby to the man with matted blonde hair slumped over in a chair, resting his head on his arms. His face is obscured. The hands that stick out of his layered winter jackets are tattooed and scabbed.
“Hey, buddy.” I shake his shoulder.
He slowly lifts his head and stares at me. He has open sores on his face. His stare is both weary and angry; it penetrates me.
“Can we take you to the hospital?”
“No, I’m waiting for a bed.”
“They don’t have any and the security here says they are going to call the police if you don’t leave. We can take you to the hospital and maybe they can help you find a bed somewhere else.”
“No, thanks.”
“You can’t stay here.”
“Why not?
“They will call the cops if you don’t leave. Your best option is to go with us. It’s awfully cold out.”
We have our stretcher next to him in a lowered position, a clean sheet spread out.
His eyes are closed again. I shake his arm just enough to rouse him. “Listen, you’re nodding off.”
“I’m just tired. I haven’t slept for days. I was hoping I could sleep through the withdrawal.”
“They don’t have a bed.”
“I don’t know why they called you. I don’t want to waste your time.”
“Not a problem. We can take you to the hospital. Or you can stand up and walk out. Or they can call the cops, who will arrest you and take you to jail. It’s your choice. I’d go to the hospital if I was you.”
“How about I just stay here and wait for a bed.”
“That’s not a choice. Listen, we can’t take you against your will, but your options here aren’t very good. We are the best option. Hospital, bed, food, they can help you.”
“The hospital didn’t work out for me the last time I was there.”
Our back and forth on for a while, until he finally agrees to leave. He says he will try to come back tomorrow. He asks if we can give him a ride to his friend’s house on Forest Street, but I tell him we can’t. It’s against our company policy. We can’t give people unofficial rides. I ask him if he has enough money for bus fare. He says no. I take my wallet out and give him two one dollar bills.
We raise our stretcher back up, load the gear on top of it and take it out to the ambulance.
Outside the world is white, even the parking lot is layered with packed down snow.
I see him standing now at the bus stop across the street, stomping his feet and blowing on his hands. We get in the ambulance and drive past.
There has to be a better way to get help in this world.