He’s not the only one
Everyone of us has a story to be told. Some want the story to be told while others do not.
I see him most every day as I walk the streets of downtown Cambridge. He sometimes mutters to himself; sometimes loudly but not always. Not today. I offer him a cigarette.
“No thanks; today I have my own…but thanks bud”
The light changed to red and I stood waiting at the corner for the light to change. He caught up to me and I seen him give me a side glance but he quickly turned his eyes away from me.
Before you tell me that perhaps I enable him; let me say this. I would sooner see him, others too, have a smoke from a fresh pack then to see them bend at a curbside and dig through discarded butts; stained by rain and who knows what else. Smoking a butt from the street can perhaps carry hepatitis and a gamut of other problems.
He mutters loudly again aiming his words at no one in particular. I know I have seen him some nights huddled in bank lobbies; away from the wind, the rain, the snow and the cold.
“Sometimes people too” he says “Sometimes people can do more bad on a person than the elements of weather” He points at one bank lobby and says “Not tonight. Tonight is a warm night. I sleep outside”
“aren’t you afraid of sleeping outside? Afraid people may hurt you?” I ask
He laughs loudly. “Look at me Bud! I talk to myself. I swear a blue streak. I wouldn’t say I am clean by any stretch. They are probably more afraid of me”
I don’t know where he is walking but he is still walking beside me.
Me. I just walk to think. To clear my mind.
When people ask me” Where are you going?” ; I often say “anywhere and everywhere”
Sometimes the walk itself is the destination.
We walk on. We are close to Shade Street now. He points.
“You can see all of downtown from there.” He points to Centennial Park. I know this already. There are times that I; myself sit there and look down onto Main Street.
“The thing is this..there is no middle ground anymore..You have the rich and the poorest of the poor..there are food banks and soup kitchens and shelters…I do not utilize any of them. I know some who abuse them; literally eating food that could have gone to those who really need it. Some of those places need stricter guidelines and rules need to be enforced at shelters. No turning a blind eye to what goes on that shouldn’t. I have been in and out of town-Niagara Falls..London..Brantford..Toronto..” He rhymed off towns and cities incessantly and then saying..
“I know there are people far worse off than myself. I manage to scrape up enough food to fill my belly and no I do not steal to fill it ! That is the thing with most people. Pile a plate high in front of most people and they will clear the plate; even if they are no longer hungry”
He suddenly mutters, raising his hands and paces the sidewalk ; swearing and yelling “even all my clothes !”
More than being frightened and not understanding what he meant; I felt sadness.
It is not like a person chooses to have a mental illness or a drug user.
Something led them there. I think the saddest part of all is that some people just view them as “junkies” or “crack whores” or “nut jobs”
He looked at me and said he had to be going.
“Can I get that smoke now Bud? I don’t have any. I just didn’t want to bother and have you think I am just a bum”
“My name’s Joe” I responded, handing him a smoke.
“No bother Bud; I will likely forget it by later today.”
He took the smoke and walked up Shade Street, hands in the air muttering until he disappeared out of view.
Everyone of us has a story. Maybe in everyone’s story ; there are lessons to be learned.
I just wonder if anyone cares about his and anyone else’s story or are we only concerned how our own story ends.
Joe Lethbridge
June 5th 2012
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