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"I Love Everybody!"**

10/20/2014

4 Comments

 
Picture
"Haaswundrinahcoul' haatransfergosheltuh," said the young boy in front of me. Which meant, "Hi, I was wondering if I could have a transfer to go the shelter?" He slurred it out in the same tonality as yesterday, eyes averted. A pudgy young thing in his late teens. Everywhere but within the US, a homeless overweight person would be an oxymoron; homelessness inside and outside this country are very different experiences.*

"Hey, I remember you from yesterday! Here you are. As long as you don't ask me that everyday!"

He sheepishly bowed his head and scurried out of sight. I doubt very much he was homeless, what with his unmatted hair, clean skin, and new shoes– after a while you learn to thin-slice a person's economic condition pretty quickly– but as I've said before, I need to give him the benefit of the doubt. What do I know? Maybe it'd only been a few days for him.

A few stops later, a tall man in clean clothes says, "I just got of King County Jail." We're at Broadway and Roy, at the north end of trendy Capitol Hill, by Rom Mai Thai, Poppy, and the Deluxe, and definitely nowhere near any sort of prison facility. He's between thirty and forty, olive-skinned African-American mix, bald, with dark eyes and brows, like an Italian movie star. He speaks quietly, head tilted, hands outstretched in street sincerity.

I sigh inwardly. But that part of me is still there, the sympathetic unjudging good part of me which I hope I never lose. Out loud I say, "this is for you," handing him a transfer.
"Thank you," he says, with an truthfulness in his eye contact and timbre that's hard to fake. He pauses, the way you pause to thank someone who's saved your life. 

He walks to the rear, tall and lanky and alone. I watch him in the mirror, way back there, going through his tiny bag of belongings. He unrolls a pair of jeans, stands, and changes his pants. 

I'm beginning to believe.

He's trying to be modest, but there's nowhere else to do it. We're on an afternoon 49, populated with hipsters and students. You get to a state of living where shame is something you can no longer hide, and you just have to get on with the difficult business of inching forward. Who cares what these other people think. Can't afford the luxury of being able to do something about it. He stays generally out of their eyelines, putting on fresh clothes in an air of solitary preparation, keeping to himself. 

At Campus Parkway a bunch of students gather their headphones and paraphernalia, preparing to exit. A girl readjusts her Coach purse, twisting her lipstick applier for an extra pucker. Meanwhile, he's walking back up to me. I smile at him through the mirror, seeing he wants to speak.

"Hey." Louder than a whisper, softer than conversation. "Thank you for helping me." 

Instantly I know he's telling the truth. His tone of voice says it all. The fact that he walked all the way back up here says it all. In moments like this you want to reach out to your fellow man, grab him by the hand or hug him tight, just to let him know the world cares. There is a space for you that only you can fill, my friend.

"Oh, it's the least I could do. Congratulations, man, on getting out. Welcome back to the real world!"
He sighs heavily into a smile, letting go the burden weighing down his frame. "Thanks!"
"I'm so glad you got out. That's a big deal." 
"I's in there sixty-nine days, man."
Don't ask about his crime, I think to myself. Not the point. "Too long! Well, not as long as some other guys, but anytime in there is too long,"
"I learned some valuable life lessons in there."
"Right on."
"And now it's time to...."
I know the sentiment he's about to express, and I preempt him by passing on words an ex-felon once earnestly told me: "this is phase two! It's a new phase, but it's still you!"
He looked at me. "Yeah, man!" 

In those two words was a zeal I've never heard. I could see how the phrase resonated. In his voice was, well, love. Love for himself, for all the possibilities of goodness he possessed, that sensation of ebullient hugeness which fills you, where for a moment you see the belief your parents, your siblings and lovers, your ancestors had in you. You want to make real the greatness they saw, and you remember how beautiful the world has always been. A door is open, and for now somehow, all things are new. He felt the goodness in him being acknowledged. 

"Congratulations, man. It's a big deal. I admire that a lot." Referring to his spark. Let him ride that flash of insight forever. No wonder he didn't look like your typical inmate at the outset. He was humble, not overcompensating with bravado, and nor was he broken or damaged of spirit. Phase Two.

Thank you, my human cohorts, for proving wrong my assumptions, and righting my path of thinking.

--

*The last part of that sentence stems from my experiences abroad, which offered a perspective of such abject horrors as to remind me that, by contrast, homeless populations within urban US cities live like kings. It isn't even a comparison. I realize how insensitive that might initially sound, but truly, we have no idea how good we have it here. 

Regarding obesity and the homeless– yes, 1 in 3 homeless are obese, like the rest of America. Of course, weight does not equal wealth; healthy food is generally more expensive, and fast food is often strategically more readily available in impoverished areas, where produce is often of lower quality. Crime, traffic, and unsafe playground equipment reduce opportunities for exercise, and lower-class populations statistically experience greater stress levels, sleep deprivation and more. Further facts and reading here and here.

--

**The title comes from a high school graduation memory, which I remember with greater clarity than anything else about the event. Upon receiving the plaque on stage, a student I didn't know, overcome with joy, turned to the crowd, and, not knowing how else to express himself, yelled, "I love everybody!" I imagine the largeness of heart our former inmate experienced was something similar.
4 Comments
Bekah
10/26/2014 07:34:24 am

Wow... both of these entries are incredibly powerful. Especially the one above this. I just wanted to cringe when I heard their voices through your dialogue. Hiting one another, the shouts, your glass splintering...
Wow oh wow.
Maybe you could have kept him in conversation, but I dont see how you could have handled it any other way. There is always an amazing amount of energy within anger. I hope it didn't bring you down for the rest of your shift! :(

This post that I'm comenting on also reminds me of a conversation I had with one of my friends from Kenya. She quite literally quoted you, saying that the homeless and poor in her home suffered and worked through adversity on a much different level than those here in the US. It was incredibly humbling. Makes me think twice about what I have.
Thank you for posting these. They are always thought provoking.

Reply
Nathan
10/28/2014 03:02:47 am

Bekah,

I can't tell you how great it is to get your feedback. Thanks for taking the time! I'm very glad the immediacy of those moments come through.

You know, this fight somehow didn't bother me very much. Usually when something negative happens I allow myself the rest of the trip to think about it- usually think about what to do differently next time- and then I try to erase the incident from my mind. I want to start anew with the remaining trips, and not remain preoccupied with the one negative incident, while thousands of positive/neutral events are happening all around me. I'm not a pro at doing this of course, as it's hard to stop thinking about negative stuff, but I do do my best. Letting myself think it over for the rest of the trip allows me to feel better prepared for next time, since there will be a next time eventually. But I don't want it to fester, and I choose to never tell people stories of terrible things happening, which is why the blog doesn't have those moments and my friends don't hear details about my bad days. Retelling those moments is just too taxing, and entrenches them in my memory too deeply.

However, regarding this scene- I feel like I did everything I could, and I probably wouldn't do very much differently the next time. If I saw that particular face again I might just let him out. The fact that no one was very hurt was nice, especially no bystanders, but even so I wasn't going to write about this one until I chose to recount it to a friend- I've had a lot of fights on the bus recently, and in discussing that felt this was the 'nicest' one to retell. In telling her, I realized that there was in fact a positive uplift to the narrative, in the older guy's exhilaration and sense of self-worth, and realizing that made me want to write about it. My original intent with the blog was to share that positive things do happen out in the world, and there's already lots of places to read about fights and other negative events; this is supposed to be a counter to all that! If there's a positive angle to the event, then I will write about it, to share what was good, and perhaps also to offer a perspective for my fellow drivers, who sometimes ask how I react in tense situations, or what I think about them.

On a different note, thank you also for sharing your Kenyan friend's thoughts! I hesitated before writing that part of the post, but decided to go for it. Its good to get her perspective!

Reply
Bekah
10/28/2014 03:16:00 pm

It's my pleasure! Truly! I was taking the number 5 bus back home once, and I happened to get into a conversation with the bus driver. We were chatting and one of the things that came to my mind I ended up asking them out loud. "Do you have any pet peeves?"
The driver stared off into the road for a moment, mulling over their answer. Then, they said slowly, "...No..I try not too."
Can't lie. That was impressive to hear. What they said next stayed in my mind until I had the time to search it out.

They mentioned you, said that there was this awesome Seattle Bus driver that they knew who was amazing. Pretty inspiring. This guy even wrote his own blog about his experiences and was nice to everyone. Eeeeeveryone. All day, every day, tirelessly.

...Which, is what landed me here!

And, whew, I understand. This is actually the first time I've ever seen you post something as intense as two patrons getting in a physical fight with one another. But, you know? Now when I'm out on the streets, waiting for the bus? I don't freak out as much as I used to when the so called "crazy" people decide to sit down near me, or begin murmuring to themselves, or board the bus that I am riding.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: 1) I love giving feedback. It's fun because you answer. Lol. ;) 2) I've become a much calmer bus rider because I'm beginning to switch my mindset around. Seeing fellow riders (no matter how abnormally they behave) as unique persons, not only because of your stories, but how your energy pretty much sets the tone for your interactions with the people of Seattle. 3) You did put a positive spin on this one. I really admire that you endeavor not to soak yourself in the intense moments, but let them pass on and still be mindful of the incredible moments continuously unfolding around you.

What was it that one guy you are friends with, said? Oh yeah.
Man...RESPECT. You totally got it.



Reply
Nathan
10/30/2014 04:38:08 am

I agree, extremely impressive to hear his answer to pet peeves.

As for his mentioning me, WOW! That is so unbelievably humbling! I don't even know who this guy is! What a special way for you to have learned about the blog. Its effect on how you consider people thrills me in particular- thank you so much for sharing.

There's a movie called "Happy-Go-Lucky," by the British director Mike Leigh, and it's a great character study about a working-class woman (played by Sally Hawkins) in Britain who is, well, happy-go-lucky. Much of the film is her sustaining her perspectives in the face of various neutral or negative events- driving school, her job as a preschool teacher, getting her bike stolen, and so on. Reviews were excellent- but! There was this one scene where Sally Hawkins is walking somewhere at night and notices a homeless man. She spends some time talking to him, and listening to his jumbled words. In the scene she seems unafraid and concerned, as one would be when talking to any fellow acquaintance. Although reviews were good, quite a few critics didn't understand this scene, and I think the reason they didn't understand it is because they don't have the awesome perspective you have- not freaking out as much, seeing riders as unique persons, and thinking about how one's own energy sets the tone... this sort of understanding I think can only be borne out of experience, which I'm betting those critics just haven't had the opportunity to have.

Have a great day!

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