Ghosts From My Past

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I skipped morning meeting today.

Only stayed for a half day in the library. I was just too tired. My nodding off was beginning to draw the attention of the security guards. Besides, the Internet connection in the library was getting poor. The router needs to be recycled. It's probably taking too many frame collisions, thus pinging the other nodes madly. This only makes network throughput worse due to....

Sorry, getting out of hand there. They need to turn the router off and on. Since they are not doing this, the network is just plain slow. I can't stand waiting for webpages to load, so I pack up my shit, say good day to Electra and head over to the Madison Avenue Starbucks where I can sit, surf and drink a cup of coffee and maybe even nap if I feel the need. I answer email and work on my screenplay instead. I'm breezing through the last episode. Soon it's time to meet my brother in the vestibule of the library. We have an invitation to a memorial service for the father of one of our favorite poets.

We walk across town to NY Insight Meditation Center where, on the tenth floor, they had a spread laid out. A large space filled with chairs and cushions in front of a raised stage. A large projection screen scrolled images there of the deceased. On the right side were tables filled with refreshments and bottled water. We enter into through a small atrium where people are asked to remove their shoes and leave their bags. OBSIDIAN and I look at each other. First, I thought of my feet, and foot odor, but relaxed upon remembering that I had a shower just yesterday and that I put on new, fresh clean socks on this morning. What troubled me was that I had to leave my bag, my baby carriage, behind. This was unsettling. OBSIDIAN slipped out of his shoes, changed his socks and dropped off his bags. He was ready to go.

Reluctantly, I left my bag in the atrium and entered into the packed area, all seats filled, standing room only. I headed to the table for the bottled water, and noticed that the food was covered and no one was partaking. Opening the leaflet that was handed to me upon entering I noticed that refreshments were being offered after 9:00PM. TWO HOURS FROM NOW. I was not a happy camper. But it was warm and growing hotter in the space, so I went to the cold water bottles, took a plastic cup and filled it up like the rest of the people there. Turning around I found OBSIDIAN partaking of the unwrapped refreshments. He would laugh about it later, calling it a hobo move.

We stood and enjoyed the service, which was a series of readings from the family, video and photographs of the decedent's paintings. It was a lovely service but I could not stay. I had to get back before my coach turned into a pumpkin. I moved through the crowds with OBSIDIAN in tow and out into the atrium. My bag was gone.

What the fuck??? I look around in panic. Nowhere. I walk into the middle of the atrium and look around a second time. This time I found it moved to the other side of a pillar. Someone felt that it was in the wrong corner of the room. With a level of relief I put on my shoes and slung my gear on my back. What a terrible thing to do to a homeless person. We trotted downstairs and out of the building. OBSIDIAN was going to wait on a soup line from one of the homeless vans for dinner, but I invited him to a SUBWAY sandwich instead. He got a footlong and a soda. I got some potato chips and hit the Way downtown to the Box.

On coming to my bed, I notice Dante's bed covered with stuff. Someone was moving in. Igor calls out to me, "Hobobob", he gives me the signal, two fingers, the index and the forefinger, under his eyes. Meaning: 'look out for him. I don't trust him'. I nod. Great, a sinister bedmate. I don't really care. I have a system for keeping my things safe. Everything that I want is in my bag, and I sleep over my bag. If I can keep all of my shit with Paul the Stooge in the very next bed at my feet, then I can keep my shit from anyone.

I set up my computer and surf the web, updating my blog, and blogging my day. Igor comes up to me. "You'd better watch this guy. Keep your eyes on your stuff." I gotcha, Igor. "This guy is coming in with a lot of shit. A chair, a television, a DVD player, bags of stuff, tons of clothes...." His voice trails off. I look at the bed. Igor is right about that. I'll keep a lookout buddy. "I'm leaving on the eighth of the month." You are? "Yeah. I saw the place in the Bronx. It was beautiful, with a bedroom, a kitchen and bathroom and two windows. It was great." Well I guess you're going to love it there then. "No, I turned it down."

This is what I'm talking about living in the Box. Shit like this. This crazy assed back and forth thinking that doesn't make any fucking sense. Igor, you turned it down? I thought you were going to be leaving by the eighth. "I turned it down because it was in a real shitty neighborhood. I'm moving on the eighth because THEY say that I am." I see. I return to my blogging, hoping that Igor would walk away. He does.

I'm busy now. Minding my own business when the new guys walks in and sits down across from me. I don't look up at him. I'll take a look at him later, when he's fully packed in. I think I'll call him Mr. Sinister from now on.

"Hey, Hobobob!!" I blink, I look up. It's a face that I recognize. Shit! It's Roundtree, an old friend that vanished from this place nearly a year ago. What the fuck, Roundtree, what are you doing here? "Man, how the Hell are you. You still here and shit??" Yeah, I'm still here. Where have you been? "In and out of detox after they threw me out of here. I went and lived in a crack house for awhile. Then I wanted to clean up my life and went to detox, from detox I went to rehab, from there I stayed at this three quarter house called 'Second Chances'. Then I asked to come back here and they let my ass back in."

Some journey. It was nice to see Roundtree again. He was one of the good ones from a long time ago. If I had anyone across from me, I'm glad it would be Roundtree. Once again, as Roundtree himself would say: I have been blessed.

We caught up on old times and all the people that have come and gone. He was amazed as to what happened to so many, and further amazed that I was still here after all this time.

I will rest peacefully tonight.

I blog.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2008/09/ghosts-from-my-past.html
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