I’ve been thinking a lot about a guy who spends time under the bridge near my apartment. I’ve been seeing him for months and, I suppose, instinct and attribution should say that he is homeless. At least, that seems like the requisite assignation.
He sits under the bridge with a red carry-on roller suitcase. He is nestled on a pop-up chair/stool. He is nearly always deep in conversation with an invisible conversant.
Simultaneously, he does not panhandle. His sneakers always look on the newer side. He is dressed warmly. He often has clear bagged fruit resting atop his suitcase. He always has just a hint of a five o’clock shadow.
I’ve walked by him countless times in the last six months or so. When I see him, I wonder who he is and how he found his way here. Why did he stake out this particular spot? How did he find it? Why is no one else ever here?
When I don’t see him, it’s a mixed blessing. I like to tell myself he’s somewhere lovely but my thoughts turn to concern. Is he safe? Is he warm? Is he full? Why is today different than the last time I saw him?
A month or so ago, I stepped out of the subway and began the short jaunt home. And there he was. Quickly coming towards me, pulling his suitcase hurriedly behind him, my neighbor under the bridge sped right past me. Presumably to the metro. My mouth hung open. I was stunned.
Where was he going? Was he heading “home”?
I already knew that his bridge spot wasn’t his bedroom. He actually always looks like he’s just heading out for an overnight trip. And I’ve never seen him there at night.
I wonder if he leaves from somewhere lovely with his rollaway. Does he kiss his wife and kids and promise them something when he returns? Does he know something might not be right in his head and he comes to the hideaway under the bridge to release it all? Does he spend hours striving for normalcy knowing that, eventually, he can settle on his stool and converse full-on with the annoyances lurking amongst his peripheral vision?
I think about that scenario a lot. Maybe it makes me feel better. Maybe it doesn’t.
Maybe I should just ask him.
Soundtrack: Just silence. Sometimes that’s nice too.
Lessons from Icarus 
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