A Hobo's Story

What superpower would you want and why? I have overheard this question posed so often in my lifetime. More often than not, invisibility seems to be the power of choice. Or at least considered. The reasoning for this varies but essentially is the same: The act of being anonymous is sweet when one gets to choose when to wield it.

I didn’t get much choice.

I say much because ultimately we all choose in life our path, the direction in which to move. But this leads to another heavily debated subject: How much of our lives are actually within our control or has it all been preordained?

The doctors had to slap my ass in order to get me to cry upon birth. My mother once told me that she would often wake up in the middle of the night and immediately rush into my nursery. Not because I was crying or indicated in any way that I needed her but rather, because of the lack of noise. I never seemed to fuss. And why would I? I was quite satisfied with just existing. I knew she was doing her best.

And this is how it continued for most of my life. Acceptance of abuse (I still have a red mark on my bottom), absence of opinions, if it was easier for you then I daresay it would be alright by me. Ghost-like – I didn’t seem to offer much other than surprise at inopportune moments. It would be comical really if I didn’t end up so hurt by it.

(My mind instantly reminds me of an incident last spring where my mom accidently pepper sprayed me in my own house. She had come to visit me and let herself in as she is wont to do. I could hear a familiar humming of an old Andy Williams tune which I immediately attributed to the woman who raised me. Excited by the possibility of some homemade meatloaf I hustled to greet her in her favourite domain, joining her humming with whistling of my own. “Hello mother!” I reached out, warmly, for an embrace only to be blinded by what felt like red hot ants eating out my eye sockets. She really is a sweet woman and claimed she never heard my footsteps or whistling or TALKING, which for my sanity I choose to believe, but the fact remains that she was surprised by me in my own home).

I nearly choked on my toothpaste the other day after gazing in the bathroom mirror. I was shocked to see my own reflection giving me the finger.

Saddened by my boring existence and now (understandably) frightened of polished surfaces, I set out on my morning walk resigned to the fact that I now had to add mirrors to my growing list of idiosyncrasies and my own conscience to my already long list of disrespect.

It was then, after being knocked to the ground by a speeding vehicle running a red light, that I noticed a battered looking black book sticking out of the crack in the sidewalk I was half dragging my protesting body towards. Half expecting for that prick to turn his car around and finish the job, I moved my head painfully from side to side, looking cautiously around me. Spotting no immediate danger and what could only be described as a hobo stick propped up by a nearby brick wall, I did a quick body scan (thankfully nothing actually broken it just felt like all of me was), grabbed the book (well really a pamphlet it was so small) and sat down unceremoniously in a huff with the brick wall as my brace.

I had left my cell phone at home and it was early enough in the morning that there was only a stray cat as a witness and like the smart animal it was, it ran away immediately after I got swiped. I closed my eyes briefly seeing spots before opening them up again to take in this strange small black notebook that now lay in my lap. I thumbed the pages inside lightly. There were only three. No title on the cover to alert me of its contents. Well, I had nothing else to do but read as I tried to muster up the strength to hobble back home. I opened it up, page one read as follows in big italic letters:

USE YOUR POSITION

Confused by what I read and seeing that was all this page had to offer I went to flip to the next. It was then I noticed that the words on the first page were fading before my very eyes. The page was now blank! Shocked! I yelped and threw the book away from me in alarm.

It was then that a smartly dressed young woman came walking purposefully down the street towards me. Gorgeous with an air of geniality, I noticed her long before she noticed me (as was my life) but she did in fact notice me eventually. “Oh you poor thing”, she purred, looking my damaged body over with pity. I was reminded quickly of my dirty clothes made from dragging myself across the sidewalk and the abandoned hobo stick beside me. “Is this yours?” She had spotted the book lying on the ground adjacent from us. I must have nodded yes as she put the book back in my hands and handed me my, I mean, the hobo stick. There was a pause and we locked eyes. Instantly, I was filled with warmth, confusion and the smell of really good meatloaf. I can’t remember the last time I was noticed. Looked at. Recognized. She smiled – I must have passed some kind of test as she had me shaking from disbelief with her next words. “I was going to grab some breakfast and eat it in the park. When’s the last time you had a nice meal?” Oh God! She did think I was homeless! I was horrified and my jaw dropped open. This somehow seemed to convince her even more of my need as she reached down to take my arm to help me up. I shuffled as quickly as I could wincing from the sudden movements which she responded to promptly with handing me my, I mean the hobo stick.

I let her lead me to and from a bakery then to a park bench as she chattered away happily about her hopes and dreams, fears and doubts. The only time I closed my jaw was to chew the bagel she serenely placed in my mouth. I was shocked into a mute. Was it wrong for me to let this happen? She clearly thought I was some sort of vagabond. USE YOUR POSITION. The words came back to me suddenly like that speeding car and I decided right then to enjoy what I could from this interaction. To her credit she didn’t seem to mind my uselessness and seemed pleased for the company for she stopped every once in awhile to compliment me on my listening skills. It was during her retelling of how she rescued her dog Scruffy that I did something I have never in a million years thought to do – I asked if I could kiss her. Immediate regret. She looked shocked, then pitying as she gently reached out to pat my hand, which still held the small black book. She murmured something about forgetting the time, gave me one last sweet look before leaving the bag filled with the remaining bagels by me and wishing me well.

I felt like I was hit and pepper sprayed all at once. The smell of meatloaf now acrid. How could I be so stupid as to chase away my first real human interaction outside of my mother?! But man, it had felt sweet when it lasted. When she looked at me and shared her feelings, I had felt more alive than I had in years. I had felt useful. That had to be worth something. It was then that I was reminded of the book in my hand. Curiousity flooded me again and I opened it once more. Somehow I was not surprised to see that the first page had reappeared and flipped excitedly to the second. It read as follows:

EVEN REJECTION SERVES ITS PURPOSE

This time I watched quietly as the words faded almost as soon as I read them. I closed the book. Whatever was waiting for me on the third page – I wasn’t yet ready. Instead I went over my morning’s activities. The feelings of dejection I had woken up to and had considered the normality of my life. To the brief spark of life I had felt chatting, err well listening, to an engaging, pretty young woman. Yes, I had overplayed my hand and had become too excited but for a few moments of my life I had awaken a part of myself that was foreign to me. I had asked for what I wanted. I didn’t get it but damn, it had felt good just to ask.

I passed the morning in that way. Absent mindedly eating bagels and feeding pigeons. The wounds of my physical body ignored while cherishing the sharp pain of my ego. The pain meant that I was alive. That I was acknowledged. I was strangely happy. And it was so I remained until I was jolted out of my revelations when another smartly dressed individual, this time a man, joined me on my bench.

“Man what a day this has already been,” he began with a wipe of his brow, speaking out loud to me presumably. "I’m sorry to disturb you since you look so at peace but I’m curious...how has your morning gone?” Usually I would have looked around me assuming correctly that this friendly question was not directed at me but this time...I looked him in the eye and to my delight, I began to share my morning, my mom’s incident last spring and the origins of my birth. To my surprise he listened! Laughing at my rude mirror reflection, a lone tear running down his face at my recent rejection, demanding proof of my red bottom. “And then she left me with the bagels and I’m sure I will never be the same again...” I finished finally looking away from him, zipping back up my pants. I sat back down. I felt the book being gently pulled from my hand. I began to protest (to my surprised ears) when he caught my eye and winked. Together, we read the third page:

SYNCHRONICITY

IT IS ALL CONNECTED. IT ALL SERVES A PURPOSE.

We looked again in each other’s eyes. “I would like to buy your story...” he began. “My name is Charlie Kaufman, I am a writer and director. I’m thinking we go into business together. How does $20,000 sound?”

I didn’t respond immediately. And when I did, this is what came out:

“Do you have a mirror on you by chance?”

He grinned as he reached into his man purse and brought out a small pocket mirror. “To make sure there’s nothing in my teeth”, he murmured self consciously as he passed it to me. I took a long look. I was smiling back at myself.