Fading Away

I retired some time ago. Since retiring, I’ve taken up photography as a hobby. I find walking around the city taking pictures of everyday people doing everyday things very rewarding. I photograph people going about their normal lives, walking their dogs, feeding the pigeons, or just out running errands. Most of the time the pictures I take are good, but nothing to write home about. Once in a while, I get a shot of something interesting enough to show and make a little extra money.

Today, one of my shots caught a homeless man and his dog sitting on a curb sharing a hot dog. It looked like a pretty good shot. Might even be a keeper.

When I got home I started reviewing the day’s photos. There was something odd about the hot dog picture. In front of the dog was a shadow. It wouldn’t normally be odd, but the man didn’t seem to have one. Honestly, I barely remember him, although I can plainly remember the dog eating the hot dog.

The next day, I went back to the same place hoping to see them again.

They were there. The same place, this time sitting there watching the people go by. He held his had out asking for donations. Passers by just ignored him.

I walked up to them and asked if I could sit and talk with them.

He said he would be grateful for the company.

I glanced at my shadow. It was a bright, sunny day and I could see it plainly. As people walked by, I could see their shadows. The shadows danced as they walked, making a weird kind of art on their own.

I got caught up in the moment and couldn’t believe I almost forgot about the homeless man I was sitting with.

I looked at him. Nothing special about him. Just another homeless man on the street. Nothing to make him stand out. Sitting there he looked almost camouflaged into the sidewalk.

I glanced at where his shadow should be and saw the lightest of shadows. It was a diffused shadow, barely darker than the sunlit ground next to it. In contrast, the dog and I cast very distinct shadows.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It had to be some trick of the light.

Someone threw a couple coins into his hat. I swear, just for an instant, his shadow grew dark and then back to almost nothing.

I sat down on the sidewalk with him and asked him to tell me his story.

He spoke like a man who had nothing left to lose. He said, before Covid he was making a nice salary, beautiful home, and a lovely wife. Sometime during the Covid shutdowns his company failed and folded. He was out of a job and with most of the country shut down, there were no prospects for employment.

As he talked, I noticed his shadow became just a little bit darker.

He told me, before his savings dwindled to nothing, his wife took all the money they had and ran out. He was left with a house he couldn’t afford, no money coming in and no help. He started selling everything he had. Cars, furniture, clothes, and eventually his house.

The more I listened, the more interested in his story I became and the darker his shadow got.

His house was the last material thing he had. There was no doubt in my mind he could have made it with the money he had from the sale of everything, but we all have a standard of living we’ve grown accustomed to and will do almost anything to keep it. He tried to use the money to start another business, but it was just to little, too late.

By the time he realized he was in real trouble, it was too late. He was living on the street with only the clothes on his back.

By the time he finished his story, his shadow was almost as dark as the dog’s.

His fall from grace was fast and at the end of the day, I told him I would be back and we would talk more. I offered to take him to the homeless shelter a few blocks away, but he said he didn’t want to be a bother.

I pondered over his story and the effect telling his story had on his shadow. I wondered if there was anything I could do to help him.

The next day I got busy with errands and forgot about my homeless friend. Then I found myself tied up with business. It was almost two weeks before I remembered to keep my promise and see him again. I went back to the street where I last saw him, but he wasn’t there. I walked up and down the street for a couple hours and couldn’t find him. I searched the alleys. I combed through the park. I even checked the local homeless shelter.

Just when I had given up hope of finding him, I saw his dog across the street. He was just sitting there on the curb by himself.

I crossed the street and walked up to the dog. He wasn’t alone. The homeless man was sitting next to him.

But he wasn’t all there.

I mean, he was there, but I could see through him like he was just a reflection. A lot like the ones you see in a window. You can see through it, but you can still see the reflection.

I asked him if he was OK.

He became a little more solid as he slowly turned his head toward me and answered, “I’m fine. Do you know who I am?”

He didn’t look fine.

I went to a store a couple doors down and bought a couple bottles of water and called 911. I’m not sure what the police could do, but I had to do something.

I was just getting back when the patrolman arrived.

The dog was sitting there by himself and hadn’t moved. The homeless man was gone.

I told the patrolman, I was the one who called because there was a homeless man who needed help.

He questioned me about the homeless man. He asked me where he went, why he didn’t take the dog, how did I know him, and about a hundred other questions.

To his credit, he did look for the man. He made inquiries at a few nearby stores and came back.

He said nobody remembers a homeless man anywhere near here. He gave me a speech about making false 911 calls, told me not to let it happen again, and he would call animal control for the dog.

I looked down at the dog. He just sat there staring at where the man was. It was like he could still see him. The dog was friendly enough. I told the officer I would take care of him.

In the weeks that followed, the two of us became inseparable.

I named him Charlie and would take him on walks around the neighborhood. They became routine. He enjoys the walks. We’ve only been together a few months, but it seems like forever. We would often pass by the place on the street where I found him. He always pauses there. Most of the time he’ll stop and sit for a few minutes before going on. I don’t remember what is so special about that. I’m sure it will come to me.

I had the photo I took of Charlie framed and mounted on the wall. You know the one. The picture of him on the sidewalk eating a hot dog someone just gave him. He looked so proud of himself scoring a meal he didn’t have to steal from a trash can.