Chapter Sixteen
It was early October and the sky was a deep, dark blue. If you squinted you could imagine it to be the cold heart of a distant and mysterious lake. The demons from hell brought new tragedy to Edmonton, on an almost hourly basis. I witnessed one man staggering downtown and, though I heard someone nearby marvel at anyone who could be drunk before noon, I knew that he wasn’t drunk, but possessed. I wanted to run to him and almost did.
Edson Rooms took on official status as somewhere that I used to live. All the other so called homes I’d occupied made room for their new cousin.
My cash, though I had been frugal, had run out. Money was like that with me – it would show me a good time for a while and then it would be gone. Every day I was looking more and more like a bum, like somebody who slept in bus shelters, parks, apartment lobbies or underground parking lots. While other people were snug in their beds I was the guy who could be found dozing over a 3 a.m. cup of hot water in the donut shop.
I picked cigarette butts off the cement and in public ashtrays, which was where the juiciest butts were, long, fresh and who cared about the lipstick. I took to hanging around burger joints at meal times. When a group left their table, I would check for anything edible, pieces of burgers, a few cold, salty fries, a watered down coke. Sometimes I’d score in a big way, sometimes it was all bun and sometimes I’d be spotted and told to leave.
Late one night, I had grown tired while staring into the blackness of night. I started walking and eventually came upon what appeared to be a heated bus shelter. While I soundlessly closed the door like a sneak, I was thinking excitedly that I might have found a home of my own. I decided to test it out. I was soon sleeping like I had never had a problem in my life.
Eventually I was stuck in a cold nightmare that presented me with a problem; what do you do when you are being struck repeatedly, how do you know you are the victim of an assault that began when you were soundly sleeping? How do you know that you aren’t dreaming? All I could do was wake up as quickly as possible. Someone was, beyond doubt and reason kicking me in the chest and stomach. The advantage was clearly his. Upon seeing that I was awake he started yelling at me,
“Get the hell out of here before I give you worse… Goddamned bum.”
I needed no further prompting and hauled ass. When I was a safe distance away I yelled, “I may be a bum, but I’m not goddamned, take that to the bank, you stupid shit.”
Either he’d had his share of fun or he’d worn himself out with all his kicking and yelling, whatever the reason he didn’t pursue me.
A few weeks passed. Each day was a challenge of trying to get by in a full-sized city that seemed strange, like it was home to a strain of beings that bore little resemblance to most of the people I’d known.
I finally gave in and ate at the soup kitchen; I had been too proud to do so but finally I wavered. Hunger can often overrule pride with a thunderous voice. I still found my own place to sleep come nightfall. The hostel was a place I didn’t trust. I may have been a bit different but I liked being bullied about as much as the next guy. Some nights I just walked around all night and the next day slept as long as they would allow me to in the public library downtown. They’d seen my type before.
I started to think about my brother and believed that something terrible was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on what the problem was. I tried a little telepathy but no one was receiving. I tried to believe that no news was good news.
It was an early morning in October and my brother’s image fought for attention with my strong addiction to nicotine and the need for a coffee. When compared to tobacco, the need for coffee was a mere craving. I made a conscious decision to think about Bob later in the day and went to scare up a smoke or two. I was really hanging and didn’t rule out being a touch intimidating if I had to.
Later I retired to a park that was thick with people my age. My disheveled appearance shouted schizophrenia. I imagined the way I looked at others to be sly and sneaky, perhaps even a bit devious as if I were always wondering, what’s in it for me. Soon enough I found a patch of grass that was inviting and sat counting the cigarettes I had bummed, while my brother’s image danced in my head.
In my mind he was smiling, stroking his beard and laughing. His long hair shone, his teeth sparkled and his eyes glittered. He was radiant with secret knowledge. With this glossy, polished image front and center, my musing on that autumn afternoon reached the natural conclusion that one who frequently entertained religious delusions would accept as an ultimate truth.
He was He, the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. He was Jesus Christ. I was livid.
How could he let me go hungry? Why would he let me freeze? He wasn’t my true brother, I knew that now that I was aware of his identity, but still, how dare he? I’d always thought that I knew him better than most anyone. I realized with a start that millions made that claim. But I’d grown up with him. I’d worn his old clothes. I’d caught his knuckleball when it needed work. Now I knew where that knowing look he wore had come from. Someone had conjured up his look and his wisdom in heaven. I realized that he’d left me to go hungry and cold because in his infinite understanding he had thought it was for the best. Well, I thought as I started to warm up to the whole business, I’m sure he knows what’s good for me.
Then he started hee-hawing in my head. He was radiant, he was running the show but he was braying and laughing me to scorn. People were driving by and their radios were blasting the news that the ‘holy man’ had finally been clued in. I heard crowds of people laughing and someone yelled jubilantly in the distance, I heard it clearly and blushed – “Did you clean up the city yet?”
There was more laughter and I thought the moment would never pass. I was stranded in the park, anchored by fear and humiliation. I felt all the pain of a common beetle pierced by a pin through the thorax.
Oh yes, everything was clear now. Damn them, as soon as I could walk I was out of there. I’d hit the road and I’d find somewhere where I was welcome, a place free from the common ingrates of Edmonton. Let them fight their own battles - I’d tried hard to save their city but I’d obviously failed.
“Hey man, you look kind of freaked. Are you okay?” I looked at the clear eyes of the young man speaking to me and I started to cry.