Monday, May 28, 2007
memorial day, part two
Okay my dear reader, I've been inspired.
A friend just told an interesting tale about an encounter with a vet.
Well seein' as it's still Memorial Day, the day we are required by statute to give pause and reflect upon the sacrifices of those who have proudly given all in the glorious service of the red white and blue, I just thought I might share a similar story with you.
Way back in the very early 90's, I was leaving a happy hour downtown. It was a Friday. Myself and my fellow county cubicle workers met after work at a bar known for their inexpensive yet potent drinks and for their free happy hour buffet.
As the sun was setting I found myself wandering up the side streets for the short walk to my car. My blood was full of booze and my belly was full of free buffet. As I grew near I saw a man milling around on the sidewalk beside the driver's side door. I tensed up in preparation for anything. Closer still I saw that he was most likely some homeless guy, his clothes were dingy and dirty as the street, his hair and beard were long, wild, bedraggled in appearance, and peppered with grime and gray.
I relaxed and he saw me coming. I fumbled in one pocket for my keys and in the other for a few stray dollar bills.
I don't remember who initiated the conversation, but it was laid back, pleasantries were exchanged. Yep, my instincts were correct, another hard-luck homeless story. I pulled my keys from one pocket and I reached in my other pocket for the few wadded up bucks. Smiling pleasantly I unlocked and opened the door, handed him the cash and wished him well.
He reached out and placed his hand on my arm. It seemed a pleading and inviting gesture, warm and not threatening in the least. I stepped back out on the sidewalk. He raised a nearly full 40 in a brown paper bag and invited me to sit, talk and drink it with him. He was quite thankful for my generosity and wished to show his gratitude. He was insistent, and I was enthralled as a guest running late to a wedding.
I accepted the bottle and we sat down on the curb. I offered him a smoke. We sat on the curb, passing the 40 and chain smoking Camel Lights.
Sadly I can know longer remember his name. He told me he was a vet, although of what war I do not believe he ever said. Judging from his worn and weathered appearance it could have been anything from the Civil War forward.
He told me he was traveling, he had walked and hitched down from someplace far, like Nebraska or Minnesota. He was trying to reach the Veteran's Administration Hospital that lies another hour or so's drive down the interstate. He was in need of medical care, he did not specify but I found myself hoping it was for some drying-out, detoxing, and just plain dealing with it. His borderline psychiatric issues were clearly recognizable in his speech. Oh sweet Jesus, please do not let this dude start thinkin' that he's back over there.
From there, he told me he planned to travel back across country, to one of the coasts I believe, to reconnect with an adult son he had not seen in years and meet grandchildren he had yet to see.
Given his current situation and lot in life, I found him oddly optimistic. The Lord knows but only The Devil will tell you what horrors he had previously witnessed and experienced to make him believe that things were good right now.
I do not know how long we sat there, on the curb. It could have been hours. I remember it now as one of those weird moments in life when time slows down or stops altogether.
Eventually the 40 was gone, we stood up and made our good-byes. I thanked him for sharing his story and handed him the pack of smokes and a couple more bucks I rummaged from my wallet. Again I wished him well.
As I drove off, he turned and began walking up the alley near where we had been sitting.
Wonder what he's doing now.
Yes, I remember.
Memorial Day.
|
A friend just told an interesting tale about an encounter with a vet.
Well seein' as it's still Memorial Day, the day we are required by statute to give pause and reflect upon the sacrifices of those who have proudly given all in the glorious service of the red white and blue, I just thought I might share a similar story with you.
Way back in the very early 90's, I was leaving a happy hour downtown. It was a Friday. Myself and my fellow county cubicle workers met after work at a bar known for their inexpensive yet potent drinks and for their free happy hour buffet.
As the sun was setting I found myself wandering up the side streets for the short walk to my car. My blood was full of booze and my belly was full of free buffet. As I grew near I saw a man milling around on the sidewalk beside the driver's side door. I tensed up in preparation for anything. Closer still I saw that he was most likely some homeless guy, his clothes were dingy and dirty as the street, his hair and beard were long, wild, bedraggled in appearance, and peppered with grime and gray.
I relaxed and he saw me coming. I fumbled in one pocket for my keys and in the other for a few stray dollar bills.
I don't remember who initiated the conversation, but it was laid back, pleasantries were exchanged. Yep, my instincts were correct, another hard-luck homeless story. I pulled my keys from one pocket and I reached in my other pocket for the few wadded up bucks. Smiling pleasantly I unlocked and opened the door, handed him the cash and wished him well.
He reached out and placed his hand on my arm. It seemed a pleading and inviting gesture, warm and not threatening in the least. I stepped back out on the sidewalk. He raised a nearly full 40 in a brown paper bag and invited me to sit, talk and drink it with him. He was quite thankful for my generosity and wished to show his gratitude. He was insistent, and I was enthralled as a guest running late to a wedding.
I accepted the bottle and we sat down on the curb. I offered him a smoke. We sat on the curb, passing the 40 and chain smoking Camel Lights.
Sadly I can know longer remember his name. He told me he was a vet, although of what war I do not believe he ever said. Judging from his worn and weathered appearance it could have been anything from the Civil War forward.
He told me he was traveling, he had walked and hitched down from someplace far, like Nebraska or Minnesota. He was trying to reach the Veteran's Administration Hospital that lies another hour or so's drive down the interstate. He was in need of medical care, he did not specify but I found myself hoping it was for some drying-out, detoxing, and just plain dealing with it. His borderline psychiatric issues were clearly recognizable in his speech. Oh sweet Jesus, please do not let this dude start thinkin' that he's back over there.
From there, he told me he planned to travel back across country, to one of the coasts I believe, to reconnect with an adult son he had not seen in years and meet grandchildren he had yet to see.
Given his current situation and lot in life, I found him oddly optimistic. The Lord knows but only The Devil will tell you what horrors he had previously witnessed and experienced to make him believe that things were good right now.
I do not know how long we sat there, on the curb. It could have been hours. I remember it now as one of those weird moments in life when time slows down or stops altogether.
Eventually the 40 was gone, we stood up and made our good-byes. I thanked him for sharing his story and handed him the pack of smokes and a couple more bucks I rummaged from my wallet. Again I wished him well.
As I drove off, he turned and began walking up the alley near where we had been sitting.
Wonder what he's doing now.
Yes, I remember.
Memorial Day.
|
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