Wish You Were Here

I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, naked as the day I was born, staring at my new altar. The sun is beginning to stream through the early morning gloom outside my window. However, outside of my door is Paula and friends, chatting away. It's funny how my life is. Paula comes with me from the old shelter, The Box. We move into a ninety unit complex. Tell me, what are my chances of her being my immediately across the hall neighbor?

One in Ninety, right? Well, let's talk about the hobo-luck here. If a piece of space shuttle debris fell out of the sky and into Manhattan, if I was anyone else I wouldn't worry. It's going to hit Hobobob square in the head anyway. I'm a human lightning rod for it. Don't worry my fellow man. That's my sole purpose in life, the bearer of bad luck.

Yeah, now, let's look at my chances. She's with her new friends that were living here before she was, a literal pack of bitches down the hall, all four doors several yards away from me. What are my chances that they would make Paula their ringleader and spend most of their time congregated in front of HER door, klatching constantly? What? Well, you should be able to answer that one. Really, you should.

I stand and get dressed. This is the day that I meet Charlie. I can't say that I don't dread this meeting. It's just my reaction to the unknown. I sit down in front of my laptop, my baby, and patter away all day, waiting for the clock to run out, of which it does rapidly. It is time to go. I take the Way downtown and I'm sitting on a barstool in a quaint Irish bar/restaurant. My old haunt. Smith's bar and Restaurant on Eighth avenue. It has an old/new feel to it that I've always found comforting. I saddle up before the bar and order a beer and read a book. In no time a shadow forms over my right shoulder. I turn and look. It's Charlie. We embrace almost immediately.

He is slim, trim, looking prosperous, impeccably groomed. He sits down on the barstool next to me and I order him a beer. I look at him again and I FEEL just how far I've fallen. There was a time when I was his equal, we were business partners, running together, running a company. I was a mirror image. Now I'm sloppy, rotund, dressed in khakis, sweatshirt and hoodies. My biggest and only piece of jewelry is a ten dollar watch. Not even my wedding ring.

'OH, how the mighty have fallen,' goes the refrain. When asked how I was doing, I hold nothing back. I don't confide, but I don't hide. He is doing well. Times are tight as they are for everyone. His present company was growing like gangbusters until the current depression. His clients dried up and he had to layoff staff. Now he's holding on by his fingertips. I'm sorry to hear that. The family is fine, everyone is doing well. I look like I'm holding up. He heard me on the radio, but he doesn't really go into what he heard. In time we run out of conversation. He wants to know if we can meet up with his cousin, OBSIDIAN. I think I know where to find him.

We are soon across from the side entrance of St. Batholomew's church on Park Avenue where the soup line forms. The food van arrives and the homeless help begin to unload the food. OBSIDIAN is in the group of these helpers. Charlie runs over to him and they embrace heartily. The night is still young.

We end up in the Citicorp building, in the atrium while OBSIDIAN eats his soup kitchen food. We go over all times, reminding each other of the long chain of living that we have already built up among us. We have a rich and long history, and somehow it hit a rough patch. A patch that Charlie and I do not touch upon, we do not mention. We just let it go. It is soon time for us to separate and go home. We take Charlie to the parking lot that he has parked his Mercedes Benz. We all embrace, say our goodbyes and he is soon driving out of the lot and down the street.

OBSIDIAN and I head up the Way and part company as we do in the subway nearly every night.

I come home to my small room. My little world. It has not grown smaller, or even less appealing. OH, has the Mighty actually fallen...or has he escaped? I think of this as I undress, and get behind my computer, getting online and reading email. One hurtle behind me. Three more to go. In two days it'll be Social Services and my Fair Hearing in Brooklyn. Why Brooklyn all the time?

I'm going in.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/02/wish-you-were-here.html
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