ECHOES OF A HOUSE 

What’s with the string? 

The type of houses I’ve seen on some of our road trips that always breaks my heart are the ones people turn to out of desperation. I don’t notice them on every road trip but when I do, they really make a deep, lasting impression. I have seen all types, large, small, old, and new. They even come in different colors too. 

The houses I am referring to are those you’ve seen parked outside your local big box stores. It never fails, it seems no matter what town we pass through there is always bound to be at least one of these houses mixed in with all the others. Perfectly camouflaging itself from any unwanted views..

I’m talking about that one vehicle that looks like it holds someone’s entire life inside it. The one whose owner is down on their luck and has no other choice but to live in it. Sometimes there is just one person living there but, sadly most tend to have small families. Those are the ones that really pull at my heartstrings.

The other day, as we were heading home from a wonderful road-trip to look for driftwood in Indiana, I spotted this type of house. The vehicle was an older model car, about a decade old, I believe. The passenger side had been smashed like something big backed into it. The owner had done their best to duct tape over it. A failed attempt to hide the damage from onlookers. In reality though, it probably had small holes from the damage allowing air and moisture in, so they tried to covered it.

Thankfully, this particular house only had one person living in it, or so it seemed. He was a much older-looking gentleman. I would guess somewhere in his late sixties. Skinny guy with a horseshoe of unruly gray hair. He had a scruffy white beard that matched as well. At a quick glance I could see he probably didn’t have any teeth by the way his face was shaped. 

As we walked past his makeshift house, I noticed all the trash in the front passenger’s seat. This owner clearly didn’t seem to care about his personal hygiene. It made me feel like he must have some untreated mental illness. At least that’s what I told myself to make me feel better about his situation.

Who knows? Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just liked to travel and chose this kind of life on purpose. Maybe his actual house was lost to a storm and he was stuck in between places. I leaned more towards mental illness because I felt like most people wouldn’t want to live in such filth deliberately. 

The gentleman was asleep when we pulled up. He had a large Big Gulp cup hanging from a cup holder attached to his driver-side window ledge. I could see as I got out of my truck it was half full of old discarded cigarette butts. They were floating in a brown liquid. As an ex-smoker, I could almost smell the stench from that cup through the window.

There was a length of red yarn hanging out from the top of the driver-side window. I had never seen someone in one of those types of houses do that before. I was curious as to its meaning. Neither my husband nor I could figure it out at the time. 

When we came back out of the store, the gentleman was outside walking a tiny fluffy dog. Not sure exactly what breed it was but, its color was a beautiful gray. The man was standing against a tree behind his house waiting for the fluffy little guy to do its business. There was a long cigarette hanging from his mouth. Smoke was swirling around him, giving him what looked like a halo of sorts.

As we hopped back into the truck, I noticed a disheveled-looking woman walking over to him. She had a cardboard sign in one hand and a cellphone and a large takeout bag in the other. She handed him the cardboard. As she did, I could see that it said “HOMELESS ANYTHING WOULD HELP”. 

He took the sign, handed her the dog leash, and headed over to the corner by the entrance. He took a seat against the street sign and waited for people to come by. He was begging for help. Most people that day just drove right past pretending not to see him. There were still some kind-hearted, compassionate people out there. I did see a few cars stop, donating whatever they could to help in the moment.

As we were about to head out I spotted the woman placing a burger on the ground for the dog. The little guy’s tail was wagging a hundred miles an hour. The woman’s face lit up from how happy the dog was. She sat down, leaned up against the tree, and began petting him or her like her life depended on it. The dog didn’t seem to mind her enthusiasm, it seemed happy to have some food.

The path out of the parking lot took us right past where the old man had taken up shop. The old man was now pacing from the corner to the back of the line, trying to get people to hand something over. There were a few vehicles ahead of us in line still. I noticed the old man did get some donations from at least four of those people. That brought a slight smile to my heart.

It must have shown on my face because all of a sudden my hubby handed me a few dollars and some change. He didn’t say a word, he just nudged me and pointed in the gentleman’s direction. It took me a second to understand, but when I did, I leaned over and gave my hubby a big kiss on his cheek.

We had finally made it to the area where the old man was. I rolled my window down, stuck my hand out, and placed everything into his hand. He thanked us and was about to move on when I asked him if he could explain the red string’s purpose. He looked at me like I was not supposed to ask that.

He grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth and flashed that toothless smile at me. A couple seconds passed before he told me it’s how he identifies what lot he’s allowed to be in. I looked at him with a confused look on my face. He could tell I didn’t understand his meaning. He said it’s part of their community code. Think of it like an address or permit. Each town allows only so many of theses types of houses to stay in store lots. The red string allows the local police to see who’s permitted to be here by the color. I’m fully convinced he just made that up, but I just smiled blankly at him.

Thankfully, the light holding up the traffic turned green again, allowing us to exit the lot. I thanked him once more and waved goodbye to him. He waved back, thanked us for our donation, and went back to pacing the sidewalk. And with that, we drove back to our warm, cozy three-bedroom, two-bath house. 

The thought of which kept causing guilt to bubble up inside of me. Most people assume you can’t find happiness living in your car. However, this little family seemed to be quite content with their living arrangements. I like to imagine that they made it out of that parking lot. I picture them traveling to hundreds of other lots in that beat-up old car. That they chose a lifestyle like this because it allowed them the freedom and happiness a normal average home couldn’t.