Tuesday, June 20, 2006
born that way
It was mid-afternoon and Kel had just returned from the grocery, where she’d forgotten to buy the cheese and red onion that I needed to make my fabulous grilled sandwiches (patent pending). So I hopped back into the Soob and drove back to the local supermarket.
This store is the biggest slice of ghetto in my quiet semi-urban neighborhood. It’s right next to the park and is consequently heavily patronized by a solid contingent of the gravely sketchy and the hygiene-impaired. I avoid it when I can, but it was nearby and I wanted sandwiches, dammit, so I sucked it up and drove on down. If the sketch factor wanted a piece of me so badly, I figured I’d dare it to take its best shot. I should have expected what I got.
As I pulled into the lot she was sitting on the pavement out near the payphones. Her two crutches were laid out beside her with a piebald mutt tied to each one, snoozing in the sun. Her dark hair was greasy, a viscous emanation of her scalp. Her clothes were layered and various; the items that weren’t yet filthy would catch up soon enough. The skin of her face and arms was streaked and grimy. Another questionable character hunkered down beside her; they seemed to be conversing intently until she glanced up and noticed me.
I’d just parked the car unremarkably in a row of other cars and was walking along toward the store, minding my own business, allowing for plenty of clearance around the squalid spot where she unsanitarily reclined. I was unshaven, hung over, dyspeptic, and a bit put out. I wore shabby Bermuda cargo shorts that needed laundering and a buttonup short-sleeve shirt with a garish Polynesian masks pattern. I was not there to be noticed—I was there for cheese and onions. But that did not slow her down even a little.
“There ya are!,” she shouted gleefully. Her voice was the rasp of sawteeth on sheetmetal. I didn’t even have to look around—she was obviously talking to me. I tried to just keep walking, as if ignoring her would dissuade her. This strategy was, as anticipated, ineffectual. She continued her salutation: “How come you always look so good?”
It caught me by surprise, and - involuntarily - I made eye contact. She smiled broadly to me and a gap gleamed wide and dark where her upper incisors used to be. I felt compelled to acknowledge her, even as I strove to maintain any distance I could preserve. Her question hung fetid in the air. “I can’t even begin to answer that question,” I demurred.
With a sharp laugh, she replied, “It’s cuz you was born that way!” Though I doubted her logic, I let it go unanswered as I reached the doors and took my refuge in the garish neon interior of the supermarket. I didn’t personally think I was born that way, or any way in particular, but I didn’t think I’d get anywhere debating the point.
