Raggedy Man
Joggers attired brightly colored skin tight spandex and loose fitting grey cotton sweats pass the wooden bench at regular intervals. Some breeze by largely unaffected by the gravitational effects of the Earth, while others sucked air like there was a shortage. A large lake, with rental rowboats available only to the affluent zigzagging across the otherwise placid surface, was in front of the bench beyond the concrete. Occasionally bicyclists whisk by weaving through the pedestrians like mosquitoes. This was my favorite park and my favorite place in the park. I remember picnicking here as a child with my father and mother.
As I sat on the bench a slight breeze skipped through the leaves of the eclectic variety of deciduous trees planted that seemed to be planted ad hoc throughout the park by an unsupervised group of druggy's the1960s. The effect in the fall is as mind blowing as you can image, reds, yellows, greens and browns of every hue.
Old wooden picnic tables, scarred by decades of graffiti, pay homage to loves long since gone sour, were scattered under the various trees. The occupants rotated through hour by hour, day by day, week by week and year by year to share stories, shed tears, giggles and guffaws. Lover's undying declarations of devotion scar the trees.
The homeless man's slow gate accented his emaciated bent frame as he approached, beaten down by circumstance and time. He was a raggedy man with unruly tangled salt and pepper hair and a putrid essence the result of a prolonged lack of hygienic opportunities. "I'll be honest with you," he said to me, "could you spare some change so I can get a beer?"
Instinctively, repulsed, afraid, on guard, and dumb struck by his condition and audacity I got up without saying a word. I turned my back and walked away. I did not look back. At home I reflected upon my actions, or lack thereof. I told myself I had no responsibility to help this old man, it was not my problem, it was not my fault. As I shopped in the supermarket later that day I lamented this price of a gallon of milk. That night I slept uneasily.
The morning news carried the usual news about the recession, the poor economy, and the sagging housing market, the price of greed. The price of gas was holding, but expected to go up. Cynically, I thought "sure after the election in November." But the story that caught my eye was this:
"Walter Flynn, 62, was found dead in Prospect Park this morning. Though the incident is still under investigation, police do not suspect foul play. According to authorities, Flynn, a long time area resident was a known to be indigent. A Vietnam War Veteran, and Purple Heart recipient, Flynn had a history of mental illness. He is survived by his ex-wife Renee Hilton and a son, Michael of Salt Lake City, Utah."
There was a picture and I immediately recognized the raggedy man from the day before. "Hard times," I thought, "Not my fault," I thought, "There, but for the Grace of God, go we all," I thought.
Module 5: Cause and Effect
How I Got My Cat
I should have known. The apartment was on the second floor with a view of the parking lot. The furniture was typical college, second hand, great technology. Her roommate was slightly overweight, slightly jealous. I had met her the first week of the fall semester. It was a science class and we became lab partners. I still do not know if she chose me, or if I chose her. Maybe we just chose each other. Maybe it was caused by pheromones; after all it was a biology course.
During the "getting to know you" phase of the courtship she told me about her previous relationship with Kevin. They had hooked-up in high school and had been together until the prior summer. She described him in a fashion that inspired the saying "hell hath no fury…" She had explained that she had broken it off. He now attended school in another state. She claimed her feelings for him were over. I believed her.
Our relationship progressed from study sessions to dating rapidly and she invited me to meet her parents. Dinner was awkward at best. It was evident that her father still had feelings for Kevin. Her father practiced law. "Tell me about yourself," he cross-examined.
I did.
His gaze never left my eyes. When I had finished he shook his head sadly, slowly glanced over at his red faced wife, then stared down his daughter. "Sorry," she said in the car on the way back to her apartment. She told me that her father and...
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