the death of a bum

i barely knew the man, but i knew he existed. at any given moment someone, somewhere is disappearing, is in the throws of a slow or quick expiration. some fade, some fall out, some dissolve. some are simply cut out, taking with them the little bits of this world that surround their bodies. whether or not we think about it, we all know that somewhere, someone is dying. and i barely knew the man, but i knew he had, at one time, existed.

but bums are like that, right? their permanence is a magic trick, one designed to confirm our even more permanent place in reality and to perhaps, justify our existence as nonexpendables. but as we all know, someone, has to be expendable. there is always a price to be paid. taking the magic trick metaphor, bums are white rabbits pulled from a top hat, and we, in the audience, all stare and say, "what a way live, being pulled out of hats by your ears"! but we don't wonder about what happens after the show, what happens when we leave. rabbits will always exist in that very necessary way because we expect their existence in the magic show routine. and so it is with bums. we expect them in the routine of our lives, as much a part of the landscape as a street light. there we find them, crouched low in the nooks and crannies of any city. and it doesn't quite matter the individuality of the particular bum, rather, just his or her presence is needed to assure you that the world is spinning as it has been for centuries. don't worry, all is right with the world. show me a rabbit and i'll clap and say, thank God that's not me.

of course, there are differences between rabbits and bums. rabbits haven't any control over their environment or whether or not they will be pulled from a hat. and bums, to some extent may not have control over their situation either. of course, this depends upon your school of thought. i'm not here to judge bums or rabbits. i am here to say that i barely knew the man, but i knew he existed and i am struck by his death.

bums like hookers are cut out all the time. like excess fabric or dangling strings, most times, the body, or collective, moves around perfectly content without them. there is no mourning for these straggly pieces, not usually. however, there are times when your path, very literally, intersects with theirs. this is how it was for me. each day at work, i passed the same bum. he always told me hello and asked how i was doing. i always replied, good, good and went on my way. the interaction was so routine that it was as second nature as breathing. then, yesterday, i took my same path to work but i did not hear a hello. sometimes he was preoccupied and so i thought nothing of it.

when i was walking back later, i saw police gathered by his humble home--a stack of paper bags and a worn blanket--he was nowhere to be found. the police were putting yellow tape all around his little corner. as i continued on a local man asked me about what was happening. i didn't know. the bum was, apparently, his brother-in-law and he had read in the paper that morning that the bum had been killed. killed. the bum was an older man and on medication; he was "lolo" said the son-in-law. the old man liked to drink and so perhaps he had a little too much, said something to the wrong group of young men, and they then proceeded to "pound him out". of course, this is only speculation and the police, i'm sure will launch an investigation or at least make it look like an investigation. but a bum is just a rabbit right? does it really matter?

i was struck by his death, not in the sense that it was completely out of the realm of possibility, but because he had become a steady fixture in that little segment of my day and suddenly that fixture had been cut away. i had no reason or explanation for his death. to say i felt sadness would be a lie i'd tell myself to feel like i was a better person. no, his death made me remember the impermanence of everything. the unexpected nature of life. the seemingly reason-less world. the magician held up the rabbit, but it was limp. it was dead. in the audience we held our applause and checked our hearts. were our hearts still beating? if there is no rabbit, what will replace it? and will anything replace it? and will we still be at a magic show and will we still be audience members? someone might say that one less bum on the street is a good thing, but it's funny how quickly a connection can be made and how loose it can be and how, most importantly, it still means something. the son-in-law seemed sad and i was sad for him. not for the bum, but for this man to whom the bum was somebody. i walked about the rest of my day in a daze. this disconnected and confused blog is all i have to offer of the experience, as i said in the beginning, i barely knew the man, but i knew he existed and because of this this nobody was somebody to me.