To Have It All(6)

“Bet he has it all,” Pearl wagered.

I nodded in agreement as the guy turned and caught us watching him. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his Aviator sunglasses, but the way he leered at us, complete with his lip curling up said it all.

We disgusted him.

“Asshole,” I murmured as he began walking away.

“Asshole with it all,” Pearl chuckled. The way people looked at us, their disgust, didn’t seem to faze Pearl in the least. She was used to it after years on the street. For me, I had a harder time brushing it off. If people wanted to walk by me, a worthless bum, and pretend they didn’t notice me, I could live with that. But to look at me like I was shit on the bottom of their shoe . . . that was a jagged pill to swallow.

Shaking my head, I sighed and said, “What I’d give to have it all.” With a small wave goodbye to her, I headed to the street corner where the asshole who ‘had it all’ was waiting to cross, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He must have sensed me because he turned his head and sneered again when he saw me approaching. Apparently, being close to a homeless person was too much because the dumbass, in his haste to get as far away from me as possible, didn’t even look before stepping out into the street. It all happened so fast; the bus barreling toward him, the horn blaring. I didn’t think, I just reacted and jumped behind him, shoving him out of the way.

After that, all I remembered was the screeching of brakes, the feeling of my body slamming into the pavement, screams, sirens, and unrelenting, insane pain.

I’m dying, I thought as the sound of my slowing heartbeat whooshed in my ears. The thought wasn’t so terrifying given my current circumstances. I was a homeless bum with nothing except my sister and my nephew, David. I hadn’t spoken to them in months, the shame I felt about my situation kept me from contacting them. But as I lay on the warm concrete, the summer sun beaming down on me as I fought to stay awake, the images of Helen and David looped endlessly through my mind. Helen would have to identify my body. I hated that thought. I also knew she’d be equally angry with me for hiding from her as she would be devastated about my death.

In the quick span of seconds before I closed my eyes, I realized for months I had hated my life; hated my circumstances. Being homeless and hungry was a hell of sorts, but even I knew, as hopeless as I’d felt, that things could get better—one day. Now I feared I would never know. I didn’t want to die, but as my eyelids grew heavier, my breaths growing harder to take, I feared it was too late. I wanted to pray, to beg God, but how? How did I ask him to spare me when I’d taken so much for granted?

Just before I gave in—before I let the last bit of my life seep out of me—I watched the asshole who ‘had it all’ stand up and brush off his suit, giving me one glance as I lay bleeding in the street. I thought he’d come to my aid; that he’d rush to my side like any decent human being would do. Hell, even if he’d pulled that cell out of his pocket and called the police, that would’ve been something. But he didn’t. When our stares locked, I didn’t see remorse in his intense gaze, but I saw fear. Glancing down, he spotted my backpack a few feet away. It must’ve flown off my shoulder from the impact. Picking it up, he stared at it a moment before clutching it to him. Then he spun around and sprinted away. I’d just saved this man’s life, and that’s all I got? My bag was stolen and a quick glance before he hightailed it out of there?

Apparently, that asshole was Max.

Now I’m in Max’s body.

I’m the asshole.





I paced Max’s apartment for hours, with no idea what to do. I’d died and taken over this man’s body somehow. As I searched through his things, my mind was riddled with darker thoughts. I wondered how my sister had taken it. Was she okay? Had they had my funeral yet? The thought was surreal. Somewhere out there my body was possibly already rotting in a casket, yet here I was in this man’s perfectly healthy body. The thought enraged me as I remembered Max fleeing the scene, leaving me like I was nothing.

Shaking my head, I told myself to remain calm. Letting myself fall into a blind rage wouldn’t help anything. No matter what, I had to meet this Waverly woman even though she seemed less than excited to see Max. I continued to dig through drawers, reading mail—mostly utility bills—inspecting keys, looking for clues as to what they may go to. There was a laptop on his desk which was password protected, so I couldn’t access it, but I did find his wallet right beside it. A filing cabinet in his office offered a few insights to his life. He was insanely rich, which was pretty obvious judging by his gigantic New York apartment and fancy clothes. Looking over some of his old bank statements, I discovered he had millions. As I rifled through his paperwork, I couldn’t find anything that would tell me where he worked or if he even had a job, for that matter. Maybe he was just rich.

“Must be nice,” I’d mumbled to myself.

Other than his wealth, I didn’t discover much else, but I now knew I possessed the body of Maximus Greyson Porter III, and that Max had a fetish for Asian porn judging by the charges on his bank statements.

A notepad sat on the table by his bed next to an empty bottle of scotch and a highball glass with only a sip in it. Picking up the notepad, I thumbed through it, but all the pages were blank. When I opened the nightstand drawer, I found an empty pill bottle for painkillers. I wondered if he took these for some kind of pain or injury, or maybe recreation. The fill date was a little over a week ago, before I saved his life, and the bottle was already empty.