I travelled by bus, alongside all the zombie-like passengers looking out at the downpour on a Saturday (that morning the weatherwoman proclaimed gleefully that we were in for a grand day). After having phoned ahead and speaking to the proprietor and making a verbal deal I got skunked anyway at the store on Main by 14th for $10.
On the way out nature called and as soon as I went into a Starbucks to relieve myself my bus had come and gone. A fellow rushed from behind me and managed to catch the bus while I was running after him and missed it. I walked toward Kingsway to give myself the option of more busses at that stop and just before I got to the junction there, the Kingsway bus passed and I was getting soaked while starting to fume. I was tempted to walk the rest of way in the rain but my nice suit jacket was becoming a bit weepy.
The bus finally came and I trudged on and joined the melancholy lot. I got off at Chinatown and wound my way through the milling crowd of Asians oblivious to my presence, so I had to duck and dodge their pointy umbrellas.
When I got to Cordova I observed a blind woman I had seen before walking alone and looking quite disoriented. She finally cried: "Can anyone help me?" I felt compelled to assist her and we walked and chatted three blocks out of my way through crowds of addicts and idiots who made the going rough; worse than Chinatown. But Brenda was a delight. I escorted her to the Carnegie Library where she wanted me to lead her to an outside post where I suppose she was going to meet someone. I felt for her situation. She was in the thick of the downtown eastside with desperate crackheads swarming about and entirely vulnerable. I left her there.
As I crossed Hastings Street I recognized my young friend Sean whose countenance betrayed being crestfallen about something. He informed me that he discovered his half brother yesterday hanging. Sean called the coroner and the police. He was then apprehended by the police and insensitively interrogated for three hours. He said he was all cried out. I gave him a small hug and told him to call me later.
My dearest and most troubled friend called when I got home and I said I could see him in three hours. He showed up an hour later at the door downstairs and while he's not allowed in the building and I could get evicted if I let him in, in his intoxicated state he couldn't give a rat's ass as he was quite insistent about coming up. I resisted him and just left him standing there by the door and I walked away alone. I was getting rather despondent and just walked it off in Gastown where all the moronic tourists gather around that silly steam clock and each snap their little cameras when the thing blows off a teensy puff of vapour. To me this fascination is plainly infantile.
Eventually I returned home and received three calls from my troubled friend who sounded delusional and again insistent about sneaking in. I just turned off the intercom for a while and when I clicked it back on Sean buzzed and I shared dinner with him.
In retrospect, the most pleasant aspect of that Saturday was the stroll through the hordes of maniacs with the brave and delightful Brenda. God keep her safe and may Sean's step-brother rest now in peace.
Almost forgot: I got a rare visit from a neighbour in this building who wanted to pick up a splitter for his TV. He was unusually talkative and he shared his background: from Winnipeg, raised as a polite, well mannered child; was born from an alcoholic so suffered attention deficit; abused at home by a relative; and after arriving in Vancouver as an adult became addicted to heroin which he now declares as his means of getting anything accomplished. Occasionally he spray-paints arenas for employment. With his straggly blonde hair and jerky manner he reminds me of the scarecrow from Oz. This two-time manslaughterer was pleased to inform me that to this day he stands for the elders on busses relinquishing his seat and opens doors for women. Gotcha.
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