My curiosity was piqued about Big S and whether or not he was still panhandling over at Givorn’s grocery across the river today. I haven’t seen him in weeks. Not that he is my favorite of the gang, by the way. I just wanted to see how he was doing and was curious.
I walked across the river bridge beyond downtown West Point with my big Kelty backpack on. A young African American male passer by rolled down his car windows to hurl racial obscenities my way as I walked over the bridge.
“Get off the fucking highway you white mother fucking cracka!” He exclaimed from his car as it whizzed by.
When I hike with my big backpack, I realize I look homeless; an easy target for simple minded souls. I let the disparaging words easily go out of my mind like water under a bridge.
“Stupid fool,” I muttered as I walked on. “Racist idiot.”
I found Big S sitting out in front of Fox and Hound’s Pizza Parlor next to Givorn’s. He was wearing a heavy sweatshirt partially covered by an old faded pair of blue jean overalls. He also had on a very old and heavy pair of steel toe work boots. He looked rather comical in this attire to be a 400 pound man.
“Hey bud,” I said as I walked up to him offering him a cigarette.
“Hey man,” He said with a grin taking one from my pack. “I ain’t seen you in forever. You still doing all that camping shit?”
“I haven’t done a lot of camping lately except for the backyard, but I hike a lot of miles everyday.”
“I heard George is getting out of jail,” He said changing the subject.
“I pick him up Wednesday morning from the county jail,” I replied.
“Be sure to bring him over here to see me,” Big S told me.
“Excuse me for a second,” Big S said as a young white family was entering the pizza restaurant for a late lunch. I heard Big S ask them for spare change and saw the handsome looking young father reach into his wallet to give Big S two dollars. Big S is still using that same old line that he is hungry and wants something to eat. It is obvious by his great girth that he is not missing any meals. I couldn’t help but smile at the little exchange. My pride and conscience could never take making a living in such a way.
I finally told Big S goodbye, gave him another cigarette, and walked behind the shopping center through the woods to the old train trestle crossing the Chattahoochee. I would once again try my luck upon this bridge to cross the river. Both signals down the tracks shone green and I carefully made my way across and then back on up through downtown to home. Today’s hike made for six miles. I could have gone for three more, but had grown bored with walking and wanted to waste time reading and writing upon this computer.
5 comments:
Wonderful visual descriptions of people and places.
I just stumbled onto your blog. Very impressive and don't let the naysayers get you down. I really find your little fantasy/reality snips very instructive. Your struggle not to let your illness define you is admirable and the blog shows off your insights quite well. Good work, and good luck to you.
larry
Big S wouldn't get anything from me unless he could tell me a short story, or interesting fact. Those are my rules. I work hard for my money and I don't give it up easily.
I used to pass a group of men every morning on my way to work. They would spend all of the day before thinking up a story for me.
They said it was fun and gave them something to do. It also gave them a small sense of value because they could offer something in return.
We are all storytellers if given the chance.
Hi J :)
A writer can never not write, let alone write too much.
heyget back with me my name is lil lay and my bloger is lil_lay
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