The Homeless Man

Entry posted by Desertrose December 19, 2007

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I went into the city today...took the kids to Macdonalds for lunch.

It was really busy, dead on the lunch hour rush so we ended up sitting at the seats that line the windows overlooking the busy shoppers walkway.

As I went to take a bite out of my burger I looked out at the view of a homeless man lying on the bench outside, asleep.

He was slumped on his side, one arm outstretched with a grubby dangling hand almost touching the ground.

His fly was unzipped revealing filthy boxer shorts, his pants and jacket dusty and stained, head roughly shaven and yet he sported a huge bushy beard that buried half his face.

"Is he even alive?" asked my seventeen year old, after we watched the motionless figure for a few minutes.

"His belly's moving" said my eleven year old.

"How do people GET homeless?" she asked

As I ate I thought about how to answer this.

"Well, the majority of people who are homeless often have some kind of mental illness" I said

"Sometimes it's drugs that lands them up on the streets, or alcohol abuse, or sometimes just terribly tragic events that they can't cope with...."

It was all too hard to try and explain, because I don't really know. I can only guess, and imagine...

"You must never forget that once upon a time that man was someones gorgeous baby boy" I told them

"Someone once cared about him."

We sat there for a while finishing up our meals watching as dozens of passers by stared at the homeless man as they hurried on back to their workplaces, or homes....

Once a couple of young kids, about six or seven years old, waiting for their parents in the Macdonald queue that had now drifted out the doors, began a game of "lets see how close we can get to the scary man!"

They laughed as they stepped closer and closer to the sleeping figure, daring him to open his eyes.

The man stayed silent and still, oblivious to their game.

About this time, I had an unpleasant vision, as I sometimes do, of the man shifting in his sleep, and falling OFF the bench.

I hoped we would be gone if and when this happened.

I also began to have the urge to "do something" for this man.

The indignity of such an intimate thing as ones sleep, ones dreams (or nightmares?) being under the scrutiny of so many strangers as they walked past and stared openly...

It just felt so wrong.

I thought about ordering a meal and leaving it next to him on the bench.

Save him perhaps from salvaging someones leftovers from the bin...

His outstretched hand, now ON the ground begged for a ten dollar note.

Ahh...but....yeah, I know where it would go.

Two security guards walked past and paid the sleeping figure not so much as a glance.

A couple sat on the next bench and ate their lunch......a group of teenage boys, all sporting the same ridiculous "I just got out of bed and forgot to brush my hair" look, sat near the man and smirked to each other.

So many people walked past and probably didn't spare a thought.

"Once upon a time that was somebody's gorgeous baby boy" I kept thinking.

And then....it happened.

Just as it was in my vision.... except I closed my eyes at the last moment!

The man began a slow motion roll....he rolled his shoulders to the left....his belly followed, and he rolled and.......... I heard the smack as his forehead hit the concrete.

I heard it.

The kids were making dismayed sounds next to me and when I dared to open my eyes again I saw the blood trickling down his face.

His arms moved slowly above his head, trying to find the source of the pain, but as though he was underwater, the effort was just too great.

He collapsed back into the escape of his fog and stayed where he had fallen in a puddle of rain.

People continued to walk around him...past him.

Continued to give him a distasteful glance.

Nobody moved to help him.

Reading my mind my teenage daughter said.

"No mum! He might be dangerous."

"I'm not strong enough anyway"....I said. but my eyes scanned the passers by, looking for a face that might be feeling what I was feeling. One that might want to help...

I saw none.

"You know....he's not that much older than your father...."

Five minutes went by and the man stayed where he had fallen.

"We have a mobile phone? We could call an ambulance" said my younger daughter.

I have done this before....Should I ? Should I ? With such a crappy health service.....long waiting times at the emergency room?

This was just a graze really....Not a lot of blood, like the other man.

I could go and get a security person from the train station next door ...perhaps?

And just as I was deciding what the best thing to do would be, suddenly the man awoke from his stupour.

We held our breath as he slowly raised himself from the wet ground.

I got a good look at him for the first time.

Yeah, probably in his late forties? He looked a bit like an old bikie with that shaved head.

His eyes, glazed and dazed....

I wondered at the things those eyes had seen?

His lips dry and cracked from the cold....

I wondered what stories those lips could tell...?

His hands, grey with dirt, fingers stained with nicotine....

Who had those hands held?

Finally, standing on swaying legs for a few moments he fixed his eyes on a woman standing a little way up the path.

We watched him walk over to her, ask for a smoke, and she reluctantly handed over the one she had just lit.

The homeless man disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind an empty bottle of wine , a forgotten cigarette secreted away underneath the bench... and my echoing thought....

""Once upon a time that was somebody's gorgeous baby boy"