His recently shinned second-hand shoes looked to be a half size too big. He had his legs sagging between the two maroon colored vinyl bench seats. His knees hung on the brink of hyperextension in the way that only the knees of someone in a deep sleep could sustain. His forehead pressed against the tinted trolley window, leaving a slight smug of forehead-grease which mixed with bright morning sunlight to make dimly glowing rainbow. The heal and fleshy palm of his right hand created a cup that his right cheek and chin rested in. His fingers fanned out across his face. His ring finger bridging from the bridge of his nose and poking himself in the left eye. He took deep & heavy slumber filled breaths that made is chest fall twice as fast as it rose. His sweat pants were also a size to big and the legs drooped low from his thighs, low enough that they draped on the top of his blue lunch cooler, which sat on the floor beneath his seat. His checkered work shirt went with neither his pants nor his shoes, but it was clean and had sharp pressed collars.
I was returning from a morning cappuccino and tiramisu at Caffe Italia, as well as a stop into Nelson's Photo Supplies to pickup a camera bag I had finally convinced myself that I needed. Even though is was still early April it was warm enough that the air conditioning was pumping as I stepped onto the trolley.
As I sat down, the legs connected to the pair of recently shinned second-hand shoes propped next to me quickly sprung awake and helped the body they were connected to right itself in its seat. "Keep'um up there, I got plenty of room", I said. "No, no...sorry sorry", he said in a thick, but not difficult to understand, Middle Eastern accent . His green eyes made contact with mind then shifted down slightly. Noticing his lunch cooler I said "Just getting off work?". "No, coming back from an interview" he said. "How'd it go?" I asked. "I didn't get it...they said I need to have a car to get there because the shift starts very late" he said. "Ahhh...I'm so tired. I haven't slept well in three days" he said as he stretched his arms out to the side slightly and folded his shoulders forward, bringing his hands up to his face, yawning and rubbing his stubbled cheeks and chin. "Do you live around here?" I asked as we had the turn East onto 'C' Street. "Yes, yes" he said calmly, "I am homeless, I live in front of the library. Do you know where the library is? That is my home". He laughed lightly. It was a laugh that said "Can you believe that? I live at the library?!?" It was the kind of laugh a friend would unknowingly and unwillingly let fly after telling you their wife was leaving them; for their sister. It was a "Can you believe this shit..." kind of laugh.
I'm not sure if it was for him or me, but I switched over to my rehabilitation counseling mode of speak, "Good services there, right? That location is well served by social services, right? I've seen them there a lot". "Oh, yes...they come everyday and every night! They bring us food, clothes (motioning to his donated wardrobe), and help us very much!" he said excitedly, a broad smile spreading across his face as he sat up straight in his seat. He reached into his front shirt pocket. My mind flashed: "Cigarettes?!...really man?...you're sleeping in front of the library and you're wasting money on smokes!?" but, to my surprise he pulled out a cell phone! I smiled and said "Did they help you get a phone?" "Oh, yes!" he said proudly. "You must have a phone to get a job...to put down on the application!" It was at this moment that I realized this man wanted to put in the work to get back on his feet. "Wow", I said, "that's smart." "Yes", he said, "It is a must!".
"Man, that's rough...but I'm glad you're getting good servics" I said. I'm not sure how many times I said the word 'services' during this portion of our conversation, but in retrospect I think I was trying to throw him verbal life-preservers, like you'd throw to person who had fallen off a ship into a dark, cold ocean. I wanted to make life safe for him by talking myself into believing that because someone with a name-tag came by once a day to check on the group in front of the library that life was going to be ok for this man. I changed the subject, "What is your first language?", I asked. "Farsi, I am from Afghanistan" he said without a hint of shame. He continued, "My father was a General in the Afghan Army, but he was shot through the cheek (he pointed to his chest)...or chest? Then things got very bad for us." "How long have you been in the US?" I asked. "That was...ummm, 15 years ago that I came to this country with my brother. But, then I did a bad thing. I broke a law and made to go to jail. It was stupid and bad. But...", "But, you're getting back on track now", I interrupted. Our eyes locked as I said this. He was searching my eyes, my face for something. He found what he was searching for quickly, we were at that moment two men talking as we traveled our morning routes. He was on his way home just as I was. He saw how I saw him: as a man trying to find his way in the world, no different than myself. His face relaxed and sitting back in his seat he said softly, but with a crackle of hopeful energy, "Yes...yes. I am trying. God willing, I am trying".
"NEXT STOP: 5TH AVENUE! 5TH AVENUE IS NEXT!" said the computerized female announcer. My seat partner rose slowly, picking up his blue lunch cooler. "This is my stop" he said. "It was good talking to you my friend" I said as I reached my hand out to him. He looked at my hand for a split second, then took it in his as he allowed himself to look me in the eyes one last time, this time with the first trace of shyness I had seen during our time together. I held his gaze as I said "As-Salamu Alaykum". His shyness evaporated as he gripped my hand tighter, bowed his head toward me slightly and said in a respectfully surprised tone, "Alekum As-Salam...thank you", and stepped down the 3 steps out of the trolley and into a flood of sunlight, heat, and reality.
He was Afghani? Your salutation was in Hebrew. I think you may have wanted to say, "As-Salamu Alaykum," (or Salam Aleikum) to which he would respond, "Alekum As-Salam." Perhaps he thought you were Jewish. In any event, great writing, and story. - A
ReplyDeleteThanks Alex. You're correct that is what I meant to write, and I appreciate the help. I edited my post with the correct spelling.
ReplyDelete