Heating bill taken care of thanks to generous offer.

We agreed on just five more minutes, but after ten she would not budge. I wondered, growing somewhat impatient and frustrated, for how long she could crawl through those disgusting tubes. I tried to stay calm, after all, I was the one with all the patience in the family, but I inevitably lost control of myself. That being said, I simply sat there and waited, defeated - she won.

I had to finally flex my authoritative muscles and physically remove her from the property. I promised, honestly, that we would come back another day, but to no avail. Her face, particularly, her protruding bottom lip, still showed how dissappointed she was with me. We both needed to suck it up.

I decided to take her to the marina - as if I wanted to spend another minute in McDonalds Playhouse. We chased ducks and practiced our balance while walking on curbs. I tried to offer her some insight about the different types of birds that we chased (geese, ducks, and seagulls), but then thought what it must be like to just discover without the tainted words or ideas of others. I try to have her experience many new things in order that she have available a wide range of impressions, on which to draw future ideas, and use this same thinking to take her to places that she has never, or rarely, been.

I knew the day had finally caught up with her when she asked to be carried - usually she demands to walk. I loved to agree to something so warm and special and picked her up without hesitation. We made our way back to the car in full, and very tired, embrace. It was on my way out of the marina driveway that I was stopped by a man. I rolled down my window to see what he wanted. I never want to be one of those uncaring people that speed past a person in distress, hoping not to make their own lives anymore of a burden. I will probably pay for this one day when I get suckered and wind up being the nice guy that stopped to help for the last time.

His name was John. Really, he told me his name was John, perhaps wanting to remain anonymous, although I do not believe that. I introduced myself as the same (difference in spelling put aside). Who knows? Maybe he was a 'Jon' as well. Anyway, John asked me for $1.50 so he could get something to eat. Immediately I wrote him off as being a drunk bum and figured he would take whatever money I gave him straight to the Beer Store around the way. Although, I doubt any man in his situation would care to lie about who they were, he already lived in lonely anonimity. Contact with people, love and attention, was probably all he wanted. His name was probably the only innocent thing he had left, and he ashamedly soiled that some time ago. I couldn't be sure of his intent, but thought of my life thus far and gave him $4 and went on my way. I was held up waiting for traffic to subside when he approached me again.

"Can I tell you a story," he asked me.

"Sure," I hesitantly replied. Secretly I wanted to know this man's story, but I remained sceptical about the whole thing.

He proceeded to sum up his life through mumbled words, "I'm 47. I used to have a wife, a fuckin' beautiful wife. Now I'm addicted to booze. I'm a chronic alcoholic, I'm addicted to drugs, and I have no home." At this point I could feel my eyes glisten with sadness and noticed his had done the same (his with the added ingredient of despair), actually producing a tear. The polluted tear slid down his smooth cheeck towards his chin, where it would complete it's freedom fall towards the earth. This man, himself, was an ill-regarded tear falling down the cheek of the world - but where would he land?

"Well," I interjected. "You are still here. There must be something you want out of all this. You must want to help yourself, right yourself, start anew. Something, right?"

"Yeah," he sadly managed in his soft tone. "I hope to get better." A long pause followed, and then, "But you know what I'm gonna do? I asked you for $1.50 and you gave me $4. I'm gonna go up to that restaurant over there and have a good meal because you gave me $4."

My words were not around to be spoken; to grace his ear with the smallest sense of hope. The truth is I had no idea what to tell the man.

"I don't know what to tell you, man," was all I could muster. I couldn't handle it any longer. I had to end the conversation on account of the ugly hatred for the world that was gaining momentum, snowballing, in my mind.

With our best conversational skills completely exhausted we realized our meeting was coming to an end. And with that, John, kind and poor and homeless alcoholic sad John, took his leave, presumably headed for that hot meal. Of course, being the cynic that I am, I figured I had just bought him a tall boy, or two, of beer - helping in the short run, but creating a greater mess of pain and sadness in the long run. But it really didn't matter what he spent the money on, not to me. The pressing thought in my head was how to help this man.

How can I help this hurting man? How many others are there like him? I think I really sympathize for these people because of my experiences with this life. By no means can I understand fully the ill effects of alcoholicism or addiction. I have never been addicted to anything. One thing I do know, and can definitely attest to, is the feeling of being down and out in this world. The anxious fear of being dettached from the world; losing the feeling of being surrouded be earth. Like you are in the dark, lonely, middle and everything just keeps pulling away from you; leaving you. I could not imagine feeling this way on top of being in John's worn shoes. The worst part is John is to a point where he has access to the answer. He knows the answer, but remains on the outside looking in. Between he and the centre - his centre of freedom - lay great mountains, raging rivers, canyons without a visible 'otherside,' and a population of demons and bad memories. Perhaps this is what makes going back, starting the journey, so difficult.

No time soon will I forget John. In fact, I hope to meet him again someday.

As I was driving home after that mind-streching scene, I could not help but think of John. My thoughts of John gave way to other thoughts. I thought of how mad I was getting with the little one earlier that day. I turned my head to look at her sitting in the back seat. She had fallen asleep and was bent over like a careless drunk. I smiled a loving smile, feeling a little better about this life. I knew there was no point in getting angry as I had earlier, not with little sleeping beauties like her in this world, and not with the oft-ignored sadness of people like John in this world (yet worlds apart). What was it now? A moment of clarity, an epiphany, a new outlook. As I looked at that innocent bundle of sleep a new calm ran through me that put things into perspective. Nothing was better, the world still threw us some sinnister curve balls, still left us hurting, but at least now I recognized there was still balance.

Comments

[the TRUE Bill]

Brilliant. And beautiful. This is the stuff, my friend. This is the stuff.

Thanks for sharing the Pigger I REALLY know.

[michael wrenshall]

proof that when your string of thkinking; writing; and sharing incites and thoughts are laid out in the dreaded paras...caps..etc that it becomes as enjoyable and readable as a good book should be.

like i can talk about paragraphing! tru;y a great read including subjects and thoughts

[Jonathan]

It is nice to be loved. Not for producing results, but for being... a good guy. yes, I will call myself that. anyway, its nice. when i saw that two of the greatest influences in my life were somewhat into what i wrote, I was very excited to say the least.

Dad: thanks for YOUR generous offer. it meant a lot to me then, but more now. probably even more later. and thank you for always paying attention to this, and for enjoying this.

Bill: thanks for at least always trying to make time for me. i am a young and...what is that word...impressionable...stubbornly impressionable guy (dont want to say writer) who knows two things in life; my love for writing and my borrowed theory of balance. thank you for having such a beautiful family and for letting lynn, and all of you, grace us, if even for a short time.
You are my living kerouac/thompson/joyce and I cherish knowing you.

its true that I wrote this in a fury, but it was the time i spent reading over and over it that made it understandable. the craft. always gotta bring that up. believe me when i say this bill, I am learning it. I want to learn it. for myself. as sad as this episode was, it was great. i guess i use great in its 'large, heavy impact' definition...or at least, that is what i mean. it was not good by any means,...but great...and good came out of it. balance is a good theory, and, as hard as it may seem at times, so is "something good comes out of everything." that sums up balance i would think.

dad; you write a lot like james (old roomate, huge influence, very smart, i would love to know 10 more people like him, but appreciate that he is just one. paragraphs and the like aside, you put things in good perspecitve and write with a disfunctional elegance. or something like that. always have enjoyed the emails and words of wisdom. you use a semicolon like no other.

i dont know what will happen. the thought (which i have been having a lot lately) of trying to make something like this work is still far out. but, i think about it a lot these days. i have always mentioned wanting to write here and there, but never have I actually thought about it. I think, no matter what happens, that i will try and try and try, living on my borrowed theory of balance, at least expecting some good to come out of it.

the important thing is that i will never have to take the long way home again for being lackadaisical. ahaha. writing is what it is.

anyway, i am so appreciative for having the special people in my life.

[AllthewhileKyle]

I wasnt sure what I would find here, its been a while since I had a slight dose of Pigger.
I was excited at the prospect of seeing my name in the Pura Vida highlights but retrospectively that is neither here nor there. This is beautiful Jono. The "heavy impact" of which you wrote took ahold of me for a few minutes and I was able to completely discard the "heavy impact" of my hefty roomate pounding the treadmill. Thats the knack youve got my friend. My favourite writers take me out of skin and into the experience. Youve done that here, thanks bro.