Chicago, as winter begins to creep in, is very, very wet. Noah Wet.
And I was 24 or 25 years old and homeless. I had no home. I had nowhere to go and no one to go to. Or more specifically, no one I chose to go to. That bears writing down. It’s good to remind myself of that.
But there I was, with my grey suitcase that had everything I could remember in it, standing in the shelter doorway, and looking at the outside and all that rain. I had a meal that night, and it was 9pm and time for the next group of people who were waiting anxiously at the front door to be let in. You can only stay so long at these places and then you have to go. There’s a clock above everyone’s heads when you don’t have a home.
I glanced to the left and saw a line of bodies in the half darkness being pummeled by the rain. Most were semi-families, either Dad’s with kids, or Moms with kids. The children looked up to the sky, and the adults looked down at the ground.
A hand reached behind me and touched my right shoulder.
“We need the space now.”
It wasn’t an order; it was a gentle and persuasive baritone of a voice. I didn’t turn around because I knew if I did, I’d throw myself down on his brown loafers and beg for a corner of the room. Just anywhere to be out into the rain. So instead I simply looked down. Like the other adults. We all looked down, and I grabbed my grey suitcase and walked.
I kept walking, and it kept raining.
There were cars going by and there was no wind, so the rain fell with weight from the sky on my shoulders, on my head, and on my back. Hard. With a beat and a noise. I kept looking down. I would pass by people, but by this time, and I don’t exactly remember how much time had gone by, but I knew from habit that no one really wanted to see my face. I hadn’t showered, eaten much, or lay down horizontally and relaxed for a very long time, and when that happens, your eyes betray you.
As I turned a corner, I saw a woman with a small blue umbrella standing under an awning of a hotel with a broken flashing sign. She was looking up, but she had the same shape, the same hunger, the same loss in her belly that I had. I recognized that. Instinctively I walked over to her.
I had to be careful about talking with other homeless people. I found out the hard way, that many of us were mentally disturbed. Although one man I met who was in his late 50’s, did a great Bette Davis.
“You lookin’ for food?” she said to me still looking up.
I put my suitcase down and stood next to her in the dry space near the almost flashing sign.
“Yes. I’m really hungry.” I said back to her, looking at my feet.
“Here.”
She reached in the pocket of the biggest coat I’d ever seen in my life, and pulled out a MacDonald’s hamburger. It was still warm. I couldn’t believe it. Holding it in my hand was like having gold dripping all over me.
“You sure?” I asked.
She nodded.
Her face was bright and really clean. She was almost shiny in a way. Nearing her 80s and wrinkled and wearing a baseball cap, the huge coat covered the rest of her. But sticking out from that umbrella was this glorious face and these magnificent, shiny features.
I ate.
Very, very fast.
I actually don’t really remember eating. Not the physical act of it.
I took the wrapper, opened up my grey suitcase, and stuffed it in the side pocket.
“That’s all I have.”
“Thank you.” I said back.
She never once looked at me. I didn’t want to rock the boat after all, even if she did a great Bette Davis, she could also have a knife in her coat. So, I picked up my suitcase, and I started down the street. Before I got out of the dry space and into the shower, she spoke again..this time a little louder…
“The Glory is in the giving, and the rest is above us.”
I had no idea what that meant, but again, the Crazy Quotient kept me moving. And then, from my back, I felt her turn her head towards me. I was half in the rain with the street lights blaring down on both of us.
“Did you hear what I just said?” she asked very clearly.
“Umm….yeah. I did. Thanks.”
“Don’t say thanks to me like I’m some loony. Did you hear what I said?!” she asked a bit louder than before.
“Yes, I said. I did.” I was a little aggravated as well. I didn’t want a lecture for a simple hamburger.
“Okay. Just checking.”
She turned her head back up to the sky, and I walked away. I was angry. I was angry that she made me listen to some crap about glory and looking up when I was so hungry and so tired. I was angry at the fact of it. I was angry at the rain. I was angry at not being noticed by people on the streets, being forgotten, being ignored. I was sick and tired of the Goddamm rain and I wanted to be dry and full of roast beef and bread and Coke.
And then I found a great alley tucked away from the few cars left on the street, opened my grey suitcase back up, found my works and jammed the needle into my arm and floated for the rest of the night. When I woke up, my shoes had been stolen, and it had stopped raining.
About an hour ago, I walked around our new house with its new floors and it’s new marble kitchen and our cats sleeping on the couch near our fireplace. I then found my way to the under part of our bed while my wife slept. I had no fear of waking the Wife. My wife can sleep through anything. My wife can sleep through Hiroshima.
And has.
I’m wide awake at night. The later it gets, the wider I get. I’m a night person and I like being awake at 2 and 3am. Anything that happens before Noon the next day doesn’t ever concern me.
Unless there’s a big, fat check attached to it.
I pulled out my grey suitcase from underneath our bed, and brought it outside to the porch. I ruffled through it. I looked in the side pocket, and there was the decrepit, filthy, brown MacDonald’s hamburger wrapper. I closed the suitcase and sat on the porch and held it in my hand.
And then I looked up.
And there was an awesome, massive, clear and present Silence. The sky, littered with stars, stared back at me. I sat in wonder and shook my head. I can’t believe my Luck.
…and I guess I said Thank You…
And then I put the wrapper back in the side pocket. I put my grey suitcase carefully back underneath our bed, kissed my wife on her cheek, and then made myself one hell of a roast beef and cheese sandwich.
...and that's living.