“And … what was it you learned that could change everything? And, by the way, change what everything?”
Granite chuckled and sipped the last of his first whisky. “Well, I learned that life is risk. I learned that the only way I was ever going to know, discover, find out, learn, was to reach out—especially to the scary things. And what it changed was how I approached my life.”
“How fucking fascinating,” Digger said and swallowed half his drink. “But what in the name of fuck does that have to do with meeting me?”
“Well,” Granite said, looking right into Digger’s eyes, “I also learned that life is full of mean sons of bitches, and you can reach out all you want but the bastards will still try to scratch the hell out of you. Meeting you has been a reminder of that.”
Digger just looked at him. Then, slowly, he nodded and a grin appeared on his face. “I like that,” he said and reached his hand across the table. “Just so long as you know.”
Granite shook his hand firmly. “Long as I know.”
“Well,” Amelia said. “That was fun. Anyway, Granite, my name is Amelia One Sky and I am happy to meet you.”
They shook hands wordlessly. We all sat there silently, looking at each other, and if they were like me right then, they were all shopping for something to say to lead us somewhere, anywhere but the deep silence we found ourselves in. The four of us men took turns sipping or gulping from our drinks while Amelia sat there with a small smile on her face, watching us watch each other.
“So what’re we gonna see next?” Dick said, and we all laughed like hell.
Digger
SO WE’RE SITTING THERE, me and the Square John, after everyone else had split, not really saying much, just eyeballing the bar and drinking. Me, I’m there because I wanna drink and him, well, I kinda think there was something in the way that old-man bar felt that he liked. You can pull aloneness around you like an old coat sometimes and the Palace was full of coat-wearing mother fuckers. Looking at him that night I got the feeling that Mr. Granite Harvey wasn’t exactly having your typical urban pleasure trip through life and living. I liked that, really. Made him seem more real, more like me than I ever mighta figured.
“So Timber’s kind of an odd name,” he goes after a while.
“Yeah,” I go. “It kinda is.”
“That’s not his real name, is it?” he goes.
“No. It’s not. It’s a street name. We all got ’em. At least those of us that’ve been around long enough, anyways.”
“So what does Timber mean?”
“Means look the fuck out.” I swallow my draft and give him the short version of the story.
“And Dick? That’s obviously his real name.”
“There ain’t nothing fucking obvious on the street,” I go, and tell him about Double Dick Dumont and how he got his handle. Granite sat there looking at me wide-eyed, smiling and laughing finally.
“Wow,” he goes. “That’s a story all right. What about Amelia?”
“One For The Dead,” I go and wave at the bar.
“What do you mean?”
“Probably the most well-known street name out there. Everybody knows the old lady.”
“Where did it come from?”
The fresh brew arrived and I looked at it. “From this,” I go, and pour a little slop of beer on the carpet. For a minute or so I explain about the old rounders and their rituals and how the old lady came to get her handle. All through it Granite squints at me, taking it all in and still not touching the drink at his elbow. That bothered the hell out of me.
“Are you gonna drink that fucking thing or not?”
“Oh, yes,” he goes, and swallows half of it. “What about you?”
“Me? Well, I’m a digger so that’s what they call me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I go, feeling the numb, no-fucking-forehead feeling of a good drunk coming on, “that I dig around for stuff. Dumpsters, alleys, anywhere people toss shit off, and I sell what I can. Metal, cans, old magazines, curtains, fucking toys, it’s amazing what Square Johns’ll throw away. S’okay though. Makes me money. S’all I care.”
He nods.
“So you don’t panhandle?”
“Fuck no. I don’t ask nobody for nothin’.”
“That’s good,” he goes.
“Fucking rights that’s good,” I go. “Out there you got your word and you got your fuckin’ pride and thass all yuh really got.”
“I suppose.”
I look at him, half closing one eye so I can focus better. “Fuck you doin’ here, man?” I go finally.
“I don’t know,” he goes. “I really don’t know, except maybe being polite.”
“P’lite? You be p’lite in Roxborough, wherever the fuck yuh live. We doan need yer p’liteness down here. Fact, yuh can shove it.”
“Sorry,” he goes, finishing his drink. “I only meant that I wanted to be polite to Amelia. I guess, in a way, I promised her I’d come along.”
“She doan need yer p’liteness either.”
“No. I suppose not. Well, I should be going.”
“Go, then.”
“Yes,” he goes, standing and reaching a hand out to me.
I shake it limply, not looking at him at all, and he turns and starts walking away.
“Hey, Granite,” I go suddenly.
“Yes?”
“If we see yuh at the flicks, s’okay if you sit with us.”
He grins. “Okay. It’s okay if you sit with me too.”
“But don’t go thinkin’ we’re fuckin’ wingers all of a sudden.”
And he’s gone. I sit there a while longer feeling myself pull that coat of aloneness snug around my shoulders, finger the twenty Granite left sitting on the table, pocket it, and head off to my digs.
One For The Dead
THE SHADOWED ONES brought us Rain Man. I remember it well. It was a drizzly day as we sat in the Mission going through the newspaper ads while outside the first early thaw was on in full force. The boys were all in a fine mood, mostly because the nights were becoming easier to bear, and even though all of us had places where we were warm enough, sheltered enough, and tucked away enough to be comfortable, the suggestion of an end to winter was welcome. We’d been to movies every day since that cold snap and we’d grown to know what we liked. Digger would always choose the noisy, busy kind of films, especially if they involved some degree of mayhem. Timber seemed drawn to the reflective, people-driven sorts of movies that allowed you a peek at the motions of someone’s life. Dick, well, Dick loved everything. He was enthralled by every film we saw and never failed to display a spirited, childlike anticipation when it came to choosing a movie. And me, well, I have to confess that I liked them all too, but maybe leaned more in favour of those types of stories that reached inside of you, touched something that you hadn’t touched for a long time, and reminded you of the soft moments where you really came to be who you are. We’d seen comedies, westerns, horror, fantasy, science fiction, romance, family dramas, and hero-driven action movies. By the time that day rolled around, we had become what Digger called “movie junkies.”
“Could we see this one?” Dick asked.
“What one?” Digger replied, looking worried.
“This one here,” Dick said, laying the paper on the table and pointing a finger at an ad in the bottom corner of the page.
“Rain Man?” Digger said. “It’s fucking pouring outside and you wanna see something about rain? Don’t you wanna see something that makes you forget that it’s raining?”
“But it’s not about rain,” Dick said.
“The name says Rain Man. How the frig could it be about anything else but fucking rain?” Digger asked.
“It’s about the man,” Dick said.
“What friggin’ man?”
“The man who lives in the rain.”
“Geez, will one of you help me with this guy?” Digger asked, looking at Timber and me for help.
“What do you mean about the man who lives in the rain, honey?” I asked Dick.
He looked at me with confusion in his eyes. Scared. Frightened at the prospect of chasing the thought until he caught it. “I don’t know. But you know sometimes how walkin’ all by yourself in the rain kinda makes you feel better sometimes, like Granite said?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I kinda think this movie’s about a guy like that on accounta everybody feels like that sometimes an’ so they’d wanna make a story about it.”
“Fer fuck sake!” Digger said. “Now we’re gonna go to a flick because the loogan here thinks we all wanna be all fucked up and blue?”
“I don’t think that’s what Dick’s saying, Digger,” Timber said quietly. “I think he’s saying that this movie might be good to see because it has something to say that all of us can connect with. Right, Dick?”
“I guess so,” Dick said. “I don’t really know. All I know is that I gotta see this one on accounta my belly tell me it’s right. Does that make any sense?”
“It makes a lot of sense to me,” I said.
“Sounds like horseshit to me,” Digger said.
There was silence for a moment.
“Rain Man?” Digger says, looking around at the three of us.
We nodded.
“Un-be-fucking-lievable,” he said. “Now I’m going to a flick because of the belly of Double Dick Dumont.”
It made perfect sense to me. Grandma One Sky used to tell me a lot about the invisible. We’re surrounded by invisible friends all of the time, she would say, and even though the idea of ghosts frightened me a bit, Grandma One Sky’s casual acceptance of it made me more comfortable with the notion. She went on to say that our invisible friends sometimes whisper to us and tell us what we should do or choose. We call these whispers intuition, sixth sense, or ESP. Dick’s idea that he had to see this particular movie because of a feeling in his belly told me that the shadowed ones were indicating through him that this was the movie we were meant to see. I’d wondered what had happened to them since the first meeting with Granite, but I’d known they’d be back. We’d been tied to each other for far too long for them to desert me just like that.
“Rain Man it is, then,” I said.
During the walk to the theatre there were shadowed ones everywhere. I was glad to see them. It had become a comfort to me to know that even in the most desperately lonely times, I had never been truly alone, that there had always been an invisible friend or two watching over me, keeping vigil through my pain. Or that in those moments when joy was the gift, they were there too, seeing and remembering the great wide energy of life. I saw them outside the theatre when we arrived and I saw them in the aisles when we walked in. And I saw them standing around Granite.
“Well whatta ya know?” Digger said. “It’s the rock man.”
He seemed surprised and pleased to see us, and as we made our way toward him I could see the invisible ones around him make room for us. I smiled at that.
“How did you manage to pick this movie?” he asked.
“My belly told me,” Dick said, smiling at Granite and shaking his hand.
“Yeah,” Digger said. “We’re here because of gas.”
“Actually, Dick just felt that this was the one we had to see on a day like this,” Timber said, reaching over to shake Granite’s hand too.
“Well, it’s literal, that’s for sure,” Granite said.
“And you?” I asked. “How did you manage to pick this movie?”
He creased his brow in thought. “You know, I don’t really know either. Maybe it was because the director is one whose work I appreciate, or the actor. Dustin Hoffman is an immaculate performer. Or maybe it was the review material I’d read that indicated a good story. I don’t know. My plan was to see Another Woman with Gena Rowlands but somehow I wound up here. I was actually on my way to another theatre. I suppose that sounds strange.”
“Not to me,” I said and patted his shoulder.
Timber
RAY BRINGS US another round and I throw mine back like it’s the last one I’m ever going to get. My good god. That movie made me want to run away as much as it pressed me back in my seat and forced my eyes to watch it all unfold before me.
“Amazing,” was all I said.
“Amazing?” Digger asked. “What was so amazing about that?”
“Just the story,” I said.
“The story? The story was about a loogan. Fucking guy couldn’t even tie his shoes without help. You call that amazing?”
“No,” I said. “What I call amazing is that he was able to teach everyone around him.”
“Teach them what?” Granite asked, sipping on his whisky.
I sat back. Sometimes the thoughts just tumbled out of my head and it made me uneasy to try to stretch them out for someone.
“Well, I kinda think that he taught them about life, I guess.” I looked at my shoes.
“That’s an interesting observation,” Granite said. “Taught them what about life?”
Amelia grinned at me and I felt better, more at ease with coaxing the words out. “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess it just seemed to me that he taught everyone that life is never clear for any of us. Any of us. Not just the ones that didn’t get dealt a better hand. Fuck, the truth of it is that life scares the hell out of all of us sometimes. Especially when we think we need to see it better, clearer, more in focus. The Rain Man was able to remind people that it’s part of all of us—and that it’s okay because we survive.”
They all just looked at me.
“You’re right,” Digger said. “That is amazing.”
“Thank you,” I said, surprised.
“Amazing that you got all that out of a movie about a loser who’s gotta live locked up all his friggin’ life.”
He looked at me hard and swallowed his draft.
“Didn’t you like any of it, Digger?” Amelia asked.
“Fuck no. Well, I kinda got into the gambling riff and he shoulda got with the hooker. The fucking guy’s sitting on eighty grand and he’s not gonna get laid? He doesn’t go for that, he is a fucking loogan. I mean, really. What guy’s not gonna go for that?”
“Not me,” Dick said.
“Says the other fucking loogan,” Digger said, and waved at Ray.
“It made me sad,” Dick mumbled.
“Sad? Why did it make you sad, honey?” Amelia asked.
“On accounta I’m the Rain Man,” Dick said.
“Oh, Jesus,” Digger groaned. “Better make that two, Ray. I’m gonna need it.”
Dick sat forward in his chair and drank slowly from his beer. Then he looked around the table at all of us and smiled weakly. “I guess he taught me ’bout life, too.”
“How, Dick?” Granite asked.
“I ain’t never been able to see it clear like Timber said. I always gotta ask on accounta I can’t see it at all sometimes. It’s like it’s all too fast, too noisy, too bright, too dark. Too everythin’ sometimes. Like the Rain Man.”
“An’ sometimes I think I gotta have someone look after me all the time too. To make things clear so I can get by. But I can’t do none of the things the Rain Man could do. I can’t count or read or nothin’.”
“You’ve never been able to read or write or count?” Granite asked.
Dick shook his head.
“But how can that be?” Granite asked. “Your parents didn’t send you to school? Even the first few grades?”
Dick looked at him and swallowed the rest of his beer. His chin shook with emotion and I could sense his desire to run away as fast as he could. He heaved a huge sigh and fired up a smoke with trembling hands.
“I don’t wanna talk about that,” he said.
“Okay, Dick, okay,” Amelia said, taking one of his hands in hers. “You don’t have to.”
“You know, Dick,” Granite said. “The Rain Man had a condition.”
“Condition?” Dick asked.
&nb
sp; “Yes. A condition. It means a way of being. His way of being was called ‘autism.’ That’s why he couldn’t figure things out. That’s why the world scared him. You’re not like him because you don’t have a condition.”
“I don’t?” Dick asked, brightening somewhat.
“No. At least, not that I can see. You just never got taught how to interpret the world.”
“Interpret?”
“Yes. Interpret means to see and understand. There are skills you get taught to help you do that. You learn to read and write and count and it makes it easier to interpret what’s going on around you. Apparently you were never given those skills. But it’s never too late to learn,” Granite said.
“I can learn?”
“Sure. Anyone can.”
“Even me?”
“Especially you. Because you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re way ahead of most people already.”
“I am?”
“Yes. You are.”
“How?”
“Because you can imagine.” Granite grinned.
“Imagine?”
“Yes. Imagine. See, Dick, stories reach us through our imagination. It’s our imagination that makes them seem real to us, real enough to believe in them, real enough to be affected by them, and real enough to learn from them sometimes. And you, because you like the movies so much, have a very good imagination.”
“I do?” Dick asked.
“Yes. You do. Can you imagine yourself being able to read?”
Dick screwed up his brow in thought and stared off across the room for a long while. Then he looked right at Granite and smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I can. I can imagine that.”
“Then that’s all you need to get started. You can learn.”
“Did you hear that, Digger?” Dick asked excitedly. “I can learn.”
“Yeah, well learn to get us another fucking beer then, Rain Man,” Digger growled, then rabbit punched him lightly on the leg.
“How do you know so much about stories, Granite?” I asked.
He looked at me. He held the look for a good moment or two and the only word that I can use to describe what I saw in his face is control. He was very controlled. Hanging on with everything he had.
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