“Do you have a car?”, the old man asked as he approached my table. I instinctively replied “no” as a built-in reaction after so many years of living in the suburbs. He who doesn’t have a car is not just suspect of being poor (what a crime!) but also suspect of having trouble with the law. The old decrepit man asked the same question to two other parties that welcomed him with a rotund negative response in the spirit of both safety and disdain.
The old woman in her flowery dress sitting across the dining area of the fast-food joint felt guilty and said to me “I would give him a ride but I’m a woman, maybe if you come with me…” I did not entertain the idea and looked away. She projected her own loneliness onto the man as she exclaimed “poor man, he doesn’t have any family!” We both looked at how the man walked out the door...he could barely move... hunched over... took a gasp of air...and managed to make it past the door until he collapsed a few steps into his endeavor. It seemed like he had fainted in the middle of a scorching ninety-nine-degree july afternoon, everyone inside the establishment blustered a fake “oh-my-gOd!” and kept about dipping their fries into ketchup. He had just taken a respite, sat down by the well-kept bushes and started coughing. He wiped off his face with a small towel, stood up and made it to the pedestrian crosswalk where he collapsed again but managed to anchor himself to the sidewalk as an ancient vessel with no knowledge of navigation.
He had only advanced half a block on a street with no sidewalks (of course, sidewalks were not part of the suburban design to oblige suburbanites to purchase a vehicle). I caught up with him and offered him a ride as he was sitting on the grass, his arms and legs crossed, as an ancient mystic about to levitate. “Come on grandpa, get on!” He pointed in the direction he was headed, he was just going up the hill to the senior citizen residence by the lake. The old man stunk like urine, excrement, and loneliness combined, as if he had not showered in several days, but his solitude was more palpable. He just stared into the empty space as if he himself was empty in the inside. He had lost his will and joy of living, he walked back to the nursery by inertia, as a habit rather than a preconceived thought. We drove up a steep ramp as we entered the “Active adult facility.” “No wonder you needed a ride” I tried to joke around with no response. He thanked me as he got off the car and asked with a very asthmatic voice: “Do you have a cigarette?”
The old woman in her flowery dress sitting across the dining area of the fast-food joint felt guilty and said to me “I would give him a ride but I’m a woman, maybe if you come with me…” I did not entertain the idea and looked away. She projected her own loneliness onto the man as she exclaimed “poor man, he doesn’t have any family!” We both looked at how the man walked out the door...he could barely move... hunched over... took a gasp of air...and managed to make it past the door until he collapsed a few steps into his endeavor. It seemed like he had fainted in the middle of a scorching ninety-nine-degree july afternoon, everyone inside the establishment blustered a fake “oh-my-gOd!” and kept about dipping their fries into ketchup. He had just taken a respite, sat down by the well-kept bushes and started coughing. He wiped off his face with a small towel, stood up and made it to the pedestrian crosswalk where he collapsed again but managed to anchor himself to the sidewalk as an ancient vessel with no knowledge of navigation.
He had only advanced half a block on a street with no sidewalks (of course, sidewalks were not part of the suburban design to oblige suburbanites to purchase a vehicle). I caught up with him and offered him a ride as he was sitting on the grass, his arms and legs crossed, as an ancient mystic about to levitate. “Come on grandpa, get on!” He pointed in the direction he was headed, he was just going up the hill to the senior citizen residence by the lake. The old man stunk like urine, excrement, and loneliness combined, as if he had not showered in several days, but his solitude was more palpable. He just stared into the empty space as if he himself was empty in the inside. He had lost his will and joy of living, he walked back to the nursery by inertia, as a habit rather than a preconceived thought. We drove up a steep ramp as we entered the “Active adult facility.” “No wonder you needed a ride” I tried to joke around with no response. He thanked me as he got off the car and asked with a very asthmatic voice: “Do you have a cigarette?”
