James

07.21.2013

Franklin Parkway

Warning: this entry contains foul language

I walked away from Race and 16^th where parking’s still free on Sundays towards the Love Park. I wondered what psychological mechanism underlines my choice of prey. This part of the city hospitable to homeless population offers food, lawns and benches galore, and thanks god for trashcans! Figures looking utterly isolated even when perched on the sides of the same bench were here on display for me. I scanned them, napping or idling on the newspapers. Avoiding being noticed myself I nervously redirected my attention to the street signs. 16^th, 17^th, Arch, Cherry, how could I forget? We used to live here in the 90’s, Mark and I, and roam the streets like the homeless do. We couldn’t understand a word. The textbook English I trained myself on was irrelevant in the context of inner city. Maybe people on the benches don’t get it, too? Or what’s the difference? Each of us can end up like this. I was often wondering why we were able to get on our feet even without sufficient English, even being new in America, even without working papers, and they can’t? What was our advantage: education, healthy habits and nutrition passed to us by our families who loved and cared, or everything that we left behind? I was still too inexperienced then to realize how much all that mattered. “Gotta bills?” called a voice from a bench. I looked down and saw a mountain of a man, a better fit for gladiator than Russell Crowe himself, and said, “Lets make a deal: I give you two dollars; you sit for me for a portrait.” He nodded and took a posture.  “I want you to relax,” I said. He dropped his shoulders and looked at the paint like it might poison him, “What’s this color?” “Green. I mix green, red and yellow to achieve the skin color. Red and green make brown and yellow helps to achieve grades of brown. I usually start with a silhouette, and then add details.” He looked at the silhouette, “Is it me?” He mumble and a stuttered, so altogether it was hard to understand what he was saing. “It-ain’t -me-e-e-e-it-ain”t-meeee-aaa-bit!” I smiled, “Have patience, it will be good. You are easy to paint, your large features make you hansom.” “No-good-to-meeeee.” “What did you say?” “No-good-to-me. Nobody-gives-me nothing-for-that.” “Do you live on the streets?” “Yes.” “Since when?” “To-daaay.” “Two days?” “No, today. I left  damn bitch today.” “Why?” “No-food. The-bitch-got-no- food-for-meeeee-no-fucking-food-dammmmmn-fuck-it. No-dammmmn-fucking-food-for-me.” He got agitated and pointed to the portrait, “It ain’t look like me-it aaaaa-intn’t look like me- it ain’t look like me. It-aint-fucking-yellow. It-ain’t-my-color.” “What color are you?” “Yellow. What for youuuuu paint me dark?” “I start with darker color and then use lighter shades to paint for the features.” “I-see-no-features. Aren't-I-work-forpmah-money?  For-two-fucking-dollars?” “Yes you are.” “An- wah-I-spposa-do?” “Tell me your story.” “Mah-story? Aaaooheeeammm… “ “Is it your story?” “I-have-no-money. I-am-starving.” “You can go over there where they give out food.” “Tomorrow-on-fifteenth-floor-they’ll-have-everything-for-me.” “What happens on fifteenth floor?” “SSI.” “You get SSI?” “Seven-hundred-an-ten-dollars” “Does she get it too?” “No.” “You cannot rent for this money, can you?” “No, they-say-i-aint-old-enough-to- give-me-more. I-am-fifty two.” “Did you grow up here?” “In West Philly.” “Do you have brothers and sisters?” “Yes. Many” “Are you in touch with them?” “No. They say I bothering them. They tell me take a-drift. You know what it means? They tell me take a-drift to stop bother them. This shit ain’t looking like me! What I am, brown? I am fucking yellow! Why are you looking at me like that?” “I have to look at you to paint your portrait. I have to look at the shape of your lips, the way you move them when you talk.” “You look like you hate me!” “I don’t hate you. I look at you because I am not a camera.” “You look at me like you hate me.” “I don’t hate you,” “It’s no good for me, no good! No one wants me. The sun is baking me. You give me two bucks for baking in the sun? Do I have to work for my bills? I don’ believe this shit ! I don't enjoy mah-money if I have to work for it!”

And he got on his feet and walked away.