PHI: Chapter II

Chapter II
At four-thirty, the switches flip heavily with an industrial thud and the lights flicker momentarily before reinstating themselves. A heavyset man bellows for us to get up, the voice so loud it rattles the windows in the back. The early morning was my time for action. I jumped to put my shoes on and spanning my arms into my jacket, I head towards the bathroom.
At breakfast, thirty plus homeless men stagger through a line for a biscuit and some grits in a Styrofoam bowl. My first few weeks here I inhaled my food so I could disappear into the city for the rest of the day, but with the right combination of condiments, I began to slow down and savor my daily allotment. Even keeping a pocket in my book bag solely for a private collection of colorful condiments.
Taking the first step outside each morning, I entered a place limited in choice and option. At five in the morning, nothing was open and it was still dark and cold. Most guys hung close to Oliver’s until daylight broke but I headed away from the place quickly. This early, there was no where to go so I hunker down on one of the benches surrounding the Capitol building, cinching the neckline on my jacket.
The icy wind is giving my cheeks a first degree burn as the buildings on either side of the street funnel cold air smack in my direction. Call me stupid for picking the spot, but I don't think I cared enough at the time. I turn my head left, away from the stinging flood of air.
As the sun rises, I feel brave enough to head towards the park. Pushed by a violent atmosphere towards the morning star, I see a green paradise draped by the sun's heraldry of orange and gold. My location of contemplation, Cay park.
I enter an archway of vine and wrought iron, heading towards the park's spiraled fountain to sit on one of the surrounding benches. Slouching on a wooden bench to get a few more hours of sleep, the sun continues it's ascent into the sky, warming the chilled air around me. My body goes limp as cognitive thoughts blend into desperate dreams.
The sun is welcomed after last night's thunderstorm. Chilled morning air stings deep breathes, making me grateful for the gradual warmness of daylight. I inhale facing the sun and roll off the wooden bench, swinging a book bag over my left shoulder as I stand up. Blood rushes to my head and everything around me slows to a stop. My body prepares for another day.
My standards have dropped significantly and anything that supports me physically will suffice. The small nylon bundle slung over my shoulders is the same bag I used in high school, when my problems seemed heavier than they actually were. Weighed down by the various contents inside, the right shoulder strap has started to tear at the seam. Each week, more threads pop and I wait for the final snap that will transfer all the responsibility to one side alone. Even though I consider this a minor problem, that old Asian proverb about the missing nail costing a war comes to mind. I pray for it to hold on just a little bit longer, carefully adjusting it’s weight to the left when slung over my shoulder. A temporary solution.
A fast food joint with biscuits as their forerunner is open and I have collected enough change for a cup of coffee, free refills. I can't afford the biscuits, so I take the coffee just as happily. I get so amped up on caffeine that I have to walk off the tremors. I read the paper for a few hours because finding an adequate activity to pursue this early in the morning is difficult. Either way, the sun is rising now so it's safe on the sidewalk. I leave the paper on the table and toss the cup in the trash as I head outside, the clouds feathering across the sky.
As I walk, I watch different vehicles go by with occupants that have somewhere important to be. I stretch my arms out over the sidewalk, flicking my cigarette up at a forty-five degree angle. Mozart would measure the rhythm of chandelier swings in his church like a metronome. I trace the line my ember leaves as it swirls through the air. The Golden Mean shows itself to me. I follow the stump with my eyes until it explodes in a fiery display of orange sparks on the concrete. I exhale my breathe in the cold air. Carbon dioxide is mixed with smoke. An old man sidesteps my inconsiderate play and grunts. I apologize under my breathe as he passes although he could care less if I did or didn't anyways.
I haven’t spoken to anyone in a few months. It’s not that I don’t miss it, but what would I have to talk about? The weather is about the only thing I have in common with the people around me. In my free time, which is all the time, I oscillate between the park and the library in silence. Relaxing and reading is about all I do so I must say that outside of the being homeless thing, I fare quite well. But what’s a home anyway? A place to be beaten up and down? A place where your words, the very ideas and goals you have concerning your life are thrown out with the liquor bottles and cigarette butts. Granted not all are like this, but if my lot was such than what should I do when I see the world as more inviting with all of its brash rational. I welcome it. I welcomed it. So here I am in my contentment, in my solitude.
Another day passes. The sun is my constant, my Virgil, guiding me by, day in and day out. If anything was to change, I’d be hesitant to trust it.
In my boredom, I had picked up on the work schedule of the city. The workers pouring in and out of each building in their own time. There own world. Never taking the time to differentiate these ebbs of people, I never thought about who worked where or did what, I saw them as a single consuming tide splashing around my bench. Nothing against the individual, but I felt I had something they didn’t. I was an individual, an intelligent one I’d like to think, but what purpose did that serve?
In high school, I tested in the top five percent of the country. Artist of the year and a thespian at a state renowned drama department, I missed graduation by one class and never looked for a reason why. I had done it myself and I knew that. What did it matter? Was I to go to college, get a degree and work at a bank or a law firm? Should I chase what I didn’t truly care about? What was the point? It was of no consequence but my own and I could deal with that. The accomplished life seemed too easy. Where was the challenge and adventure life provided that I had read about as a kid? I tried to keep my time moving by keeping some books around and a few drawing boards that were easily tucked under my arm.
Finding a bench on Main street under an antiqued street clock, I passed the time observing and recording my small world. Another spring rain had ceased and the sun had begun to dry my world in patches. As I sat on my planks, drawing the square around me, an elderly man in a trench coat sat down at the other end. I didn’t notice him nor would I have unless he broke the silence I had come to comfortably surround myself in. Leaning to get a better angle, he spoke.
“Looks good,” he said.
“Thanks.” I managed, trying to avoid conversation.
He reached into the duffle bag at his side and pulled out a small loaf of bread and some honey. I judged him by his condiments. His shoulder length white hair was pulled back into a pony tail, he began pushing the spread out onto the bread and carefully biting off small bits. Not that I was staring, but he caught me eyeing the loaf.
“Want some?”
My pride stuck it’s nose in the air but my wrenching stomach convinced my mouth to form a “yes, please” and my vocal chords to follow. Tearing the loaf in half, he handed it to me and then reached in his bag and pulled out yet another pack of honey.
Not trying to expand my vocabulary, I whispered another “Thanks.”
“Not a problem.”
I set down the boards and we sat on that bench for an hour or so, after the bread was gone, just watching the world from different points of view. I didn’t want to talk and he didn’t seem interested in it either. The buses came and I waited for him to jump up for his but it never came. Keeping note of the time, I decided to head towards Oliver’s so I could get a head start in the line as they frequently turned back stragglers. I happened upon the old firehouse late one night and was turned back mere feet from the door. More scared than angry, it hit me that I would be sleeping on the streets. I found the parking garage that night, wrapping myself into a corner on the fourth floor to disappear into the shadows.
“Thanks for the food.” I nod to him and stood up straight to show that I still had pride.
Never turning, he stared straight ahead and let slide an “Anytime.”
The way in which this man approached and kept his presence aloof around me brought questions and considering my current circumstance, concerns. Was he watching me beforehand? Somewhere across the street maybe. Did he know I was staying at Oliver’s? What kind of guy is just carrying around loaves of bread to split with kids a third of his age? Did he know I was alone? Not just right now but always. Always alone. My feet feel heavy as I’m reminded of the unsettling fact.
I calm myself down and think about reasons why he couldn’t be a detriment. First of all, he was multiple times my age and lanky, not a force I couldn’t fight off to be sure. He seemed kempt, almost professor like. Tan trench coat free from stains and wear, pale blue shirt tucked in and jeans hung slightly higher than his light brown dress shoes. His head was bald in the middle, crowned with a crop of white hair that hung down to his shoulders. Too put together to be like the grimy Nathan Lane look-alike I see out here carrying a suitcase around with a broken latch so that every time he sets it down a bundle of women’s clothes and high heels tumbles out of it onto the sidewalk. A crack pipe skittering behind, falling over the curb. Nope, that wasn’t this guy.
I enjoyed his simplicity. The sun was dying for the day in a glorious show of red and orange. The same fire I felt in my core, burning my want of trivial pursuits away. That fire that consumed any reason I had for why I was here. He helped me stare it down for today over bread and honey. For the first time I can remember, I feel at ease.