| | Homeless Thought #2
[Union Station; Chicago, IL]
(Part 1: sorry this story is really choppy and the order kind of hard to follow, but I forgot a lot of what happened and when.)
This was the closest thing I ever had to a personal assistant. Conlay Johnson was carrying my duffel bag all around Union Station telling people to move out of the way so that I wouldn’t have to dodge them as I walked past. It might have looked impressive if he was clad in a black suit, dark sunglasses, and earpiece, with four other men following, donned in the same attire. But that’s me dreaming. Instead, passerby’s held their breath, mothers grabbed for their children’s hands in fear, and others bustled past with indifference.
From what I knew thus far, Conlay Johnson loved strawberry sundaes from McDonalds (he already had one at my expense for his troubles), couldn’t eat nuts because he was missing a large number of teeth, had a few great love stories, and was originally from South Carolina. We first met and spoke two hours earlier on a bench outside Union Station. A yuppie nearby was checking his watch, took one last drag off his square, and darted back into the station while his cigarette was flicked into my direction. A man started a half-step run towards it, snatched it up, and blew off the street debris. He then turned to me, “Excuse me miss, do you have a light?” Apparently this man didn’t let things go to waste. Even discarded butts.
.....
My train had arrived coming from Michigan at 11:00 that morning. I had tried calling E (my ride) three times already but it kept going straight to voicemail. He was now 45 minutes late. During those 45 lost minutes, I had walked the perimeter of the station twice, zig-zagged my way through all the stairs, halls, and exits, while awkwardly balancing on heels with an overstuffed duffel bag digging into my shoulder. I was completely thorough in making sure that he wasn’t waiting for me elsewhere. I called Becca to see if maybe she could pick me up. But she was working a double and wouldn’t get off till around 10ish that night. My last and only option was to wait. So the outside bench became my companion for a good part of the day.
.....
“Yeah, hang on.” I fumbled around in my purse until I felt the slim plastic contours of a lighter. As he was lighting his newly found treasure, he introduced himself as Conlay Johnson but preferred to go by CJ. His name was new to me but his face wasn’t. Out of boredom from waiting, I had been people watching for the past hour and he had been outside the whole time. He was really working it. Flashing big smiles, opening doors, reciting warm greetings to anyone who passed by. All the while his hand held out welcoming any tokens of appreciation. A forgotten, or even rejected, member of society; Conlay Johnson was a homeless man.
After a trail of smoke curled from his thick cracked lips, a trail of questions followed soon after.
“Would you like a hit?”
“Who you waitin’ for?”
“I noticed you’ve been here a long long time.”
“Is it y our boyfriend? Cuz you sure is cute.”
“Ain’t you cold?”
“Where’d you come from?”
“Man that’s wack! Makin’ you wait.”
He was kind and respectful, repeatedly made sure that he wasn’t bothering me. I took him up on his offer to keep me company until my ride came (and I prayed soon). So what the hell, what else was I going to do?” And I’d be safe, he couldn’t do anything to me while in public.
Right?
-tbc-
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| | Posted 8/26/2006 11:23 PM - 40 Views - 20 eProps - 11 comments
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