One and One

Have you ever had one of those nights when you just want to drive around town, maybe stop at a gas station for a bite and then keep going? Without a specific idea where to go, or even a plan about what to do. And you roll your windows down, you start listening to the local radio station that you haven't listened for a while, you take the service road running along the side of the freeway, turning right and left a few times in a row, making time to look like it stopped without consequences. Is one of those days when your mind runs rampant and the white noise makes a ringtone keep buzzing in your ear.

This was one of those nights for me.

Downtown has seen the better of its times, and most of the stores now have plywood instead of glass up on their displays. There is a lot of empty parking spots all around, but I rather stay driving if I want to keep my spirit up. Walking in these streets makes one feel like a secondary actor in a Sci-Fi movie from the '50s about an alien race invading Earth. The smell at this corner, in particular, reaches me when I stop for the traffic light, and although I felt the need to close my window I keep my arm out and decide that "this is what life is about".

When the light finally decides that it is time for me to move, I look at both sides of the street to make sure nobody is coming in my direction, and when I am about to hit the gas pedal, I see him, right at the corner of my eye. Standing next to the entrance of the oldest hotel in the city, with a plastic bag in one hand and a disposable large cup on the other. It seems that he's drinking something good, for the way he's smiling as he takes a sip. I was at a full stop for what looked like a very long time, until somebody behind starts honking at me, and with a good reason. I put my car in motion but decided to turn left at the last minute, and that caused a second honk to be heard. I need to look at him again and the only way would be to go all around the block.

The traffic lights seem to know what I am trying to do, as they decide to run in perfect synchrony to make this little dance the longest trip I have ever taken. What could last just a minute or two takes triple that and by the time I am again in front of the hotel, my friend is no longer there. I start wondering where he could have gone. He's not inside, that's for sure, and he didn't walk back since I didn't see him as I was turning the last corner before stopping at the same spot. So, where is he?

The light turns green and I drive forward this time, trying to go as slow as I could, taking advantage that there was nobody behind, ready to give me a sounding salute. I look at both sidewalks but there is nobody there. I started to wonder if I actually saw him before, or if it was just my imagination trying to tell me how tired I was. But he looked real to me, no doubt about it, and I could hear the plastic bag making some sound as it was swinging side to side, hanging from his extended fingers in a way that, well, didn't look natural if you ask me. But he was standing right in that particular place, that's for sure.

As I was approaching the bus station, I noticed some movement in one of the benches at the corner of The Plaza, where most of the homeless people tend to congregate in the afternoons. It was late, and so I wasn't expecting to find any of them by now, but somebody was sitting on that bench. It was my friend, still drinking from his cup. I turned my wheel to the left and parked in front of the pharmacy that specializes in attending war veterans and retirees. They had plenty of walking sticks on sale, and the sight of them reminded me of my good old grandpa, who hated them to his core. I never understood his reason, but he always said that "if you need something to help you walk, maybe it's life telling you that it is time to sit down for once". He was a great dancer too, up until he was ninety years old, and I learned one or two ways to impress the ladies just from watching him at the local fair going around and asking them to the dance floor.

I walked closer to where he was sitting and could see now how he was dressed in old, dirty, torn clothes. Didn't notice that before, as I was focused on the bag and the cup but it was quite evident that he lived on the streets, or at least that he was down on his luck. His t-shirt had a design that faded a long time ago and couldn't make what it was about. His jeans were light blue but had plenty of white spots all over his legs. Looked like somebody had splashed them with Clorox, or something similar. His hair was long and gray, as it was his beard. No five o'clock shadow here, but a rather long and in an apathetic-looking mess. I started to wonder if it was a good idea for me to interrupt him: most of the homeless people are good people and they like it when you just talk to them without any judgment, but it may be really hard to convince them about the true nature of your intentions.

He didn't pay any attention to me at first, as I sat down on the same bench but then after a minute he looked me right in the eyes and say "hi there!" with a festive voice that got me by surprise. I was kind of expecting a raspy sound, and maybe some deep tone that would look like he was in drugs or something. But I could understand him loud and clear.

-"Hi. I hope you don't mind me sitting here with you" - I tried my best to sound amicable, as I was trying to find a way to start a conversation.

-"Not at all, The Plaza is a public place and everybody has the right to come and visit it at any time, wouldn't you say that?" - He smiled and took another sip - "But I need to be honest with you on something: I usually see people like you during the day only, not at this time. Are you lost? - I could say "Yes" to that question and still be honest with him, but I thought it was not the time to get philosophical.

-"I just want to have a chat, if that's ok. Was driving around and I saw you, and I thought you may want to enjoy some company" - He looked at me like I was coming back from Church, after hearing the Priest giving me a reprieve for not having completed my weekly assignment of being a nice person with at least three people from my neighborhood. And I was feeling exactly like that, to be honest. But I was already there and decided that I would make the best out of the occasion.

-"Sure! I love me some company! Especially when the night is young and the breeze hit my face just right. And you know what they say: never skip the chance for an affable companion, a freshly baked bread and a good old glass of wine" - His smile was so confusing. I wasn't sure if he was making fun of me, if he was trying to get me to leave by behaving a little crazy, or if he was asking for some food and a drink. I decided that the last option was safer and asked if he had eaten something already.

-"Well, it looks like my line of credit at the Seven-Eleven is no longer available, and the Mexican place in front of the bus station made it clear that it would be inappropriate for me to go in there dressed like, well, they don't understand fashion" - He said as he crossed his legs and strike a pose like if somebody was ready to take a professional picture of him. It was then that I noticed his peculiar choice for what he had on his feet. He was wearing a white croc with no sock on the left foot, and a white tennis shoe with a white sock on the right. He saw me looking down, gave me a pat on the back, and say: - "Don't you worry. There will be plenty of time to tell you the whole story later on" - I told him that I was going to the convenience store at the corner to buy us something for dinner. He asked for a ham and cheese sandwich and chips, and some candy for later, if possible. I left and came back a few minutes later, with a couple of bags filled with goodies.

We started eating and he then told me stories from when he was young and rebel, and how he enlisted in the army just to take advantage of the situation and study a career. He then worked for several years teaching young kids about nature, science, and space - no wonder he was so eloquent before when we just meet. One could tell that he was an avid reader back in his prime. He got married a couple of years after finishing his service but they never got children. Then they started to feel the void building in between them that in the end caused their divorce. He tried hard to recover from that, but his mental health suffered more than expected, lost his job, and then the apartment where he moved after his wife kicked him from their home as she fought him for it. He has been living on the streets for the last three years or so, but surprisingly, he was feeling great recently, with no more migraines to keep him awake all night long. - "It's the fresh air. That makes wonders for you" - He seemed to be in good shape, probably in regular good health, and besides his obvious lack of hygiene, he looked fine to me.

We talked for a couple of hours, and I learned a lot about him. He asked me many questions about my own life too. I felt relaxed and started telling him what kept me driving around for a while almost every night, and he gave me some solid advice that I never heard before. He also told me that whenever I felt the need to go around, to look for him and see if we could sit and chat. And I liked that idea pretty much.

Do you know how some people say that some questions are better left unanswered? Well, his choice of footwear was unquestionably not one of those and I was dying to ask him about it. But I just couldn't find the moment to bring it into the conversation. He probably noticed how I kept looking down now and then, and so he finally told me - "I am almost certain that you are, as a matter of fact, deeply intrigued by my feet. Am I right? Haven't you seen somebody wearing these before?" - I laughed and said - "Never in a grownup man. No!" - "Well, let me tell you why, so you would be able to sleep tonight..."

Later on, as I was walking back to my car right after we were done and I told him that I was leaving, I started to feel that it was good... No, it was great to stop and talk to him for a while. his stories were fantastic, filled with so much detail and color, and the way he told them was something to treasure. I guess all those kids he taught in the past were very fortunate to have him as a mentor. I started to wonder if they would know about his current condition and if there would be something I could be able to do about it. Maybe looking into the last school he worked at and maybe asking around one of these days, to see If I could find somebody to talk to about him. I sat in my car in silence for a little more before turning the motor on, and as I started to drive I wave him goodbye for the last time that day. I was positive I would be seeing him again.

The funniest part was that even though I was considering all the possibilities that could have caused it, like maybe a robbery, a distraction, or simply a personal choice, I was not prepared to hear what he said about the mystery of the missing tennis shoe: as he was fiercely defending his home from the people that his now ex-wife's lawyer brought to take his things out, he finally snapped, took it out and throw it inside the lawyer's car.

-"But, why throw it inside the car, and not maybe at him instead? - I asked as I was laughing so hard with him.

-"Right when I ran outside to try to stop them, I stepped on dog shit. And I mean a good amount of it. I didn't see it on time to avoid it. The shoe got covered up to the laces. I was certainly thinking of throwing it at him, but then again, he would have made it a case and sued me for attacking him. And with good reason. But he was one of those guys that spend way more money on their car than on anything else. Do you see? It was a very nice car, with white leather seats. The shoe landed on the passenger seat and slide into the driver seat. But because it was so full of it, the dog's shit made it even to the back seat somehow. He panicked and started to cry, right there in the middle of the street. He opened all the doors and tried to remove it, but he lost its grip and made it even worse. It was something worth seeing"

-"Did he ever try to take you to court to recover some of the money he probably spent on cleaning the mess?"

-"He did, but none of the guys helping him accepted to appear as a witness, and the judge dismissed the case almost immediately".

-"And why do you keep wearing only one tennis now? Haven't you bought a new pair since then?"

-"Oh, I have a few, but I like to go like this from time to time. Especially when I need a laugh. And it makes me laugh just to think about him, driving back to his office, sitting in that for a while. And this happened in July, so he had to keep his windows down for the 'aroma' while trying to keep them up as much as possible to stay fresh with the air conditioner. And one more thing: he was wearing white that day"

Little victories and what we do with them, is what Life is about.