A few years ago, on a cool November afternoon, I was frantically running through the cluttered and cramped shops of the fabric district in downtown LA. Sweat was collecting between my forehead and brow as I ran from shop to shop, quickly scanning all of the different trims, and beading, willing myself to not get distracted by all the shiny things and to stay on course. A true testament of will power for a person with an affinity for color and a twinge of A.D. oh glittery thing!
As I could hear neighboring steel doors screeching shut, the hustle and bustle winding down on the streets, and the air starting to cool from the setting sun, I was making my last purchase in the back of this stuffy store that smelled of stale smoke and Persian food. It was finally time to wipe my upper lip from the sweat and let my heartbeat take a brake from it's maniced, methed out humming bird pace.
A little something about me. I absolutely HATE the first fall chill that penetrates your bones. It sends me into a severe depression and reminds of the sadness that basic bitches must feel in their refusal to put on a coat on outside the clubs, because it doesn't match their out. Bitch! Stop the suffering.
The sun was leaving and the first autumn chill just hit. It was time to get to my car quickly and retreat home. As I walked toward my car, I rummaged through my purse to find the tiny plastic key that I had been using to drive my car. It wasn't even a real key, but a cracker jack box plastic key, meant as a valet key. Stupidly I hadn't put a cheesy plastic crystal or shrunken head talisman on this tiny lone key the size of a paper clip. As I rummaged through my purse, and methodically went through pocket by pocket, it began to dawn on me that I had lost my key. Oh no. Immediately my heart jumped up again and my adrenals started pumping. The sweat had began to leak out of my face like a pierced water balloon. Paniced I charged back down the street where I had done most of my shopping, in hopes that my key would magically be sitting on a counter. As I rounded the corner, all I saw was steel door after steel door shut like a chastity belt at a Purity Ball. With my phone out of battery, I was running out of options. Thankfully the last store I was in however, was still open.
I entered the store full of drama and panic, desperate for them to help me find my key. Perhaps they could call the store owners next door and tell them I had a wedding to go to, so if they wouldn't mind opening up shop? Fuck it, my father is dieing and I'm his only hope....and my boyfriend broke up with me...and my cat died...and a gopher bit my toe off this morning and now I have no toe. Fuck it, I'll buy you a burrito if you come back.
I began to believe my tales of desperation and genuinely spilled tears over my tragic situation. What was I going to do?
But alas, I was S.O.L. and my only option was to wait for my boyfriend for the next 2 hours as he got off of work and drove over in traffic.
Fairly upset, I dragged my feet away from the store and toward my car. Nothing to do now but to sit in this miserable cold and wait. As I stood there, angry with the world and myself for not putting a damned friendship bracelet or cat toy or a can of beans...ANYTHING on my stupid plastic key, I waited by my BMW in a huff.
While I was standing there, I noticed a collection of people starting to gather around the corner down the street. Within minutes the number of people had multiplied. Quite the motley looking crew of vagabonds, typical of the guys you'd see hanging around Skid Row. As they started to pool around the corner, I couldn't quite figure out what was happening. I wasn't sure if food was being served there, or if there was a blue light special on some crystal. But for the moment there was a strange barrier between me and them. On my side it was me, my car and an eerily empty street and just down the street there was a gang load of people swarming the corner, standing behind an invisible barricade, itching for someone to open the gates.
A truly strange site and just when I was sure that they were waiting in line for Robin Hoode to arrive, they all seemed to simultaneously turn toward me and started walking straight at me like a zombie apocalypse army, hobbling down with torn clothes and faces that didn't seem to fit their skulls. As though someone had slid open the racing gates, a group of 20-30 people came toward me, with blankets wrapped around them, carting their shopping carts, and dragging their belongings behind them. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck started to raise as I wasn't quite sure if I was the target or if the target was right past me, but there was no one else on this street. So it had to have been me.
I got up off the curb and stood fiercely by my car, waiting for the Braveheart moment where they'd come crashing into me and I'd have to bust out my pathetic cat scratching technics for protection. As I stood there, there was one man in particular who frightened my core. While the others seemed to drift between conversations as they made their way toward me, there was one man who looked directly into my eyes. He walked in a straight line, with his focus set on me as though he was an arrow with the point aimed right between my eyes. He was coming for me and he didn't look too kindly. His hair was knotted in huge unkempt dreads with his eyes so bloodshot I could have peeled the veins off and sold them as red vines. Teeth missing, clothes shredded, and a loose swagger that said he hadn't given a shit for years.
As the others eventually walked right past me, he came straight to me and said,
"What's wrong?"
It was not the energy I had expected. With his weather beaten face, he looked like the toughest and scariest one of the bunch. The one who had possibly been on that street for decades before the others.
And now here he was, asking me tenderly and inquisitively, what was wrong.
A little startled, I fumbled around with my words and dismissively said, "nothing man. Just hanging out."
But he said, "I don't believe you. I see that you've been crying. What is wrong?"
Wow really? I just wanted to be left alone. And admittedly, I was a little intimidated by the whole situation. People had started erecting tents along the sidewalk by my car and I realized that I was right in the middle of their entire community. It was like being the new kid at school, but worse because there was a very clear story between the have and the have nots and this privileged chick was clearly outnumbered.
But he prodded and I figured, I might as well have one ally.
As I told him the story, expecting him to try and hustle me for something, strangely this man took pity on me. This man, with hardly a thing to his name but half a smoke and the torn clothes on his back would take pity on me? Wow. I felt like such a privileged fool. But my foolishness did not stop there.
With neither of us having a single thing that we needed to do, he layed out his airplane thin blanket and invited me to sit with him.
His name was Douglas.
A simple guy. Very proud to not be a beggar of sorts but a man of spiritual wealth. A man that did his best to provide for those around him, and when he was lucky enough to come across a few bucks either from passerbys or an occasional check from the government, he'd use it to go to the movies and convince others to come with him. To have their own little adventures. To go to the library and read and indulge in all the little pleasures. If he had a little extra, he'd buy a pack of beers and smokes and make it a side walk party.
He not only shared himself, he also gave me the lowdown on the entire group of people staying on that sidewalk strip.
There was the floozy. A terribly overweight, acne ridden girl with shark teeth and a horrible cackle. But perhaps the most disturbing thing about her was her skin condition. I don't know how else to describe it other than it looked like she had some rare flesh eating disease that covered nearly 70% of her body. It was chunking off of her body, scaly and red from rawness. I sincerely felt terrible for her and not being able to get the attention that she needed.
As I watched this fairly good looking young buck, in a clean shirt and crisp baseball cap flirtatiously molest her openly on the street, Douglas explained that she was the chick that got around.
Then there was Gobble Gobble. That's right. They all called him Gobble Gobble. He was not only def, but he seemed to be slightly mentally handicapped as well. When he would try to talk and get the attention of others, he would squack out in intelligible sounds, thus the name Gobble Gobble. I'm guessing no one knew what his birth given name was, and I'm not sure that he knew that either. Perhaps it was lost forever and the name Gobble Gobble existed with this particular group of nomads until he or they move on and he is amongst another strange group that will then call him as they wish.
The nameless man.
As I watched Gobble Gobble sitting there, seemingly happy as a fat kid in a candy shop, I noticed he kept picking at his foot. As I looked closer, I realized he was cleaning out a hole right under his ankle from sand and bits that had gotten stuck in it. Gobble Gobble literally had a hole, where the skin had healed over to exposed bone. All I could imagine was that it was maybe from a gun shot years ago and it had completely healed over to where you could still see the bone in his ankle.
And then there was the other side of the spectrum. One guy in particular did not look homeless at all. A spunky young broad, wheeler and dealer type of energy with crisp white shoes, a perfectly pressed, crisp white t-shirt and thin gold chains. He wasn't shy about his cell phone and ipod either, and sat around with some of the other homies drinking beers, sharing music, and playing cards. What ANY other guy his age was probably doing that night. Except he had the luxury of retreating to his tent that cold night.
And then there was the perfectly sane, responsible and kind postman. He not only preferred to sleep on the streets, but he got a little awnry with folk for keeping him up past 7:30pm. He had just come back from a church service held on the streets and was ready to go to bed. Had I saw him at work, I would have never guessed that he slept on the streets every night. His hair was not only perfectly kept, and clothes on point, but he was also extremely well spoken and intelligent. Homeless because he didn't mind it and would rather save a buck.
After sitting there with Douglas, discussing the dynamics of the community I realized that there are a few fundamental things that most human beings seek past the essentials of food and shelter. They seek community, faith, and love. Perhaps it is those things that humanize us as a species. And regardless of one's socioeconomic standing, that little corner of the world, on the edge of skid row, looked no different than any other small town in some ways. It was humans communing with other humans, having a drink, sharing music, games and stories.
And Douglas. What a little angel. He really understood the bigger nuggets in life. And though his outer appearance was beaten and mangled, his composition was nothing but pure love.
Eventually my boyfriend came to pick me up, only to take me back to get my other key and then we'd return to the car.
I left Douglas and we got my key. On the way back, I decided to grab a couple of plates of Boston Market. Nothing special. Just some plates of turkey, mashed potatoes, cornbread, mac and cheese etc. We also picked up a pack of beers and some smokes for him.
When we returned, my poor boyfriend who grew up in a tiny town in Oregon was scared shitless.
"You're getting out of the car? You're just going to give them that stuff and we're out of here right?"
I didn't respond. I just hopped out and looked for Douglas.
As I approached our spot, I didn't see him right away, and then I looked by my car and saw that he had moved is blanket and fell asleep by my car so he could protect it.
A dart to the chest.
That he somehow felt that he had to protect my nice things. Him huddled upon his thin blanket, waiting for my return. It was incredibly touching and simultaneously painful, for I could only feel horribly stupid for being so devastated that I could not get into my BMW in the first place. What a complete asinine twat. Thank you for that perspective shift.
As I approached him, I nudged him to wake him and let him know that I had returned. He was out cold, but when he woke up, he jumped up and clasped his hands in glee. So excited to see me again, and letting me know that he wanted to protect my car so he moved. I thanked him deeply and told him I brought him some food and beer. It wasn't anything special but I wanted to bring him something.
Douglas looked at it, stopped, and then started to cry. He couldn't believe the gifts that I had brought him. He reacted as though I was one of the Wise Men bringing gifts to the baby Jesus. He held his hands in prayer stance, looking up and cried, thank you thank you, over and over again. I couldn't believe it. It was only Boston Market and some Corona's. But he couldn't believe he was worthy of such blessings. Only 8:30pm by this point, most of the street had already fallen asleep. He decided to wake up a few of his special buddies to share in this feast and they all ate, drank and felt like kings for a moment. And though at times, I have had moments of ignorance, I don't mean to be self ingratiating by saying they felt like kings from this simple action I provided. I've had plenty of times where I've given gifts to the homeless and they've snubbed filet mignon. These friends of his were like him. Grateful and present to the idea of miracles in everything big or small. Something we could all learn from.
Eventually my boyfriend creeped out, put on his big boy pants and realized there was nothing to be afraid of. We sat there for a few beers and continued to live, love and laugh. I wish I could remember all of the words exchanged that night, but all I can remember, is Douglas and I holding each other's hands, staring deeply into each others eyes, and sharing so much honest love. I thanked him for some profoundly deep lessons that I had learned, and for the lessons that I will continue to learn as it processes. And Douglas, he just continued to hold my gaze with such clarity and love in his eyes.
I took his sister's number down and promised to call him and leave a message for him there to call me back. I tried that number twice before the 3rd time it was disconnected. I never reached him. I even tried to visit him a couple of times but he was never there. He had mentioned in our encounter it was time for him to relocate as his street was getting over crowded. I guess that's what he did.
To this day, I still don't know how to process all that had happened that evening. All the wisdom shared and all the humility shown. I am however, so grateful for the angel Douglas that entered my life that day and the God spirit that guided him. I wish I could put into words the magnitude of change my soul had experienced, but I can't. And perhaps it's better not to confine such bigness into minuscule, poorly represented sounds or letters that are only trying to convey larger feelings and concepts in the first place. Perhaps it's better not to do the limiting back and forth loop, and simply allow it to live largely in our souls.
