A Walk in His Shoes

The cold air whipped in spirals down the snow-covered streets picking up the loose layers of snow and displacing the flakes in separate piles, constantly shifting their structures in the win. Past the mounds of snow, curled in a small mound of himself was a man. He was shifting slowly with the wind himself, his back supported by a white brick layered wall of an older worn building. This man, a man some who some may have called a hero in many years past, now sat passed by as a nobody to many.

In his past, he was called Ducky. He earned his title in Vietnam as a gambler amongst his troops, the best one around. His name was given to him with the luck of drawing 2’s yet, always winning. He sat against the brick wall, covered in snow, and the wind spiraling down his neck sending chills down his spine and reaching out to his limbs. His baggy tan overcoat could not protect him from the chill. He didn’t flinch though, he didn’t move at all except for the gentle shifting with that cold wind. He was frozen. He was frozen in the life he once lived. In the riches, he owned and the ones he loved, he was frozen. His eyes closed slightly as he held the memories behind his tears, tears which were provoked from the bitter cold and not the memories. The memories were vivid, so vivid they were difficult to miss.

One may only assume that as he closed his eyes to the memories they were of the good times, the frequent wins and the laughs with his brothers in arms. His face no longer showed the wear of war but the wear of the street only. His bad memories he had seem to let go to hold onto the good only. He seemed content even within the bitterness of the weather and the chills of the wind he seemed content in the happiness of what was before. 

I walked by this man every day. I offered him food and cash in which he never accepted. He liked to give advice. “Be with the ones you love; the money is not enough to buy them back.” He would say. He would say this every day that I saw him but I continued my way to work in my navy blue freshly ironed suit with my bleached white dress shirt and my tie tightened ever so neatly. “Hang on to your dreams and don’t follow the ones who want you to complete theirs.” He would add as I continued to walk away in my four hundred and fifty-nine dollar shoes down the freshly paved sidewalk. I felt a breath of pity for the man. I had large successes in my life and I couldn’t quite understand how one would lose everything to be sitting in nothing. I continued to walk but would stop contemplating the thoughts every time I arrived at the train, ready to continue my daily journey home to all of what I had worked for. As an attorney I often saw cases in which mental health were factors played in cases. I felt pity for the man. As I walked, the man would fade back to his memories in which he would live forever.

Ducky they called him. The man who could draw 2’s and win any hand. A big-time gambler. A risk taker. A man who had risked his life and when returning found no threat in risking materialistic properties. Perhaps, the mere thought of giving up one’s life would allow anyone to see that money to be gambled was nothing but a piece of paper, after taking the ultimate sacrifice. That is was what he did, he gambled for risk and for thrill. He couldn’t lose the money. It would go, it would come back. He never spoke unless giving advice, giving his words of wisdom to those he saw that resembled himself from a distant past. He enjoyed the cold as he lived for many years in the heat. The streets of Vegas where he would hide from the world and gain a living through sin. He had seen far too much sin in the jungle in ’68, taking a man’s hand for his fraudulent winnings would never send that cold chill down his spine as did the wind. Some say he should never live this way for all that he has done. Yet, no one paid attention to who he was. Others would say he deserves to live this way for all he did thereafter. I would say he is not living at all. It is a philosophy designed to understand if Ducky was truly living or truly happy if he only lived in memories. A philosophy of which didn’t seem to stop Ducky from being perfectly content in his own setting. 

Every night I walk home and pass this man. Once again, I offer to him hot food and cash and once again he refuses. He has more than enough to live comfortably in this world. He may be lonely but he would never be alone. He has more than enough to have all that he wants, but this seems to be all that he has ever wanted. Once again, he gives advice, “Choose to be a good man, choose to lead a good life, and those who follow will be good too.” I never thought these words applied to me. I was always a good man and led a good life. I had good people who surrounded me. I went on my way, “Our lives are nothing but a mirage and there is nothing better than starving yourself to see it.” His words followed my footsteps.

I sit with my back supported by the white old brick building, my body‘s weight supported by the snow. My eyes barely blink as I stare at the drifting snow and I live in a memory. The cold air whips around and down through my spine then branches out through my limbs as I grab the hand of a sophisticated young man, dressed in his navy blue suit and quickly rushing by, “Bringing in profit does not equal good and being good may not gain profit.” The man pulled his hand back and looked sadly down upon me. He gently dropped a dollar next to my hand which was reddened by the coldness of the snow it was placed upon. The man did not heed my advice and he carried on with his business down the smoothly paved sidewalk in his finely shined black shoes. The shoes that I once walked in.