I had a dream… I had a dream about a crazy homeless man…a
dirty crazy homeless man and I think it was in my apartment. He was hurt, he
had a bandaged head and arm and trying to tell me he wasn’t always like this.
He had a diary with scribbles and pictures. Turns out for a little while in his
life he was kinda famous, almost someone of consequence, at least as the world
saw it. I tried to peek at his diary, I tried to look at the things he’d
written. I could see the scrawling on the paper but I couldn’t make out the
words. He was a dirty crazy homeless man, and he was in my apartment…I think.
He caught me looking
so I scrambled to flip to the pages with pictures. At first, I thought they
were actual photographs like in a photo album, but when I looked closer, I realized
they were paper clippings that had been cut out and stuck on. Random pictures
of him posing for shots, doing things. It was a scrapbook of his life. For a little while he reminisced, he told me
how he used to be someone …someone of consequence…his words stuck with me…he used
to be someone of consequence, he mattered, at least for a little while. People knew
he existed, and he was real. Now he was a dirty crazy homeless man. He kept
talking… I kept looking at his diary…tracing the edges of the paper clippings
that he had stuck on to the pages of his diary. The pages were hard and
crinkly, like how paper gets when it’s been wet and then dried. I wondered how
this diary had survived with this dirty crazy homeless man.
Something flashed, I looked up. The dirty crazy homeless man
was standing by the window with his arms wide open staring at me. He had a halo
that was blinking in and out. I realized he had pulled down a light bulb that
was still attached to its wires and he was using it as a halo. He waved about,
opening and shutting his mouth each time the light blinked in and out. Like a
lighthouse in the rain. I noticed it was raining outside. I hoped he wouldn’t get electrocuted; I didn’t
want to have to call someone for help. Then I would have to explain why there
was a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment. I didn’t want to have to
explain.
He must have seen it
on my face, he got embarrassed and started freaking out. I was scared and he
was freaking out. He knew he was a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment. That
he was freaking out and I was scared. That it was not ok, he was not ok,
nothing was ok. So, I told him what I had been doing. I told him its ok, I’m on
vacation so it doesn’t matter. I told him how I hadn’t slept in 4 days, how I was
broke and anxious and freaking out too. So I had told myself I could have a few
days off. I told myself I could give myself a break. I could go on a bender if I
wanted. Just for a day or two, just a little vacation from reality. So its ok
that he’s a dirty crazy homeless man in my apartment and its ok if I’m tired
and hungry and scared. He stopped and looked at me, then he pulled out a foil
wrapped roll from his raggedy jacket and gave it to me. I think it was an old
burrito. He sat down and looked at his diary. He flipped through the pages, I looked
at the burrito. I didn’t want to eat the dirty old burrito, but I didn’t want
to hurt his feelings, so I looked for a place to put it down… you know, for
later. I sat down next to the dirty crazy homeless man. I was tired and hungry
and scared and he was freaked out. He told me he used to be someone of
consequence and I told him I was scared.
