He fell, as if in slow motion, like watching a movie. If I had moved quickly I could have stopped his fall. But I didn\u2019t move. I didn\u2019t move at all. I stood and watched. He was quickly on his hands and knees. A well-dressed, middle-aged man waded through the few spectators to offer his assistance. He held the old man by the arm, speaking quietly to him as he helped him to his feet. I couldn\u2019t hear what he was saying but I noticed that the old guy kind of shrugged him off.<\/p>\n
I shook my head back and forth, as people sometimes do when confronted with something objectionable or unfortunate. There\u2019s a safe distance to a slight movement of the head. It\u2019s a public concern, non-involved, for the benefit of others. I remember feeling embarrassed while standing there, shaking my head slowly back and forth, allowing someone else to help while being the closest.<\/p>\n
After he was on his feet, the few of us that stopped to watch and started to walk away, going our separate, unattached ways after seeing that there was nothing else to see. I was just a short distance away when I heard the voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, slow down. Can\u2019t you hear me? What\u2019s wrong with you? I can\u2019t walk that fast.”<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t stop, just slowed my gait a little.<\/p>\n
\u201cC\u2019mon, I can\u2019t keep this pace up.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped abruptly and turned around. It was him. He was leaning over, his hands on his knees, panting, angrily looking at me. \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you help me back there? You were right next to me. What\u2019s wrong with you? Don\u2019t you have any compassion? That other guy that helped me was a minister. They\u2019re supposed to help. Why didn\u2019t you? All you had to do was reach.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned around. I wanted to put distance between him and me, in a hurry. But the voice followed me and brought the old man with it. I quickened my pace. I was surprised he could keep up. After a good long block I stopped and again turned to confront him.<\/p>\n
\u201cDamn,\u201d he said, \u201cit\u2019s about time. How long you think I could keep that pace up? I\u2019m an old man. And now, hello, my name is Hubert, and I\u2019ve always hated that name.\u201d<\/p>\n
“I don\u2019t care what your name is,\u201d I said, \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWait, while I catch my breath,\u201d he said, leaning over, his hands on his knees again. Then, after a few seconds, \u201cWhew! I\u2019m an old man. Give me a break. Twenty years ago I could have kept up with you, but not now. How old do you think I am?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t care how old you are,\u201d I responded. \u201cWhat do you want? Why are you following me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCalm down kid,\u201d he said. Don\u2019t get angry with me. I\u2019m angry with you. Remember that. You should have helped me and you didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned around.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t take off on me again,\u201d he said loudly. \u201cYou want me to have a heart attack? You want my death on your conscience?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat the hell do you want with me?\u201d I yelled back at him, turning again, to face him. I stared at him as he straightened from his crouch, still gasping for air, not seriously though I thought. He looked stronger now. He was taller, years ago. He had taken on an old man\u2019s stoop. My father used to say that he was six feet tall until he was sixty. Gravity brought him down, he said, along with degenerative disk disease and other old man maladies.<\/p>\n
The old guy looked into my eyes. It was unnerving. His eyes were dark green, like they were colored with a crayon. They weren\u2019t bright, just green, thick. His dirty hair hung near his eyes. His face belied the anger he, I thought now, was trying to convince me of. Maybe he wanted sympathy.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want sympathy. I need a little rest,\u201d he said, while taking in a deep breath, standing as tall as he could, his face now mildly contorted, showing some discomfort. \u201cI need a place to stay for a couple of days,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
What response was there? He was inviting himself over.<\/p>\n
He laughed out loud, his mouth wide open, his very white teeth shining brightly in contrast to his tanned face. \u201cWho would have thought I would have ended up like this? Who would have thought I would have to ask someone like you for help.\u201d He stopped abruptly, like he was thinking, and then said, \u201cAnd I\u2019m gonna help you too.\u201d<\/p>\n
Help me? Was that what he just said? He was going to help me? I stood there, dumbfounded.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou should see yourself,\u201d he said. \u201cYou look dumbfounded.\u201d<\/p>\n
I started to gain some composure. \u201cWhat do you expect me to do right now?\u201d I asked. \u201cDo you really expect me to take you home with me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course I do,\u201d he responded quickly. \u201cYou\u2019re alone. There\u2019s no one to say no anymore, no one to answer to. No wife anymore, is there? I\u2019ll only stay a couple of days.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t answer him but he was right. Maybe I looked divorced, I thought.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou look divorced,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you just say?\u201d I asked, not believing I heard right.<\/p>\n
\u201cI said you look divorced. Everybody your age is divorced nowadays, aren\u2019t they? How many of your friends are still married? Don\u2019t they just have partners now?”<\/p>\n
He waited for a response but I but I didn\u2019t know what to say, and then he said, “You mean I\u2019m right? You really are divorced. That\u2019s pretty damn good, don\u2019t you think? Just met you and I got you pegged already. Damn, but I\u2019m good. Bet you got a Bachelors Degree in Business too.\u201d<\/p>\n
I did have a Bachelor’s in Business, but I didn\u2019t tell him that. I had to admit it now: he had certainly piqued my interest. He was personable, charismatic, irascible, and interesting.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, c\u2019mon,\u201d he said, \u201clet\u2019s get going.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was going to do it.<\/p>\n
I parked my car in front of an old, now vacant theater. It used to be a majestic place. That was what my father said. He took me there a couple of times when I was much younger. I remember the sculpted ceilings, the ornate architecture, of a near forgotten era.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou ever been to that theater when it was a theater?\u201d he asked as we approached my car. \u201cYour father ever take you there? They don\u2019t make \u2018em like that anymore. And I bet this is your car, isn\u2019t it?” He said as we approached my car. \u201cNice ride. A minivan. Not only divorced, but you got kids too.\u201d He was smiling now, proud of himself.<\/p>\n
I have two sons but I didn\u2019t tell him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou really think you know all about me, don\u2019t you?\u201d I asked, starting to play along, warming to him. That was when I saw them.<\/p>\n
They were walking quickly across the street, in and out, dodging the cars, coming towards us.<\/p>\n
One of them, wearing a full-length leather coat, too warm for the weather, came around from the back of the car. The other one, in a short-sleeved shirt with some type of sports logo on the chest, approached from the front of the car. This was on a main street, cars going by. There would be witnesses. But it was still happening. I looked around to see if a police car was nearby. I thought to say something, to yell, when the one in the short-sleeved shirt stopped in front of the old man, \u201cGimme your wallet,\u201d he yelled out. The old man hit him in the neck. The would-be mugger put both hands on his neck and took a step back, his eyes bulging, then the old guy kicked him in the knee and he went down. I then heard a voice behind me, \u201cAw, shit, this ain\u2019t right.\u201d I turned and watched him running down the street, his leather coat flowing behind him.<\/p>\n
The old man leaned to one side\u2014I was in his view. He watched him running away. He was smiling. \u201cYou gonna take me home now, or what?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
We drove away, leaving the other one, now on his knees, gasping for air, both hands still on his neck.<\/p>\n
He sat, looking out the window. I didn\u2019t know what I should do. I was taking him home with me. Was I really going to take care of this guy? Not that he needed taking care of, I increasingly began to realize. He was intelligent, sarcastic, even a bit sardonic. He could also be violent. He wasn\u2019t afraid. He knew what to do and he knew how to do it too. That being a product of his past, I guessed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m a product of my past,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cI used to get into a lot of fights when I was younger. Hell, I was still kickin it in my fifties. Then things changed and I decided to stop that shit. Just wasn\u2019t that tough anymore. I was getting old. Too late though. I grew up too late. Cost me my wife, my home, my kids, my job, I mean jobs. I was always pissed off. All those years mad at everyone and everything\u2014nothing ever my fault. And who can I blame? Maybe if I went to analysis I could blame my father, but that\u2019s bull. Nah, it was me. I had a choice. We all do. It\u2019s all done with now. Sometimes though, the past comes back to help you, not haunt you. Like back there with those idiots.\u201d He laughed out loud at that last remark. Then he turned to face me. \u201cYou know your problem?\u201d he asked. \u201cYou\u2019re afraid. You play safe, and you\u2019re just afraid. You froze with those two. You didn\u2019t know what to do, did you? You gotta be assertive. Maybe you\u2019d still be married. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. And I bet you never heard that before, have you? But it\u2019s true nonetheless. Am I being philosophical? Maybe I got into the wrong profession.\u201d<\/p>\n
I wondered what that was, his profession, or if he was, even, really homeless. Maybe he was a salesman. He did finagle me into taking him home.<\/p>\n
\u201cNah,\u201d he said, \u201cthere\u2019s no money in philosophy.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then he settled himself in his seat, placed his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. He fell into a deep sleep. I knew that because his breathing was slow, methodical and loud. My father used to say that a person that slept soundly, and he never did, had a clear conscience. I had to let him stay. I felt now like he needed me. That felt good.<\/p>\n
He stayed at my apartment for two and a half days. He didn\u2019t talk that much. Not like I had anticipated. We played cards. He was a good poker player and I told him a lot more about me than he told me about him. He was guarded. Whenever I asked him something personal he\u2019d just say that that was all over. He referred to it as \u201chis different life.\u201d He never told me his name and he never asked mine. He said he didn\u2019t want to get close. He said our relationship wasn\u2019t personal, just necessary. He talked about politics and religion\u2014of all types. He was well read. He perused my book shelf when he first came into the apartment and told me I read too much fiction. He was a fight fan too. Not the mixed martial arts, but boxing, what he called, laughingly, \u2018the art of pugilism.\u201d He did a lot of that, he said, but not in the ring. In retrospect I\u2019m surprised I went along with any of this, what was happening? I was surprised as it happened.<\/p>\n
It was Friday when all this started and by Sunday I was wondering what I was going to do when Monday came around; the workweek begins. I was planning on telling him to leave Monday morning\u2014or maybe taking half the day off and taking him out for a nice big breakfast and then dropping him off wherever he wanted to go. I wasn\u2019t sure. I was procrastinating. But the question was answered when I woke up Monday morning.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t leave a mess. He kept his arms inside the bathtub, his porcelain coffin. After some difficulty with the county\u2014he didn\u2019t have any ID, no information, nothing\u2014I had him cremated. I still have his ashes. They\u2019re on my bookshelf. I\u2019m have no idea what I\u2019m going to do with them.<\/p>\n
I used to think about him, quite a bit, for a while, but not much anymore. He never told me why he chose me. That was what he said. He chose me. Maybe he just wanted a place to call home, someplace he was comfortable in before he summoned the courage to end his life, although I don\u2019t think he lacked courage. I\u2019d like to think that his staying with me was somehow cathartic, but I\u2019m the same. I\u2019m still divorced and I still have kids I see every other week. I live in the same little apartment. I am taking boxing lessons. Maybe if someone tries to rob me again I\u2019ll be able to fend him off like he did.<\/p>\n
It’s over. I\u2019m glad that he chose me, my place, to end his life. That\u2019s an odd thing to say, to admit, but it\u2019s true. He spent his last days in a place he chose. I feel good about that. I liked him. He was, at the least, the most interesting person I have ever met.<\/p>\n
I got rid of the Minivan shortly after he was cremated. I bought a Camaro.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
He fell, as if in slow motion, like watching a movie. If I had moved quickly I could have stopped his fall. But I didn’t move quickly. I didn’t move at all. I stood and watched.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":22386,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21780","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-lawrence-zielinski"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21780","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21780"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21780\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22383,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21780\/revisions\/22383"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/22386"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21780"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21780"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21780"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}