A bum anmed jake

I parked my car far north of the intersection and began walking
steadily toward the man. His eyes looking in every direction before
connecting with mine. When I was close enough to him I put out my hand
and nodded, indicating him to shake. A gesture he seemed anything but
used to. I was the first to speak. He was momentarily at a loss for
words. "You're not a drinker, I can see that in your eyes. I used to be
a severe alcoholic myself, three years recovered." I was surprised by
my own honesty. That last statement was true as hell. I have been very
close to the bottom, close enough to feel the rocks. I might not have
fallen as deep into the financial or economical rut as this man has,
but I have had times that were tough. Tougher than most folks would
believe if I told them. Times only my true friends know about, the way
it should be. I have very few friends that survived those days.
"No sir" he replied in what I was sure was the most righteous voice he
could conjure, but a voice that did not seem at all fake. I have always
taken pride in my ability to read people. It is an art unlike any
other. I base the foundation of my life upon this art. " I never touch
my lips to a drink" he added, " I just want to eat is all". I felt he
was being honest but I also did not want to end up the sucker. I did
not, however, feel at all like this was a battle of wits. But maybe the
level of chicanery has been taken to a new level since Ive been on the
playing field. He was obviously in need. The sign he was holding
indicated just that. There was a time when my life was subject to a
similar kind of torment. Not exactly the same but close enough for me
to relate. Close enough for me to feel his pain.
He began telling me his story. A story I had notsked for but one he
apparently felt he must tell. His story made me realize that I was
still in a rut of my own. Trapped in routine. Caught in a daily plan
that was not at all attractive, nor very healthy. He explained to me
that from day one he was penny pinching. And ever since he has been
penny searching. I now noticed the bag he carried at his side. The name
Jake was markered across the side. I assumed that was his name. That
could very well turn out to be wrong, maybe a bag he found, but I had a
feeling the name was his.
His wife was partially disabled from a severe car accident that struck
in her youth in which a settlement was never reached. The accident gave
her plenty of pain, a permanent limp, and left her unable to bring home
any bread of any kind. Finally about four years ago, in his words "the
lord let her go". And about that same time he was laid off his job. An
all to common situation if it was true as I felt it were. He fell into
depression but never alcohol he said, never alcohol.
He said very gloomily that he was nearing sixty-five years in age. And
that was obviously no lie. The lines on his face brought on by the
pains in his life were very noticeable. The stubble on his chin thick
and gray. " Do you have any change"? he said again as I have heard him
say to others, as politely as he could but obviously growing tired of
our conversation. "No" I said matter of factly, " I have no change,
what I am going to give you is this". I pulled out a crisp one
hundred-dollar bill and regretted it nearly the second I did. His face
instantly lit up like the forth of July. "Now obviously" I said before
handing it over, " your going to do whatever your going to do with this
regardless of what I say. But the winter months are coming quickly
Jake, and you would do best to ration." It felt a bit odd using his
first name all of a sudden but it would have also have felt a bit odd
not to now that I knew it. Would I not address anyone else the same
way?
He looked instantly surprised and suspicious when I used his name in
context but his face immediately softened when he realized it was
marked on his bag. What I sawfore me was my life had I made one more
irrational decision. The direction my life was taking back then could
have had close to the same result, close to the same dead end had I not
smartened up when I did. Maybe not as disastrously tragic but
profoundly serious, sad and life altering just the same. ."Iam not
doing this to feel better about myself Jake." Although of this I was
unsure. " I am doing this to help you, sincerely. You could probably do
without the speech but I couldn't. I know it's hard to think about
anything other than survival living on the streets as you do. And I am
almost certain that moral conduct (and ethics) take a back seat.
Because frankly, you have to eat, and I know from my day its survival
of the fit." Although this man was surviving he was far from fit.
"Just try to live and keep your head up, as sappy as that sounds I
mean it." I don't think he felt that the world owed him but if the
world (and its people within) were offering out of munificence then he
was willing to accept. I did not feel at all superior to this man. Who
knows we might have had some of the same dreams but life, it seems,
choked the air out of his while mine just deflated over time. Slowly
losing their importance as my perspective changed. I wondered what
other wrong turns and bad decisions were made to bring him to where he
now was. So maybe I could avoid them. I thought for sure he must have
some wise words or advice to give. Deep down the people who suffer the
most know more about life than the Harvard graduates. Sad but true.
Besides, we all have to leave this flesh someday so how much are these
worldly things really worth? I suppose they must be worth dying for if
so many people are willing to risk their life in pursuit.
We are all Gods children right? I have always been partially religious
but was never sure if partially was enough to call myself religious. As
I looked at his attire, his being rags and mine being suit, I saw only
an economical/financial standard between us. One that society was made
to enforce but did it smiling. A label it was glad to have stick. A few
categories among many. A harsh reality he is forced to live and that we
are both forced to face. Jake obviously more directly, me from a
distance. But today I decided to shorten that distance. A small step
sort of thing. I am not a dedicated humanitarian. In fact I am more
often cynical but every so often I relapse. My heart that is.
It was then I realized the time. I spent almost forty-five minuets
talking with this man about life and worldly views but now I had to go.
" It was nice meeting you Jake." And that was the truth. "Likewise" he
replied and that also felt true. He finished thanking me and we shook
hands. Firm enough to show that a small bond had apparently been
established. I looked directly into his eyes as I do to every one I
meet. The eyes say a lot. A mans eyes often tell his story without
words.
. Each movement lays the theme or plot to that story. They can reveal
a lifetime of sadness, or show your feeling guilty though for some
reason your laughing. They show that your angry, not worried or grief
stricken. Or explain to me plain that you care for Gods children. If
your heart is full of hate, your eyes tell that too. Your words can be
lies but your eyes tell the truth.
The last thing I remember is getting into my car, then opening my eyes
and seeing Jake over my shattered car window. I was a damn fool to
approach a man like this. A man who obviously could not be trusted. It
took hours it seemed but really just minuets to realize I was involved
in the worst accident this intersection has ever seen. The kind of
accident that was too raw for the news crew to shoot live. Too raw for
the TV but just right for the radio. " Just try to live and keep your
head up" I heard Jake say in almost a whisper.