I walk through this city and see broken templates of future adults. Broken people, whose lives are spread out on benches, doorways or street corners. I wonder what it is exactly that has put them here on these streets. Some show burden on their dirty faces, some move with a disconnected energy brought on by meth abuse. The visual effects are dizzying as you see them move, arms swinging exagerratedly, scratching at their crystalised skin. Bodies taut and toned, but suffering to the very core.
It’s 8:09 am and the Chinese men and women are exercising in the park. They have just thrown bread for the pigeons who waddle and peck hungrily at the ground. A few metres away, a shirtless man of about 17 is also searching the ground, moving with a disjointed desperation, until he finds a half smoked cigarrette. He pockets it, and continues his picking. I walk by him and he pays little attention to me but to move aside. He glances up at me briefly and I look directly at him. The body is dirty with earth and the arms have scratches and broken vessels. He looks at me, but the look is hollow and despite the heat, I feel a shiver run through my body. The emptiness in his eyes is like a black hole, and I have to turn away. I am afraid that I will get pulled in. Then I think, maybe he turned away because he couldn’t bear to look at me.
Funny, how humbling a look can be.
I walk away, but my heart already hurts for I too have lost a friend to the streets.
I wonder where his parents are, what they are thinking. Does he think of them, or just the cigarrette in his pocket.
9 comments:
I often wonder the same thing when I see street kids.
It's heartbreaking.
It could so easily have been me or someone I care about...
Extraordinary post, Epi.
sometimes i see street people and i wonder how they got there...then i think of all the things that might have happened to them. there used to be an old chinese lady who lived inside the bus shelter at the corner of spadina and dundas...i used to wondered if she was one of many seniors who were abused (a lot of times by their spouse or kids) at home and had no place to go...it is heartbreaking
Your writing is so beautiful and brings the scenes you describe to life. And I'll admit, sometimes I just am so fed up with being asked for change or having to step over some filthy person (yes, I know how bad that sounds), that it's good to be reminded in posts like yours and like Sister's yesterday that it could be any of us and we can't lose our humanity.
What a beautiful, thought
provoking post. I've had so many of the same feelings when I encounter street people. It's especially heart-breaking when they are the very young or the very old.
Sister - your post made me think about it, and it also reminded me of a friend.
Dickey - I could have been there at one time as well.
Dantallion - Thanks babes! good to see you are back!
Spoony - There are so many reasons, like broken homes, abuse, etc. I just wish people knew outreach programmes are there to help.
Snooze - You're not the only one. I often feel the same way, trust me. I sometimes think we should go all Giuliani on Toronto, and clean the streets. I too get tired of seeing it, but I am human, and these are my observations. Sometimes I feel for them, other days I don't.
Spencer - Welcome! You have an awesome weekend as well!
Joel - Thansk. It's sad to see so many on the streets nowadays. With all the outreach programmes etc out theer you would think it would have lessened, but it hasn't.
Shit that is so true Sister. I was kicked out a few times and adolescence was absolutely hellish. Fortunately I lived in a small town and went to live with a friend for three months in Grade 13. But that was wierd and awkward too.
I remember going to River restaurant once. It's run by this organization that offers training and employment to street kids. And they really did turn their lives around and were great to talk to. So it's not all gloom, thank goodness.
Smelly Man On A Bus
He sits next to me.
His teeth crooked with decay,
He smiles at me shamelessly,
Exposing the barbed enamel.
His breath passes over the rot,
Attacking my flared nostrils.
I pretended to sneeze to cover my nose.
His hair matted from days of un-wash,
Grass and grime cling to each follicle .
In laughter his head bobs and it grazes my face.
I pretend to scratch to wipe away the offence.
His hands gnarled and bruised.
Skin bloodied and torn from gray-brown nails.
He extends his hand to shake.
I pretend to drop my book to escape the touch.
He rings the bell and descends the steps,
Turns with a big grin and a wave for me.
I turn to the person across and answer a question unasked.
I ring the bell and descend the steps.
I touch the handle he last felt.
As I feel his dirt I think to myself,
How fortunate he is.
His decay is of the body,
Mine is of the soul.
Daelyn - I am glad teher are people out there to help. I just wish that there were more productive career oriented programs to get kids thinking and to get off teh streets to work.
StonnedBunny - Thank you for that! It was beautiful :)
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