Homeless Man

         I could feel the city pulsing under my feet.  I had lived here a long time, but I was always rushing to get somewhere.  More often than not it was to nowhere.  I moved to the beat of someone else’s drum for most of my life.  When I moved away from my folks, I thought I was really going to do things my way.  All Kids do when they fly from the nest.  The truth is, most of us spend our adult lives working for someone else, and living by the beat of their drum.
Now that I was too old to really make a difference for myself, I was going to observe the world around me.  Maybe I could see the truths that were hidden to me before, and share my knowledge.  I know I’m kidding myself.  No one wants to hear from an old man that spends his days wandering the streets.  I am not homeless.  I am not poor.  I am not lost.  I am not senile.  In fact I have a beautiful home in New Jersey and I have a very nice pension that I worked 45 years to secure.  I had a wonderful life raising my children with my wife.
I married Kelly right out of high school.  People did that back then.  You were in teenage-love and you made it last a lifetime.  Now people dispose of each other like old steak; once it gets tough and shitty they throw it away.  Not my generation, no, we threw it in the pot, added some random ingredients and made a delicious stew.  I love Kelly, and I miss her every day I walk this earth.  The Lord needed her and so he took her.  That’s what I believe.  I don’t discuss religion or politics and I don’t say kids are cute if they aren’t.  I believe what I believe, and frankly I don’t give a shit what you think.
My children are grown now and are now going to the beat of someone else’s drum.  I think that now they’re just happy it’s not mine.  I gave them a good home with plenty to eat.  They earned what they had, and they were grateful.  I gave them all that I had.  They call on the weekends and we visit when we can.  They are busy living the life I used to.  My two boys live out of state and my little girl lives about ten miles from me. 
         I was on 7th avenue near 41st street on Friday.  I got off the train and I just wanted to walk.  It was a beautiful spring evening.  The traffic in Manhattan was picking up and little by little the sea of yellow cabs got bigger and more violent.  It is funny how the wailing sirens and honking horns just seems to blend into the revving engines and squealing brakes.  The buses lumber up the Avenue like a heard of old elephants bellowing smoke and screeching their wheels.
I stopped and leaned against a building to smoke a cigarette when I saw a black man about my age sitting on an old suitcase near the corner of the block.  He was dirty and unshaven and his clothes were greasy and matted.  He was text book homeless.  He sat with a smile on his face and a small wear-beaten coffee cup with a few coins sitting out in front of him.  He didn’t say a word to the passersby.
I have learned not to assume, and so he looked homeless, and even up- wind he smelled homeless, but I won’t take anything for granted anymore.  I watched him while I smoked my cigarette.  He seemed to be happy.  Maybe he was happy because for a homeless person the conditions were faring in his favor.  The weather was beautiful and not a cloud in the sky, there were tourists dropping money in his cup, and no one seemed to care that he was there.
         From where I stood, I couldn’t help but ask myself how I felt about this man who seemed content to be homeless.  I wondered how he got here.  Was he an addict? Was it pills? Booze? Crack? Maybe he was just plain crazy.  When I was a younger man I would have judged him; thought him lazy and a burden to society.  I would walk by briskly and sneer at his cup as I tried to figure out if I had enough money to buy myself lunch let alone some lazy freeloader who was too good to work.
But today I saw myself.  I could be there on the next corner.  I never cared much for drinking and I never did drugs except for a few tokes of a joint when I was a kid.  I was too busy to be bothered with that shit.  I was earning my way in the world.  I was making money.  That was my addiction.  So, it wouldn’t be my need to get a dime bag that would put me on that corner, but a few bad investments could have.  I could have spent money in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Maybe I wouldn’t have my nest egg.  Kelly, God rest her soul, died suddenly in my arms, but she could have gotten sick and her treatment could have emptied my accounts.  My children love me, but take in their father, now with young kids and bills to pay, I wouldn’t dare ask.  They would insist, but more likely than not, I would be on that next corner. 
         I found myself lighting another cigarette.  I couldn’t take my eyes off this man.  The streets of New York had begun to become benign to me; boring and repetitive.  This man was re-opening my eyes.
Before, I said the man wasn’t bothering anyone.  Well I guess I was wrong, because a few minutes later a police car pulled up to where the man was sitting.  The officer on the passenger side rolled his window down and told the old man he had to move along.  The man just looked at the officer.  This was not his first day at the rodeo.  The driver side door opened and a tall police officer stepped out of the car.  He was handsome and rugged looking.  His uniform was neat and clean with a perfect A line.  He looked like a veteran officer.  His hair and mustache were going salt and pepper gray.  He walked around the back of the car and adjusted his gun belt as he stepped onto the curb.  He had no emotion on his face.
         The passenger door opened and a much younger officer got out of the car.  He put his hat squarely on his buzz cut.  He looked green and unsteady.  He was taking his cues from the older cop.  He adjusted his gun belt for good measure and then stood on the other side of the man on the suitcase.  They were intimidating and impressive.  I have always respected the police.  Today though, they seemed out of place talking to this man. 
The older officer took his radio from his belt and spoke into it softly.  He looked around him, turning his head back and forth ever so slightly.  He was confident and calm.  The younger officer shifted on his feet and looked all around him, like he was waiting for the next big thing to come along.  I couldn’t hear what was said but it looked as if the older officer told the man he had to go.  For the first time the old man spoke.  He smiled and nodded and shook his head in agreement.  He picked up his paper cup and began gathering his things.
“I aint bothering no one officer, and you know that.  I know you have a job to do.  But your job is making my day worse than it has to be.  I just want a couple of bucks to eat.  The Man has been on top of me since my black ass was born.  Nothing changes, nothing stays the same.” The man was talking louder now and I could hear his every word.  I was so busy listening to him talk I let my cigarette burn down to my fingertips.  I dropped it on the floor and stepped on it.  I shook my fingers to lessen the sting, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the cops or the man.
                   “Joe, you know I don’t like this anymore than you do.  I’m tired of handling this shit.  When you see me, you know you should move on,” the officer folded his arms and leaned back on his heels.
                   “I know the game officer, and I will move.  They want to push us into the water.  There are no people down there by the Got-Damn water to give money.  I’m an old Got-Damn man.  I can’t work no more.  My bones are tired and I have nowhere to go.  But as long as no one can see me I don’t exist,” Joe the homeless man was on his feet and had gathered up most of his things.  He looked at the young officer and shook his head.  The young officer tensed but said nothing.  He was ready for a fight, but not a conversation. 
                   “Joe, the world is a fucked up place, and we all have a part to play.  I’ve been doing this too long.  Go down to the Bowery and stay out of sight.”  The older officer stood his ground as Joe shuffled on, muttering under his breath.
                   “Hey Joe, wait one second,” the older cop walked back to the patrol car and leaned in.  He came out with a white bag that had the tell-tale grease stains that there was pizza inside.  The older officer walked over to the homeless man he evicted from the corner and handed him the bag.  He looked Joe in the eyes and nodded.  “Stay warm old man.” 
The officer turned on his heels and went back to his car.  He once again took the radio from his belt and spoke softly into it.  He told the young cop to get his ass in the car.  Within a few seconds of the doors shutting their lights were swirling and their siren was blaring.  The two officers cut across traffic and blended in with the other roaring police cars no doubt racing to another call for help.
I stood against the wall, stunned.  I watched Joe walk down the block holding onto the white paper bag for dear life.  He shuffled along and planned to stay out of sight.

I never expected a grizzled New York City cop to give up his dinner for some random homeless man.  I guess if he knew him by name he wasn’t random.  He was a regular mouse the cat had orders to chase.  I had a lot of respect for the older officer, and much hope for the younger one.  I lit another cigarette and continued to walk up the avenue.