IN TOO DEEP

 W.R.Schaefer Jr..

                              ⇩ IN TOO DEEP ⇩

  A man sat on the walkway of a great city, many people passed him by. Some looked disdainfully upon him because he was obviously filthy and drunken. An open box which was round and 6" tall all around, sat at his knee on the left side. It was obvious that some had taken heart to him and inserted coins, and some folding money inside of it. Then I saw how he might have been attracting them, to give him money, when he produced a harmonica from his dirty trousers. He began to blow into it while manipulating his hands so that it was somewhat musical. I thought that I was wrong to think that his obvious lacking in worldly goods was his fault, if at all.
  After observing him for a few minutes I walked passed him and dropped a bill into his tray, as I thought of it. No sooner had I done this that ahead I heard a woman arguing with a man, I knew neither but had to pass by them, to reach my destination. From what invaded my senses, they were arguing about payment for a sexual favor. Apparently, he hadn't met his obligation. She slapped his face a few times and growing tired of her abuse was attempting to leave, but seemed unable to do so. I noticed he was bleeding heavily from a stab wound on his right side, at about the waste level. As I was noticing them, he fell toward me, and I caught him from hurdling helplessly, to the hard cobblestone path.
  I spoke to him, while consciously avoiding his blood as well as I could; "You need help for that wound. I'm going to call an ambulance." He whispered in a weak breath, "No. This is what I signed up for." I thought what an odd thing he said to me. It was something a comrade in arms might say after being mortally wounded. I wondered if he wasn't telling me that the sex was worth dying for. Again, I studied the woman and she was quite lovely, though obviously a hellcat! I couldn't imagine he was thinking clearly at the end, anyhow.
A Cop was having a struggle removing the bloody knife from her hand. My mind shot ahead to a time when she would be free again, but no longer able to earn money as a whore. Excluding the full, or nearly blind at her age by then. Just a guess.
  Since I'd gotten along in age, I really hadn't gotten about on foot, as I was today. So far, I was certain I had been doing myself a favor. No sooner had I had this thought of clarity,
then a large popping sound caused my ears to fill with a deafening hum. A man fell directly in the walkway before me. I searched ever so briefly, his eyes, which I was sure were devoid of any life. I was probably right because he also was bleeding from his head.
Not meaning to be disrespectful, I walked around, rather than over him. My stomach churned when I noticed his brain matter. Much of which had escaped from his head on the side which he'd been shot. Such was my assumption, which I believe was the case. I looked
about, more interested to see the shooter. Nobody had a gun drawn, so I figured whoever had done this had fled immediately...
  I thought to myself, how I had only wanted to take a leisurely walk to the park. In one hand I held some bread crumbs all shredded small so I could feed to the birds. I was now wondering if I would complete that activity before death altered my plan. Across the street to my left, I saw Bedbug Dave. He was a lifelong problem drinker who seemed to try to get you into a position wherein, he would sing songs to you by the late great Heavy Metal
singer Ronnie James Dio. Such an occasion would be if you got drunk with him and were
basically at home and it necessitated making him leave. Hopefully, with everything he had come in with. They didn't call him Bedbug for nothing. He had passed without noticing me. He had probably smoked a joint, and his head was in the clouds. Just as well...
  Ahead, walking toward me was old Henry Wiggins. As 'kids' we used to imagine living off the grid, and how easily we could accomplish the feat. We would swap ideas about how to make the best lean-to or teepee, knowing that rubbing animal fat all over the canvass would keep it from leaking. As I passed him on the walkway, I spoke his name to him, but
he failed to acknowledge my presence. I recalled somebody once telling me that he had gone mad. I assumed, sadly, that perhaps he had. He hadn't even paid me a look. There was a haunted look in his eyes. His lost mind, if that was what it was, was yet in an uncomfortable state of being such. I just lifted my head and continued to walk, in the destination of the park.
  As I entered the public common from Park street, I was met by a young man sell tie-dye
tee shirts. I liked them because they reminded me of tripping on Psychedelic drugs and the Grateful Dead. Things which were common in my youth. "How much?" I inquired. He responded, "$20.00." I pick one out that I liked. I thought about my girlfriend, making them when I was young. Oh! How I wish about how I should have settled down with Mary Ann when we were young. She was the daughter of my Moms friend Joan. I liked her so much that as a child visiting them, I would hide behind my mother and look at her. When she looked at me, I would duck behind my Mother again. I was a weird kid. My brother Bill used to tell me that often. The idea didn't need reinforcing. "Hey, Mister! The twenty dollars!" I hadn't paid the young guy yet. "It's to bad your memory isn't failing you too."
He laughed good-naturedly. I walked toward the refreshment stand for a Coca-Cola...
  I found a bench beneath a shade tree and sat down to consume my Coke. I thought back to being a child once more. I was remembering about wondering what a shade tree was...
Was it a specific kind of tree? Like spruce, or a maple? Eventually, I can't say for certain when it was, exactly, I decided that a shade tree was any tree that offered shade from the sunshine. Like I said, it was no momentous occasion. It lacked my memory. I was thinking how clear your imagination gets when age has crept in as smoothly as a pickpocket in the park, which caused a knee jerk reaction to pat my wallet. If you thought about someone performing some action, it became like you could actually see them doing so. Still a weird kid. This discovery which I assume is a product of my elder years, I decided to keep to myself. Somewhere behind me, I could hear a mother scolding a child for crying, which has the effect of perpetuating such.
  A young man came out of nowhere, and sat at the opposite end of the bench I was seated upon, in what I could feel was a purposeful way. His eyes were very shifty, and I could feel in my heart, that he was up to no good. His eyes were seeking out any possible observer for what he was meaning to do. He was jittering and fidgeting. He was a bundle of nerves. Without even looking directly at me he said; "OK, old man, give me all your cash!" I said to him, "Son, you don't want to rob me. That's your addiction talking." Again he demanded with an exposed blade; "All of your cash 'mother-----." Then he looked at me and saw I had a gun trained on his head. He began to beg: "Don't call the Police on me. I can't go back to the pen. I swear I'll get help. Please don't call...?" "I said to him, "What if I didn't have a piece? Would you be promising right now to get help? I doubt it. What if I did let you go? Wouldn't you go find another mark? Maybe you'd sneak up on me from behind, huh?" So. What if I did call the Police? ...He'd be out of jail in a matter of hours. I had about lost my faith in the modern Judicial service. "Go! Run from here before I shoot you in your scrawny ass." AHH Shit! I thought aloud...
  I thought of what had transpired with a clearer head later, and thought, I shouldn't have let him run off sick like that. He most probably had found someone to rob and maybe hurt as well. With all the scenario's that play out inside my head, and I'm sure that one or something the like had gone through before. Oh! God, please don't make me regret it. That was what I was hoping most. I just didn't want to feel guilty for letting him hurt somebody else. I was very angry at myself and wanted to lose the feeling in the bottom of a bottle. I wasn't going to just live it down. If he didn't hurt or kill someone today then what about tomorrow ...Maybe the next day? How long would the guilt of what some punk-ass kid does or doesn't do be mine to own? Finally, I was where the dog died, so to speak. Riddance to guilt.
  I had just sat on that bench until it was getting very chilly, and I hadn't even done yet, what I had walked the half hour walk to the park to do. Feed the birds! So I opened the empty.... except for the crumbs, bread bag, and got about the business of being a good guy. I always thought that of my Dad when I saw him feeding the birds. I did love my old Dad. I caused 'he' and my Mom more than their fair share of grief, sorry to say. I hope they know that I was young and foolish, and the product of crazy societal norm's, that seems only to have changed for the worse. I had finished up feeding the sparrows and the
pigeons, the latter not a choice.
  I stood up while the sun appeared to be descending on the horizon. Suddenly, from behind me, I heard a voice, that I hadn't expected but maybe should have. It was the voice of the young strung out guy, from a bit earlier. "Hey old man. Take that gun from where you have it, and set it down at your feet." I prodded, "Do you seriously assume I'm going to give you my gun? Then, how will I protect myself from somebody who has one?"  He was getting cranky now; "Do as I say, or I'm going to blow your head off." My best instincts were telling me he was bluffing. Had he gotten a fix he would have been somewhere counting the Serta sheep. If he hadn't, he would be doing exactly what he was doing now. Threatening to make a shot, his fidgeting hands were incapable of making. Was I going to allow myself to push that envelope a little bit closer to the edge, or was I going to settle this thing between the two of us, here and now?
  I spun to face him as I extracted my pistol. He dropped to his knees in defeat. In a little
while, there were red and blue lights flashing, and a Boston News crew were waiting for the Police to get done with me so they could interview me, for that evening's Newscast. They were doing it live, in fact. A Newswoman, If that's how she referred to herself, started the interview by nervously asking me how I would prefer to be referred to? I answered that I was Mr. Jack Benson. That I was chilly and would have to walk a half hour to get home. By which time, it would be even chillier. Then; "Hello. I'm here with a heroic man. He is a Boston native. His name is Jack Benson, who turned the tables on a robber here tonight. Who may have become a killer tonight, had things gone his way. That is, had he had picked somebody other than Mr. Jack Benson to attempt to rob." She asked, of all things;
"Were you frightened Mr. Benson?" "To be truthful... My mind was otherwise occupied." I answered her truthfully. I really didn't want to get into what had transpired, between the strung-out fella and I during our first go round. I stayed with that dog until it expired. I
knew it could come back to haunt me, but if that guy hurt anybody else, it wouldn't be because I had no faith left in our Judicial side of the law. It would be theirs alone... I mean the courts not doing what they should do with dangerous criminals. Where the drugs come from and who makes a fortune at whose expense is way bigger than I ever needed to
  The interview consisted of her inflating my ego, as if an oldtimer like me, mattered to some young TV Newswoman who's job is the product of 90% how she looks on the 'tube,'

and 10% whether she could read her lines professionally, or not. Most women aren't going to be amazed by hearing me say so. If you don't know that... if you have a job where you are situated in front of a camera and don't know that yet, then I'm sorry about the heart attack. But, it's been a long time coming. If you were born while we were still referring to the TV as the tube, and you are a regular on it... then you fall into the category of a Barbara Waters, or at least an Oprah Winfrey. Ahh, Hell! It's been a rough day. I didn't even get anything to eat while I was out at the Park. Why... Neither did the birds almost. I

guess I'll make a sandwich, since I don't really know what is quicker, and I am tired. Wow!

I just went to clean my pistol and found out I had accidentally left it unloaded. Ha! Ha! Funny! That's that absent mindedness, that reels you in like a big grouper fish when you're way out there, in too deep.                                       

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