A freight train roared past with a gust of wind and mechanical clamoring. I stood over the spot were Ferret was supposed to be. Much recent trash and a few dirty and tattered blankets greeted me upon the bench. I had spent many hours at this same spot as a child watching and photographing trains. The sanctity of this special spot had been disturbed by a vagrant man; the tell tale signs of desperate life littering this little enclave hidden from the prying eyes of townsfolk.
Sherman had told me earlier this morning that Ferret had been staying down here all day, sitting on the bench, and whiling away his time. He said he hadn’t been eating and was looking gaunt. Sherman’s exact words were, “Dat niggas gonna be a ghost soon. I hope he haunts dat crazy ass drunk mother of his.” There are no soup kitchens or shelters here in the small town were I live thus no support for homeless people. Your best hope is to migrate the hour northeast up the interstate to Atlanta were such services exist.
I am extremely wary of Ferret, but after hearing Sherman’s gossip on the matter, I decided to take action. I had fixed a brown paper lunch bag filled with two salami sandwiches, a honey bun, a zip-lock bag of potato chips, and a can of lukewarm coca-cola. Such a gift given to me by a caring soul would have brought me immeasurable joy during my homeless days. My hopes were that Ferret would feel the same. Alas, he was no where to be found.
I made my way back up to the grocery store to see if Big S had seen him. The parking lot was full of cars as people came to and fro from the various stores in the shopping center. Despite the cool, early spring air, I broke out into a sweat as I peddled up the steep hill to my place of employment dodging impatient drivers. I chained my bike to one of the posts out front. Big S was sitting in his usual location along with Droopy. They were having a heated exchange about whether or not Superman or Batman would win in a tussle. Such a banal and stupid conversation I thought giving away the mindset of these simple men.
“Have you seen Ferret?” I asked Big S interrupting his and Droopy’s exchange.
Droopy watched me warily the enigmatic character he is.
“You better leave dat crazy ass nigger alone,” Big S said excitedly. “He ain’t right.”
Big S didn’t know anything. I walked on up to the bench by the dollar store pulling out this months Model Railroader from my backpack to read as I lit a cigarette. I was hoping Sherman or Ferret would show back up. Big S kept coming over to me to beg for a cigarette. I was growing more and more aggravated with each exchange. Our last encounter made me lose my temper.
“You spend your whole fuckin’ life mooching off of others, don’t you!” I said loudly and tersely.
“Fuck you, you crazy ass white cracker,” Big S said angrily and stomped off.
A few moments later, Big S walked back over and extended his hand in reconciliation. I shook it.
“I didn’t mean all dat shit,” Big S said. “You be alright for a white boy.”
“I didn’t mean to be an asshole as well,” I replied. “I am sorry.”
Big S sat down beside me and I handed him a sandwich and a cigarette. I really shouldn’t do this and give in as he will see this as a sign of weakness and take advantage of it. This is all a game to Big S.
I ended up eating the rest of the lunch I had fixed for Ferret; my mission of mercy was thwarted by my own hunger and lack of patience. I unchained my bike and peddled slowly home as thoughts of the homeless and mentally ill Ferret wandering town haunted my mind. Maybe I will try again tomorrow.
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