When I met Jimmy

That Jimmy is highly intelligent and inquisitive is a fact well-publicized by all at the office. More often than one would think appropriate, as I walk to my desk every morning, I listen to people either whispering or giggling excitedly about the latest developments of his life. The guy is popular and, worst of all, it seems like he acts as though he is oblivious it. Typical charmer.

I have never felt curious about getting to meet him, or interacting with him. I am a man of business and focus, and as Senior Accountant of the City of Providence Police Department I have little patience for office politics. My job demands that I be a responsible and sober public servant, and my personal habits fit it well. I am punctual, keep my desk clean, limit my lunch break to 15 minutes. I triple check forms and memorandums, mine and those of my colleagues, I only eat homemade and take public transportation whenever that is an option.

Besides, I always have the feeling that people tend to oversell other people, both friends and celebrities they follow, just to make their own lives more interesting or to force some meaning into the stuff they like. It’s as if they vicariously experience the same lifestyle, sort of. Many half my age would be surprised at the amount of mental and physical energy it takes to do my job. Yet here I am, surrounded by people who waste their time—and taxpayer money—to fawn over a stranger instead of being productive.

I don’t care about photos of Jimmy passed around by his most ardent fans so I avoid Sally, David, and Mera who mention him every six sentences. Though, of course, I know, by overhearing people’s conversations, what he is supposed to look like and how old he is, so I am not entirely out of the loop. It is because of that, I think, that today I could make sense of what all the fuss has been about.

As usual, I stood at the bus stop after work. I always leave at 5 and take a leisurely 4-minute walk to Kennedy Plaza in time for the 5:10 bus home. I avoid sitting on the bus stop benches and risking touching some unnamed fluid congealed over a months-old mix of dust, soot, sweat and or worse. That gives me the opportunity to discreetly observe people in their comings and goings. I was once told by an exasperated superior that my penchant for exactness coupled with being surrounded by investigative minds would have made me a formidable detective. He was upset while admitting to that, which proves that it’s true.

This time, my powers of observation were drawn to a new individual, one I never saw before among the routine commuters who take the North Main bus towards Pawtucket. I mean, I had never seen him in person before, but I was sure—that had to be Jimmy.

He had thin, wispy hair, something you would expect of a man much older, and it was of a blond almost white color. His white scalp could be seen under the bright light of that summer afternoon, especially when it hit the bald spot on the back of his head. However, his eyes, deep blue and glistening, had the most jovial of expressions. Jimmy was blessed with the talent of looking at every little thing like they were new—that much I could tell.

But there was more going on behind his gaze. Jimmy was known for his smarts and now I saw why. Here I was, before a person who had the incredible ability to focus on multiple things with an equal degree of interest. His eyes darted from here to there and back again. Textures near and far, natural and man-made materials, vehicles, he absorbed it all. And people! The way he looked at people’s faces was piercing yet not confrontational. To be honest, if it weren’t pushing it a little, I would say that Jimmy as an interrogator could easily get the deepest and most hidden truths out of any individual.

I noticed that he was flanked by two women, to which a petty part of my brain moaned “Of course…”, but those were not the sort of squealing college girl one would expect—Mera from work comes to my mind. These were women, one slightly older, clearly in her fifties, well dressed in a light blue shirt and professional pants. The other was younger, taller, but looked significantly more tired. She too wore pants and a blouse. Purple. She had a large bag by her feet and a purse resting on her lap. Neither wore heels. Instead, they wore comfortable, sensible shoes.

As I continued watching, I more remembered than realized something—and here I ask for your understanding, because I do not know if that should affect my judgement of him, but—Jimmy can’t walk. Should I feel bad that now that I have actually seen him my opinion changed? That I cared very little for this stranger before that?

At that moment, I couldn’t think about these questions. The sun was beating me behind the neck and I felt hot. However, I secretly wished that the bus would be late so that I had the excuse to keep observing this fascinating character a bit longer. It was then that he turned his head, his big eyes locked straight on me. His inquisitive look caught me completely by surprise… did he know, or feel, that I was watching? I wanted to turn away and pretend I wasn’t looking but something wouldn’t let me. After a few seconds in which I struggled with myself, Jimmy with a coy smile broke the spell. He looked away, and I could look away, feeling relieved, strangely happy. What did he learn about me just then? Did he, in that short time, scanned my entire life, the library of my experiences, my fears and my hidden feelings? Did he guess what I think of him?

As my mind raced, he too seemed lost in thought. He grabbed what looked like a colorful stick, looked ahead into the distance, and put it in his mouth. The younger woman flanking him bent over, taking the object from him and saying scolding words I couldn’t clearly hear. He didn’t look pleased and mumbled something in disapproval—perhaps his guardian is a germaphobe and is only trying to help him be healthy. After all, I did hear that soon he will be strong enough and ready to try walking without help. Perhaps that was her way of protecting him, to ensure that his progress is unaffected.

It was then that Mark, my co-worker walked right by me.

“See you tomorrow, Anthony!” he said, and went towards the two women.

With both arms Mark lifted Jimmy from his chair way up above his head, while Jimmy squealed and laughed at the top of his seven-month-old lungs.