You're sitting at a red light downtown, waiting. You glance at the sidewalk and see a man walking.
He's grubby and unfocused, hands in his pockets, cap just slightly off centre. It's got one of those Indian looking eagles on it, and the word "Pride". There's a dark bruise on the back of his wrist.
He stumbles over nothing without noticing that he's done it and keeps walking.
You despise him for drinking too much and figure he should sober up and get a job. Go back to school. Something.
You don't know his name.
But I do. I know him. He's a friend of mine. Met him a couple of years ago. Since then he's bought me coffee a few times and we've talked.
I like him. He's got a streak of humour as narrow as your baby finger, but a mile deep. If you can hit the right spot, you get back this reluctant sideways smile, all in the eyes, that's just brilliant.
His wife died a few years ago, after he'd nursed her through the last of her lung cancer. He's had a few relationships since, but nothing solid.
He's got a couple of adult kids; one keeps in touch sometimes, the other disappeared long ago and just resurfaced. She's got a crack addiction and her two children are in foster care. He hasn't seen them in 8 years. Doesn't know what they look like anymore. He's got pictures in his wallet, taken when they were 2 and 3. Now they're 10 and 11.
He's got enough money to live on. Just. But he's an easy mark for "borrowers". He's always had a hard time saying no, especially after a beer or two. So he pays the rent late and gets yelled at. Or not at all and gets evicted. If he's desperate, he'll go the the local "lender" and borrow $500, which will cost him $700 to pay back.
His doctor's trying to get him to go to the hospital, but he's not ready. He's afraid that once he's in, he won't get back out.
The pain in his back is caused by two slipped discs, complicated by arthritis.
The slipped discs (and the bruises) are the result of the blackouts caused by an asphyxiating cough brought on by walking too fast, eating too fast, standing up too quickly or laughing. The reason it's so bad is the COPD, which has claimed 75% of one lung and 20% of the other. He coughs, he blacks out, he falls, he wakes up injured. His face bruised, his wrist hurting.
He takes little white pills for his heart condition and slightly larger ones to keep his stomach from getting any worse.
He needs a new pain med for his back, but hasn't started taking it yet because it will make him nauseated.
He can't sleep, so he's tired all the time.
Once he's in the hospital, they'll do a biopsy on the tumor on his leg. He's scared about that one.
He's very depressed. Nothing ever gets better, and nobody's ever happy with him. Just can't seem to get anything right. His doctor wants him to get a mental health assessment, but he's not ready for that either.
But you talk to him about Jesus, and he'll sparkle. Jesus is good and loves him and someday Jesus will take him to be with his mom and grandma again. That'll be good. No more of this shit.
But then the present is back with us, and the sparkle is gone.
The present pretty much sucks. And the foreseeable future. The past's largely a wash, too.
So he drinks. He drinks way too much. Until his BAC is literally something that would kill you.
Of course he drinks. He loses focus. He stumbles.
Hell, I would too.
r
He's grubby and unfocused, hands in his pockets, cap just slightly off centre. It's got one of those Indian looking eagles on it, and the word "Pride". There's a dark bruise on the back of his wrist.
He stumbles over nothing without noticing that he's done it and keeps walking.
You despise him for drinking too much and figure he should sober up and get a job. Go back to school. Something.
You don't know his name.
But I do. I know him. He's a friend of mine. Met him a couple of years ago. Since then he's bought me coffee a few times and we've talked.
I like him. He's got a streak of humour as narrow as your baby finger, but a mile deep. If you can hit the right spot, you get back this reluctant sideways smile, all in the eyes, that's just brilliant.
His wife died a few years ago, after he'd nursed her through the last of her lung cancer. He's had a few relationships since, but nothing solid.
He's got a couple of adult kids; one keeps in touch sometimes, the other disappeared long ago and just resurfaced. She's got a crack addiction and her two children are in foster care. He hasn't seen them in 8 years. Doesn't know what they look like anymore. He's got pictures in his wallet, taken when they were 2 and 3. Now they're 10 and 11.
He's got enough money to live on. Just. But he's an easy mark for "borrowers". He's always had a hard time saying no, especially after a beer or two. So he pays the rent late and gets yelled at. Or not at all and gets evicted. If he's desperate, he'll go the the local "lender" and borrow $500, which will cost him $700 to pay back.
His doctor's trying to get him to go to the hospital, but he's not ready. He's afraid that once he's in, he won't get back out.
The pain in his back is caused by two slipped discs, complicated by arthritis.
The slipped discs (and the bruises) are the result of the blackouts caused by an asphyxiating cough brought on by walking too fast, eating too fast, standing up too quickly or laughing. The reason it's so bad is the COPD, which has claimed 75% of one lung and 20% of the other. He coughs, he blacks out, he falls, he wakes up injured. His face bruised, his wrist hurting.
He takes little white pills for his heart condition and slightly larger ones to keep his stomach from getting any worse.
He needs a new pain med for his back, but hasn't started taking it yet because it will make him nauseated.
He can't sleep, so he's tired all the time.
Once he's in the hospital, they'll do a biopsy on the tumor on his leg. He's scared about that one.
He's very depressed. Nothing ever gets better, and nobody's ever happy with him. Just can't seem to get anything right. His doctor wants him to get a mental health assessment, but he's not ready for that either.
But you talk to him about Jesus, and he'll sparkle. Jesus is good and loves him and someday Jesus will take him to be with his mom and grandma again. That'll be good. No more of this shit.
But then the present is back with us, and the sparkle is gone.
The present pretty much sucks. And the foreseeable future. The past's largely a wash, too.
So he drinks. He drinks way too much. Until his BAC is literally something that would kill you.
Of course he drinks. He loses focus. He stumbles.
Hell, I would too.
r
Comments