True To Life Meanderings Of A Tortured Soul (Part 1)
Somewhere in the world
In an alleyway in a city somewhere west
Safely ensconced behind the relative safety of a dumpster
I watch as the tableau unfolds
Two men approach one man
I recognize the two as some of the 'hot lunchers'
Whom I try to avoid whenever possible
They are young, maybe 20ish
The other is a relatively harmless soul
We have exchanged words on occasion
His shabby appearance masks an active intelligence
That few have seen
He is much older, maybe 40ish
Scraggly beard and unkempt graying hair
His step falters as he sees the other two approaching
He moves to the near side of the alley
They separate and angle towards him
He turns to retreat back the way he came
But it is too late
They are upon him
Roughly they shove him about
Between them
Voices raised, obscenities flying
Demanding money, demanding his coat
Which is still in good shape
Though dirty and stained
Demanding his shoes, his hat
Everything he possesses
He tries to escape their grasp
But they are too strong and he too weak
He struggles, futilely
They laugh and curse and beat him
To the ground
They begin to take from him, forcefully
His worldly possessions
He curses them and struggles still
Thrashing from side to side
Kicking and lashing out with his fists
I want to help him, but
What can I do?
So I watch from the darkness
A flash of light
Glinting on steel
Appears and then is buried
In the struggling man's chest
His body tenses
Then slowly relaxes as they take
Everything he has
Leaving him lying
Alone
In the alleyway
They move off, laughing
I watch them until they are out of sight
Then I go to him
Lying there in the grime
His hands are clenched still
In the fists of his rage
He is breathing raggedly
Opens his eyes as I approach
The fear still showing
Terror
I kneel beside him
Seeing the dark stain
Spreading
On his torn and filthy shirt
The terror is gone from his eyes
As he sees me
And in its place
A pleading
Crying for help
But what can I do?
The wounds are deep
Already he is slipping away
I sit and cradle his head in my lap
Stroking his cheek
Trying to ease his last moments
Of Agony
He coughs and blood spurts from between his lips
I know it is almost done
I take his hands, still clenched in fists
In mine and give him the only thing I have to give
Companionship before the long journey home
In his eyes comes understanding
He looks into mine
I try to smile, to give him some kind of peace
He takes my hand weakly with one of his
And unfolds his other hand
Placing something within my grasp
He tries to say something, but no sound comes
I think he is trying to say 'thank you'
But I will never know for sure
He takes one last ragged breath
His chest falls slowly, eyes staring wide
Sightlessly
At the stars above
He is gone
I sit for a few minutes in stillness
Stunned by the thought
That I have just been witness
To the passing of a soul
I open my hand to see
What it is that he has imparted to me
Paper of some kind
I can do no more here
I shift and lay his head gently on the ground
There is blood on my hands and arms
On my clothing
On my face
But I don't notice these things until later
For now I am consumed by curiosity
What is this thing he has put into my hands?
His last will and testament?
The number of a family member to contact?
I move into the light to see
I open my fist
And there within my grasp
Lies a wad of currency
I separate them one by one
Three ten dollar bills
Two fives
Six ones
His life savings
Bakersfield, CA 1993
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