Random strangers you remember

There is someone like that on the college campus in San Jose. He is old and thin and dirty and has lots of scraggly facial hair. He looks very gentle and looks like he knows a lot, but he never speaks and often goes into fits or passes out. The campus police come with a blanket and a little food for him... which I always thought was a wonderful gesture, telling me that some people still do care. Of course, I always want to try and say something to him but I am afraid that if I do I'll actually find out that he's just crazy. He probably is, but I just can't bear to ruin my image of him.

HAIKUS
composed on the spot for
75 cents

The young man left the park through the metal detector, a large silver rectangle which gave back a dull reflection. It beeped. The guard on the stool looked up from his daydream. "Boots," the young man said, pointing to the steel toes. To his right was a tiny booth, presumably for the guards. They never sat in it. Nailed to the side was a small box with a wire running out of it. The box had a slot in it. He ran his ID through this slot, announcing to a computer somewhere that he was done for the day.

This odd gateway he passed through everyday was covered by a brief roof. The young man walked out past the edge of this and squinted up at the sun. It was hot. Damn hot. Over his shoulder, the huge prow of a viking ship swung up from behind the fence, its silhouette slicing into the blue sky. He took off his hat, and clumps of sweaty blonde hair fell into his eyes. The viking ship swung back down behind the fence. The young man looked down at his dirty uniform. A tear in the right leg of his pants looked back at him. His clothes and his hands were stained with grease and dirt. His thoughts came slowly. Friday, today's friday. Not the last day of his week, but payday anyway. He pushed his hair back from his eyes, and walked around to the other side of the empty booth with the box nailed to it's side. There were two lines here, each leading to a counter and a woman behind a plexiglass window. The young man moved into the a through m line. The same woman sat at the end of that line every week. He thought of her as the pay lady. She remembered everybody. It was like the teachers in school when he was a kid. They always knew everybody's name, even if you had never been in their class. He could never figure out how they kept it all straight in their heads.

A girl with dark hair walked up behind him and stopped there. He turned to look at her. She was pretty, and he could almost tell that she wanted to talk to him. Standing there in line, such a common thing. What to say? Nothing. A short smile, maybe a little sad, or just tired. He turned around to find that it was his turn at the window. "You never smile," the lady behind the counter said, "are you afraid of me?" The young man looked through the big plexiglass window in front of him, looked through his own vague reflection, and thought, yes. Yes I'm scared of you, and I'm frightened of this beautiful girl behind me, and everyone else I see. I'm so afraid that I can't speak, can't smile, can't laugh. People scare me. "No," he said. He took his money and turned. The girl looked at him and gave him an uncertain smile, much like his own. She was so beautiful. Words, wonderful words, surged up from the very center of his gut, the place where the voice of the soul comes from. The words rose through his diaphragm and lungs, like bubbles in the pool behind his house, only to stick at the top of his chest, somewhere between his lungs and trachea. That small smile was all that made it up to his mouth. A little wave, a tiny bundle of force, going nowhere. Again.

Eventually, a burly black man with a gruff, Tom Waits-ish voice came to take away the destroyed tire and replace it with a new one. Since it was still snowing a little and the temperature was below zero I decided to keep him company. After making small talk about the woes of winter driving and the various accidents he had seen we somehow got onto the topic of relationships.

Him: So, you got a girlfriend?

Me: (Nervous laugh) No.

Him: Why not?

Me: Just haven't found anyone I'm interested in.

Him: (Thoughtful pause) You like boys?

Me: (More nervous laughter) I don't think so...

Him: Ya never know. You should go out...experiment. What do you do for fun?

Me: Go to see shows. Spend too much time online.

Him: Man, you should get out more. Go down to Greenwich Village. You'll find people- boys, girls, whatever. (Long pause as we shift uncomfortably in the cold) Yeah, well I had three wives. First one ran out on me, second one died of cancer, and the third one got shot in a crossfire. Loved 'em all. But the point is this: Bad things happen. Don't stop lookin' for that special someone to make them right. Now, I got me a new girl and we're as happy as can be.

Shortly after this exchange a call came over his radio to go off for another job. After he left I was inside warming up and I thought about what he had said. His words brought a new perspective to my situation and helped to reinforce my sense of optimism for the future. This can be considered a "thank you node" for that brief conversation in the dead of winter.

You may overhear a talk I am having with a friend, in a coffee shop, and invite yourself into it.

You may be the clerk in the mailroom where i went to mail a package.

You may be the person I randomly sit next to in the theatre.

You may be anyone.

I meet them all the time, random strangers I remember.

When I first meet you, I'll be shocked, but try to hide it, and usually succeed. I'll SWEAR I've met you before, and my mind will scramble to place when and where. I will try to find how I know you. But nothing will fit. None of the patterns from this life fit at all.

And I'll sit there, or stand. I'll talk to you for two hours, or I'll barely speak. But I'll have seen your eyes. and I'll know.

I won't say anything, of course. Because I don't know WHAT, or when or where. And I won't figure it out in that time, almost surely not.

You'll fascinate me, of course. I'll be curious about you for weeks after. Both who you are now, and who you were. But in the end, I'll walk away. And you'll haunt my thoughts.

In the end I'll walk away. And I'll mourn your loss. I'll mourn knowing I share that past with you and the fact I'll never ever realize its entirety. Because I've known you and connected before, I'll remember you. Well, I'll remember knowing you. I'll probably never truly remember you at all... I just wish I could...

Because you're one of those random people I remember, but wish I remembered better...