There are over a million and a half homeless people in the United States. That's according to Wikipedia, which is reliable enough for me any day of the week. Whatever the number is, I've never really come into close contact with very many of them. I was fairly certain until today that none of them ever purchased my mom a Christmas gift. Life is full of opportunities to be wrong. I've always lived in suburbia central and homeless people were more of an idea than something physical that can be touched (or can touch you). So during my short visit to my brother's in Atlanta, the near constant presence of homeless people took me off guard. They only affected my brother to the extent that when hassled he put his sunglasses on. I guess that's code for "fuck off" or something to that effect, although it did look mildly ridiculous with the overcast weather. I was less adept at pretending not to notice them.
I awkwardly paused mid sentence and looked over my shoulder at the man that was following us. I tried to remember what we were talking about but I couldn't. I didn't know what to do with my hands. I was the most self conscious I can ever remember being, and all for a person who I've never met, and who was clearly drunk at eleven am. At least I had my sunglasses to conceal my embarrassment; my eyes wouldn't give me away. It was a little difficult to see though. I kept tripping on cracks in the concrete.
We were out to go lamp shopping. I assume that you have stopped reading and the rest is only for my benefit. That's how exciting lamp shopping is, but my brother can get excited for any kind of shopping. I have clear memories of school shopping and having a basket full of clothes(mine and our other brother's)while he carefully looked at each t-shirt and pairs of over-sized jeans (that was the regrettable style)as if the decision impacted his life greatly, and not only for the few months before he grew out of them. I always opted for the first few articles of clothing I saw that were acceptable. This is still my modus operandi.
The man that was following us was babbling incessantly and I heard it all. I didn't want to, but I did. "Y'all are the sexiest men, the sexiest." He repeated this multiple times. After we came out of a store (across the street) he was there. He followed us some more. "Sexiest men still. Y'all are the sexiest. Remember when I bought your mom that Christmas present? Remember when we made love?" And this went on until we eventually changed our method of transportation from feet to car, always an excellent decision in my mind. The experience didn't seem to faze my brother at all, but I was definitely shaken. He lived in this?
After looking at lamps for entirely too long, we did eventually do some more shopping. We were gone for seven hours, a mere two of them spent looking at lamps. The lamp had to be "modern, but matching the decor". All of the lamps he liked were square. None were purchased on this day, which (like the encounter with the homeless person) did not seem to faze him in the slightest. I admire him for being able to find a purpose in all that nothing. We looked at lamps. That sentence could not be more bland, but he was pleased with the experience in a way that suggested some progress had been made.
It didn't dawn on me until several hours after we returned to his apartment. We weren't harassed by anyone upon our return. I was sitting on the loveseat, sipping sparkling water, and watching tennis when I remembered. We had a conversation the night before about our cousin. How could I not have remembered earlier? My brother's voice had been muffled by the surgical gauze in his mouth to a vaguely satisfying comic effect. We talked about our cousin. I don't remember how the conversation worked its way to him. I don't remember what we were talking about at all, but I remember him saying that our cousin is homeless now. "How do you know that?" "Aunt S_ told me," he said. "She said he calls all the time asking for money now. He's a drug addict." This was news to me.
I have a memory of a Christmas from about ten years ago. Our cousin, S_ was giving my mom a present. He had very dark hair, and he walked across my field of vision, across the living room and the wrapping paper that was strewn about the room. Our dog roamed happily. Smiling faces of my family members were around. I was leaning back in a recliner. He was crossing the room to give my mother a present, but I can't remember what it was. I can see the red and green papered box in his hands, but it's formless. I can't tell what it is. No matter how hard I try, I still can't remember.
To help the homeless, go to www.atlantamission.org
Share This Article
