Don't Feed the Birds

A sane man would have flinched. Hot saliva dripped down his face, the hateful "gift" spat by a stranger. The man had not noticed the insult for he was lost in his own torments -- to his own demons.

   He stared unblinking and blind to the world around him. He was a part of this world, but separate. Still a man but not.

An old woman with arthritic hands, curlers adorning her hair, stood nearby with only the meager protection of a parasol to protect her from the Sun. She stood looking piteously upon the man.

She struggled to push her full cart of groceries to her home. A challenge beyond her years -- a task she did so only to feed her invalid husband. Despite the ravaging heat, she spared the time to pray for the man under her breath. Sweat beaded her weathered lips as she neared him, pausing as she drew closer as strangers are often not kind. She dared go so far as to reach out but caution stayed her hand. Instead, she removed a bottle of water from her cart and then left it as an offering at the man's feet.

      “Bless you.” She said to the man, but he did not acknowledge her. “Our Father who art in Heaven preserve him,” she whispered. Shaking her head sadly she proceeded down the street, her steps short but filled with determination.

The man ignored the bottle of water that the old woman had offered him. He gave no indication that he had noticed the interaction. His lips were parched and cracked, surely he could have used the cool relief.

The morning sun continued its relentless assault upon the city, the temperature punishingly high in the morning hours. The man’s bottle soon had that squished look to it, the water now discolored from the unrelenting gaze of the sun above.

Traffic buzzed and hummed as wispy vapors wafted on the Strip. Only the tourists and the mad braved this heat. A car idled at the traffic light and the radio blared with an animated DJ voicing a warning for his listeners. "Extreme heat warning in effect in the Las Vegas valley. Only venture outdoors for short periods. Travel is ill advised. Do not leave pets and children unattended. Wear sunglasses, hats, and other protective gear when venturing out into direct sunlight. Drink plenty of water." The usual spiel.

The man gave no indication that he heard or felt anything, nor did he notice a young woman and her daughter heading his direction.

“Mommy! Is that a zombie?” The little girl asked her mother, pointing enthusiastically at the man.

  “Shhhhh." Her mother scolded her, pulling her daughter closer.

The little girl began again but her mother talked over her. “I said shush, Debra. he is a homeless person. We don’t talk about the unhoused like that, alright?” It wasn't until they were three blocks away that the man seemed to notice them.

“Am I homeless?” the man mumbled to himself. This momentary lapse of awareness likely would have startled the young woman and her child if they had not already crossed the street.

Looking about, he wondered idly to himself. What day is it?

He glared up at the sky, sun beating down upon his uncovered face.

“Hot." It was as if he had just noticed the summer UV rays. "Need to get back." He muttered. 

Within moments the man was back to his separated state. He began to shuffle aimlessly, centimeters at a time, in slow revolving circles. The man stared blankly at the empty dirt lot. He would have drooled, but his body was so burnt and broken that it preserved what little moisture was left.

Ill-tempered passersby, with short fuses from the unmitigated heat, wondered idly at his apparent madness.

A man biking illegally on the sidewalk rode past the man. The biker shook his head, but it was a mystery as to whether it was in pity, outrage or judgement as he observed the man staring absently into the sun's heat.

Any sane man would have noticed when the patrol vehicle parked on the street near him. But alas, he was too content staring deep into his private Hell again. The man did not notice as the policeman began walking towards him. The officer warily eyed the glistening shards of glass that littered the pavement around the man in concentric rings.

“Sir? I need you to step over here, please.” The police officer commanded. The man, lost to his private rhythm, did not respond. “Sir. Look, I’m not going to ask you again. Step over here to the sidewalk.”

“Perfect.” The man said, nodding without any expression on his face. The comment could have been a response to the police officer’s words, or he was simply spouting nonsense -- his face did not reveal the truth.

“Jesus Christ, sir. Where are your shoes?” The officer proclaimed disgustedly. As he stepped closer, his hand resting casually on his belt.

  “Sir? Excuse me, sir. I need you to wake up from whatever Hell..." The officer shifted his focus. "Ma’am, get back in your vehicle, please.” The officer said, now turning back towards the street. 

A dilapidated minivan that had seen better days was parked in the center of the lane behind the patrol vehicle. It had mismatched panels. Every inch of the vehicle was covered in dents and dings. The hood was held closed with a bungie cord. Approaching him was an overweight woman with cheeks flushed not only from the heat, but something else.

“Leave that man alone you fucking pig!” Shouted the angry woman, her appearance almost as dilapidated as her vehicle.

   “Ma’am, I asked you kindly. Please step back into your vehicle.” The officer stepped closer to the woman on the street. "I'm just trying to help this gentleman." Ignoring the officer, the woman began hurling slurred, albiet colorful, swear words and various curses at the officer.

The policeman squeezed the radio at his shoulder, both eyes firmly set on the woman. “Control, this is unit 43DR, vehicle 431 near Washington and 4^th. I’ve got a situation here. I need a Code 9.”               

“Situation? Oh, I'll give you a situation!” The woman screeched and charged towards officer.

“Ma’am, I...” A moment later, the officer was forced to dodge the woman’s flailing fists. 

Ludicrously she wore a t-shirt that was two sizes too small. It was pit-stained with sweat and the smell erupting from her was enough for the young officer to wince. A fist slipped past his defense as she clipped his ear, still yelling inarticulately.

The man was quietly oblivious to this as he continued his circular path. His blindness extended towards the confrontation as he ignored the world around him.

Multiple police vehicles arrived sirens blazing. Reinforcement officers spilled onto the scene much as ants on a picnic basket.

Those stuck on Washington Blvd. with destinations and commutes took no heed. They sat firmly in their air conditioned work vans, EV's, and cars intent on surviving the waves of heat radiating off the asphalt. To them it was just another day in Sin City and just another crazy asshole.

A nearby thermometer on the sign of a small credit union building now read 128° F.

The officer and his reinforcements, now drenched in sweat, were all red in the face and ill-tempered when they escorted the woman off scene in handcuffs. Then as quickly as both the young officer and his reinforcements had arrived, they were soon gone.

The man meanwhile was forgotten.

The man was in a Matrix world more real to him than the real world. It was here that he danced with her. They twirled and laughed inseparably. She wore a pure white dress while he wore a ludicrous tux. The man knew she was most beautiful woman in the world. It was their wedding day.

She threw her head back, snorting from laughter. His eyes danced with merriment, and best of all she had agreed to let him wear the ruffled tuxedo from his favorite movie Dumb and Dumber.

It was the perfect day.

It was his only day.

Everything else had been shit. Total. Complete. Shit.

When had it all gone wrong? It’s not my fault he lied to himself. Part of him knew it, recognized it, and dismissed it. It's not my fault.

Even in his denial, he could acknowledge one thing. She left him in the dust of that desert. He had already lost everything else by that point. She warned him "one more track mark, one more fuck up, and I walk…"

“You wouldn’t leave me! You wouldn’t dare…” He had told her after her last warning, his words slurred. Oh how he had believed it. What an idiot. Why? Why? Why? Why?

The man dances beneath the sun to try to forget, but even in his daze, he never truly forgets. She never lets him forget. When he is high, she is there. When he is sober, she is there. When he sleeps, she waits for him in his dreams and nightmares. He can never look her straight in the eye.

When the sun climbs beneath the mountains, the air cooling slightly -- that is when he notices the heat.

“Jess loved to watch the Sunset.” He mumbles. His feet stopping their endless dance, forcing him to stand still in this world.

Fresh as a newborn he becomes aware of the heat that radiates off the streets. His ears register the honking cars, the screeching tires of the traffic on Washington Blvd.

“Ouch.” He winces. Looking down at his bruised and burnt feet, crusted with both old blood and new, he becomes perplexed. “Where the fuck are my shoes?”

A moment passes. “Jess? Jess!” He witnesses her ghost ahead on the sidewalk, waving sadly to him as she loads the car. He thought his heart would crawl from his chest. Every time. I cannot watch this again.

Infinite loop.

Her cheeks were red-splotched, and the skin around her eyes sunken, but when he gazed at her, he saw the youthful girl her from their wedding day in her dress of pure white.

He saw double, standing side-by-side, one image of her staring at him with sadness, and the other with promises. One young and one old.

“You kept yours…” He cried.

“Jesus Christ, Sir…” A freshly bandaged officer says to the man who still loved Jess.

“Huh?” the man says, in confusion. Parked in the same space blocking traffic, sits the police vehicle from earlier, it's lights alternating red and blue. Now standing just a few yards away is the same officer from before, but the man does not recognize him. “I’m sorry.” The man mumbles.

“For what sir?” The Officer replies. He reaches out towards the man, proffering two bottles of water, ice-cold to the touch.

The man thanks him, and takes three slow pulls off the first bottle. He winces as the water makes contact with his cracked lips.

   “Rough day, huh?” The young officer asks.

   Music whispers sweet sad notes in his mind. Now it was a whisper where before it had been a cascading waterfall pooling into every thought and every moment.

   “Sir?” The young police officer repeats his question.

   “You have no idea, young man. Thank you for the water.” He says gruffly before turning away.

  “I can’t let you stay here Sir.”

     “Why not?” states the man indignantly. “I may be a fool, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I know my rights. Am I under arrest?” The man says from beneath arched eyebrows that resembles little caterpillars.

   “No, Sir. You are not under arrest, but you can’t stay out here like this.”

“Young man, I have been staying out here like this since you were in diapers.”

The police officer smiles ruefully, “Probably, sir. But with all due respect, it’s too damn hot out here for you to spend another day like this. Look at yourself. You look like a lobster. I bet you are suffering from dizziness, and a headache right now, aren’t you?”

     The man couldn’t say. He was so used to pain that he had difficulty differentiating between what was new and what was old.

 Jess would have known. He missed the way that she could always tell that there was something wrong just by looking at him. “Jess always knew when I was sick.” The man mutters.

  “Who's Jess?” The young officer asked, in an inquisitive tone.

“No one. Just a memory.” He responds, still shaken at how painful it was to think of her after all this time.

“I’m sure that she is someone who cares about you. I doubt that she would want you out here like this. Is she a friend or a family member?”

“She’s nothing. She’s nobody!” The man begins to shout inarticulately. He begins to wave his arms as if he was an angry duck trying to take flight.

“Look Sir—I just want to get you off the streets for a day or two. That’s all I’m asking. It’s too damned hot out here for you. Look, your feet are burned and blistered from the heat. Your face is redder than a lobster tail. You can’t stay out here for another night.” As if to punctuate his point, the officer dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with his uniform sleeve.

 “Son. What the hell do you care?”

     The police officer sighed, “I can’t see you out here and do nothing.” He turned away, not looking at the man for a moment, before catching the man’s gaze with his own.

    “If you stay out here another day you will die. I know it and you know it. Let me help you. Please.”

“Son?” The man said. “What makes you think that what I’m doin is trying to live? My life ended when she left. Truth is, we are all taught that men are the stronger sex. We are certainly faster, can lift more. Pound for pound we are better athletes, but stronger? What a bunch of horseshit. She was heartbroken when she left me. I know it and she knew it, but she was able to pick up the pieces. Me? What’s left of me isn’t enough to feed the birds.”

     The officer held out his hand. “Sir. Please, I’m begging you. I can’t force you to come with me but let me take you to a shelter.”

   The man shook his head. “No. Thank you, but no.”

The music that had been a whisper now was a cacophony. It deafened him to the police officer’s further entreaties.

Reluctantly, the officer left. The man did not hear him when he said that he would be back the next day.

The man turned in on himself again, content to be consumed.

The man and Jess danced again.

****

“Aren’t you off-shift Rodriguez?” Sergeant Callahan asked the young officer.

     “Yessir, Sarge. But I promised to stop here.”

“Yeah? What for? Oh that’s right. You were on patrol here yesterday, weren’t you? Is this where that crazy sumbitch hit you?” He chuckled, and Officer Rodriguez’s face tightened as if anticipating the next words. “Should you head back to the Academy? Imagine, a big strong man like you getting his ass kicked by a middle-aged woman, drunk off her ass…”

“Yeah, yeah. She was a Hellcat though Sarge, and not in a good way. I’m not sure what she was on but damn.” Officer Rodriguez nodded towards the yellow caution tape set out in a field near where he had been attacked.

   “What’s that about?”

The Sergeant did not respond at first. “Huh?” He asked looking up from his phone. “The fucking Captain is breathing down my neck. Sorry, what did you say?”

“What’s going on?”

“Homeless person cooked out here. The captain wants to know if we ‘did everything that we could during patrol.’” The Sergeant rolled his eyes.

  “What did you tell him?”

“What do you think? I told him to go fuck himself.” His laugh was dry and mirthless.

   “Seriously… What could I say? We do what we can, but we can’t save everyone.”

“What was his name?”

“How the fuck should I know? John Doe?" He shrugged.

"Wait… don’t tell me that you talked with him yesterday, did you?”

Officer Rodriguez nodded.

 “Fuck. Don’t tell me that. I don’t need the paperwork.”

“Fine then, I didn’t.” Officer Rodriguez said, annoyed.

“Look. Is that why you’re here?”

    The young officer nodded. “Yeah, I promised him that I would come by and check on him today. I tried to get him to shelter yesterday… but he refused, and I did not have probable cause to bring him in…”

   “Yeah? Good on you, I’ll leave that out of the report. Captain would probably have our asses for not sending out the Homeless Detail last night.”

    Officer Rodriguez smiled ruefully. “He wouldn’t have listened to them either.”

The Sergeant’s laugh was dry and raspy, “Yeah, probably not. Fucking hottest day of the year and people just… melting in this shit. Wait. Where are you going?”

   “To say goodbye.” The young officer replied.

  He strode over to the van marked ‘Coroner.’

   He bent over to speak in the ear of the Coroner’s Assistant, who waited for a nod from the Sergeant. “Be my guest…” The Assistant said, walking away.

  The young officer unzipped the blue bag, the gurney staying mercifully in place.

   “Sir.” He said not knowing what else to say. He stood, blue eyes sparkling, looking down at the old man’s body from the day before.

It was jarring.

 “I’m sorry Sir.” He told him. “I pray that you’re with Jess now, Sir. If not... I know that you will see her again.”

     He turned and walked back over to his Sergeant.

    “It’s always tough.” The Sergeant told him. “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force it to drink.”

 “Yeah, I know.” He said. “It’s not that.”

   “What was it then?”

   “He looked serene… peaceful even.”

  “So?”

  “He must have died, thinking of a woman named Jess; I guess there was enough left to feed the birds after all.”