Early Morning Reminder
On the fourth day of summer, the morning brought me the thick cling of humidity and a new friend. As I approached the curb, something about my pale yellow polo and iced coffee composure must have expressed accessibility to charles. Charles was about 45 and his hygiene and demeanor told quickly of his status. With a stained olive tshirt, eroded tennis shoes and unkept salt and pepper beard, I needed no recounting of his story to know he was homeless. Admittedly, I was apprehensive to advance much further than a few feet from him, but I suppose charles had encountered many men more threatening than me in his lifetime. Within seconds conversation sprouted, first about women then his tribulations. As many homeless men I have met have done, charles found the opportunity to speak to a young man as a chance to enstill his wisdom upon someone so they wouldn’t “end up like him”. He advised, “You gotta watch out for these girls, man. They’ll get you killed,” and then for a few minutes told me about the numerous female encounters in his life. It wasn’t long before I discerned his mental illness but it mattered little to me as I strattled the line between active listening and curious interest. Charles was schizophrenic and cemented the fact with his constant reminders of how people can “get you”. He was also a drug user, crack most likely, and reminisced on the set ups and set backs that he had both participated in and been a victim of as I stood enamored of his monologue. What a person he was. As he retold his experiences with drug dealers and prostitutes, I wondered if I had stumbled upon some sort of method actor stepping into the shoes of a character too incredible to truly exist. Soon he requested a cigarette and I refused him one. I’ve found that many drug users have a “give a mouse a cookie” mentality, requesting something small and then trying to take a mile from the inch you allow, so I avoid opening that door. I think it is some sort of requirement of the homeless to ask the people they meet for something, even if only the time. For the next 20 minutes, charles spewed his mix of paranoid delusion and tall tale and while processing the blend I found that he had accomplished his goal of enlightenment but by other means. We are all dying. We are all sick. But we can all smile. Life deals different cards to each of us, but unlike in poker we must never fold. Some are flushes and straights and some are dealt pairs with a high card but there are many people who you see everyday, people in your local grocery store or laundromat, your church or the bus stop at the end of your street, that have no hand at all. These are the people who don’t receive as many cards as the rest. Cards that are bent and torn with the numbers and suits faded. But with no chips to vouch for, charles and I sat at the table and we played. He smiled in unabashed gratitude for the rest of the coffee I offered him as we parted ways. Charles was my reminder. To those that cough, be happy you have a cold and not cancer because at the end of the day, that’s all you can do. And remember to smile. If not for yourself, smile for charles.
