It is Tuesday
It is late Tuesday afternoon; I know that only because the
time flashed on the moving banner at the bank across the square. It has been
raining since before midnight last night and I know this because I have been
sitting on this park bench through it all. Rain use to be a soothing sound back
when it was falling on the roof of my mountain home not all that long ago. I
could sit for hours and listen to it, hear the water running down the small
creek behind the house, and the one across the drive by the garden; small
unless like today, it had been pouring for hours then both creeks would become
a raging torrent as the water raced down the mountainsides.
Unlike
then the sounds that I now hear is the pounding of what rain gets through the
trees onto the small piece of plastic I had found in the dumpster yesterday and
am now using to keep my head dry. Instead of a soothing sound it is brittle
sharp sound, a reminder that I no longer have a home, I am now one of the
homeless.
At least
the rain is keeping the cops away. They are not raping on the wood or poking me
in the ribs with their nightsticks to wake me yelling, “You cannot sleep here
ya asshole!” in that I am the boss here tone that they use on us, then prodding
me again and again with words and stick until I move off to find another place
to rest.
Us, I
never in a million years thought I would belong to this group, the group that I
saw sleeping on the sidewalks, on the benches or under the highway over passes.
Us, now that includes me sleeping wherever I can find a dry spot. Comfortable
no longer matters when I am ready to sleep “I am so tired that I could sleep
next to the highway”, wait, I have slept next to the highway, more than once. It was a joke once but now is a reality.
The
worst part is the loneliness; sure I have companions in the others like me. We
are homeless, penniless, and mostly lifeless just existing day to day. One
cannot become friends here; we have only one common thing between us, hunger.
Friendship does not happen here, they or I would take whatever we can to
survive so even though we are somewhat together, we are not together. I have
been here but a short time compared to some. We are the outcast of society and
as I use to do, people walk by and do not even see us. I was once a man that mattered
had a family, a job, and a place in the world. Now I am nothing but a bump on
the sidewalk, something dark and sinister under a tree, someone who smells bad
lying on a park bench, one of ‘those’ people.
God I
wish the rain would stop. My feet are soaked, what is left of my shoes are
soaked as are my pants and most of my shirt. “At least my Goddamn head is dry,”
I say to the rain while shifting the two-foot square piece of roof I have,
shifting it causing the small puddle on top to run down my wrist, into my
sleeve and down my side. It sends a new shiver through me.
The
drumming of the rain has all but put me asleep again. I jerk upright as my
hands slip down allowing the rain to drum on my somewhat dry head. Rain running
into my eyes from my hair burns, I have not had a bath in I cannot remember how
long ago. Wait, it was the city fountain a few months ago I recall smiling,
with that partial bottle of body wash I found along with a sandwich, I remember
now, a chicken sandwich, and that sweet smelling body wash. It made me smelled good for a while after
that. I bet I left a ring around the pool as I did as a kid in the bathtub. I
wonder who scrubbed that one out, not mom for sure.
Changing
position my thoughts go back to that bath. Granted it was well after dark but I
had some kind of balls stripping like that and climbing into that cold water,
God I thought those balls would freeze and drop off sinking to the bottom of
the pool, never to be found again. Or maybe they would, maybe they would plug
up the pump, imagine the look on the repairman’s face, look here Joe, balls,
the damn pump is plugged up with balls!
I used the fountain as a shower not giving a damn
if I got caught or not. Hell if the cops caught me I would get to at least
sleep where it was warm and maybe I’d even a meal out of it.
Smiling again at the memories,
as I look around I notice some movement out there by the trees. It is too small
to be a cop and they would not be out here anyways. They are sitting in the
station house or a restaurant somewhere drinking hot coffee, probably eating
some donuts, and bitching about the damn rain, what I wouldn’t give for a cup
of hot coffee right about now.
Looking
closer I see a something that looks darker than the bushes there at the bottom
near the base of that big tree. The rain has slacked off a bit and my curiosity
is getting the better of me. Whatever it is, it has stopped moving but I can
still tell where it is. Carefully folding my plastic and shoving it into my hip
pocket I get up and move towards the trees, slowly. I am not sure what that
darker patch is. It may be nothing but some old shopping bag or something; a
plastic shopping bag would come in handy right now,
Whatever
the dark patch is it just moved again so I stop, watching as well as I can. My
eyes are still stinging from the dirt and grease that washed out of my hair. The city is strangely quiet at this moment;
water dripping from the leaves is all that I hear. There is no wind; whatever
it is it is not being blown around so it is moving by itself.
I
take a step closer and the spot does not move; another step and again the spot
remains where it was. Getting down on my hands and knees I move a little more.
I can feel the cold mud pressing through my thin pants and squishing between my
fingers. As I raise my hand to move again there is a slight sucking sound which
caused me to freeze. This close to the ground I can smell the mud, it is kind
of a nice, earthly, reminds me of my gardens I use to have way back when.
Moving
a bit closer I can just make out what looks like fur, wet matted dirty fur. A
cat or dog, maybe a raccoon, or possibly some injured animal. Sitting back on
my hunches I wait. If it is an injured animal, trying to get to it will end up
me being bit. That is not something out here on the street that you want. That
is a slow painful death sentence out here.
I sit
and watch for a time waiting to see what happens. There is no movement in the
darken area and I still cannot make out for sure what I am looking at.
“Fuck
it!” I say out loud and lean forward again moving towards the base of the tree.
Pushing some lower bush branches out of the way with my head I am close enough
now to make out a little black nose. It is a dog, a little dog I think. Slowly
I push through the bushes and there in front of me huddles a little brown dog,
soaking wet, as am I. His little beady eyes are watching me steadily but he has
not bolted. “Hey buddy” I say softly, “how ya doing?”
His
little pink tongue flicks out and cleans his nose. He still has not made any
move towards or away from me. I am close enough now to touch him but I wait. I
do not want to get bit but even more I do not want him to run. “Hey little dude,
you look cold and hungry. Boy do I know what that’s like.”
Again
the tongue flicks out. At first I thought that maybe he was growling but I
realize it is just a whimper. Slowly I reach out towards him, mud dripping from
my hand. I can see that he is tensing up but he is still crouched on the ground
with his feet under him. I can smell wet dog as a slight breeze springs up
causing more water to drip from the leaves above us.
Slowly
I reach until my hand is right in front of that little black nose, he is
sniffing my hand, not moving, but his nose is working, “Yeah it smells like mud,
and shit I am sure.” I say to the dog. Slowly I take the final step and touch
his muzzle just above his nose, he does not move. Stroking it a little I tell
him that it will be ok, I will not hurt him.
Slowly
I move my hand up and scratch him between the ears, still he has not moved, and
it seems that he has relaxed a little bit. “Hey buddy, I could use a friend
right now, I bet you could too.” He
moves and I freeze but his is only lifting his rear up. He is little, about 10
pounds I’d say.
Suddenly
the dog gets up, looks at me, and then moves towards me pushing into my thighs.
I continue to pet and talk to him as it starts to rain again, those large drops
that say it will be a long night. The little brown dog pushes up on his hind
legs sliding his nose under my coat. Leaning back I scoop him up into the warm folds
and he snuggles in tightly against my shirt.
Standing
up I turn and go back to my bench all the while talking to the pup cuddled in
the folds of the coat. I can feel the warmth of his little body, something I
have not felt for a very long time. Pulling out the plastic sheet to cover my
head again I pull the pup up so that he is also under the sheet, right below my
neck. He smells like a wet dog, like dirt and neglect. I can relate to that
smell.
Looking
down at him I say, “Well little man, what are we going to call you?” He is
looking up to me with those little beady eyes blinking. “I know, you name is
Lost and Found, I will call you Lost for short.” At that his little pink tongue
licks my nose.
As I
settle back listening to the rain beat on my plastic sheet I sigh. I realize
that the pup and I are not alone anymore and somehow the rain now is not so
bad.
4/11/15
