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Oct. 11th, 2003 08:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangningThings I actively don't want to chronicle, but should...
Yesterday, another man (there was one a few months ago, but I was not at work that day) decided to jump from the fourth story of the parking deck across the street. We knew him slightly -- he was homeless, a regular visitor to the hotel, and one of the better ones because he didn't panhandle and kept himself neat and well-groomed. The rest of the staff is wondering "how could he do that?" Me, I've said nothing, because I know exactly how.
I remember waking every morning with nowhere to be and nothing to do except only what I could force myself to do. I remember thefts and slights and learning to not see further than arm's length from me while I was indoors because that was the only privacy there was. I remember being glad to get out-of-doors and still feeling out of step once I got there. Invisible. I remember being sterner about my appearance because I couldn't allow myself to look "homeless." I saw his face tighten once or twice when Robbie had to ask him to move along, when someone, guessing from his idleness that he wasn't a guest, offered him change... I rather imagine he was tired of being homeless and struggling to not look "homeless," too. And when they say, too often and too loudly, "I could never..." I don't believe them. The option starts to look good, after awhile. Perhaps more so when it's never very far away to begin with. I crossed a river and gazed down at the water. He went to the top of the deck and stared at the cement. I kept walking. He did not.
And that's all the difference there is.
Yesterday, another man (there was one a few months ago, but I was not at work that day) decided to jump from the fourth story of the parking deck across the street. We knew him slightly -- he was homeless, a regular visitor to the hotel, and one of the better ones because he didn't panhandle and kept himself neat and well-groomed. The rest of the staff is wondering "how could he do that?" Me, I've said nothing, because I know exactly how.
I remember waking every morning with nowhere to be and nothing to do except only what I could force myself to do. I remember thefts and slights and learning to not see further than arm's length from me while I was indoors because that was the only privacy there was. I remember being glad to get out-of-doors and still feeling out of step once I got there. Invisible. I remember being sterner about my appearance because I couldn't allow myself to look "homeless." I saw his face tighten once or twice when Robbie had to ask him to move along, when someone, guessing from his idleness that he wasn't a guest, offered him change... I rather imagine he was tired of being homeless and struggling to not look "homeless," too. And when they say, too often and too loudly, "I could never..." I don't believe them. The option starts to look good, after awhile. Perhaps more so when it's never very far away to begin with. I crossed a river and gazed down at the water. He went to the top of the deck and stared at the cement. I kept walking. He did not.
And that's all the difference there is.
