I walk
over to the beach and leave my things at the edge taking just my Bible down to
the edge of the surf. Soon I have my highlighters spread out on the sand beside
me and I’m working through the Gospel of Matthew. I’ve got a highlighting
system I’ve been using in my Bible since high school. Commands get colored in
green; examples to follow are orange; bad examples, prohibitions, and warnings
are red; promises and words of comfort get blue; and other general things that
stand out to me get the yellow marker. I also use a fine point pen to underline
or circle, and I put a star over the verse number wherever I see an example of
the “greatest commandment.” I started highlighting this Bible when I got it
half way through my time in India, so most of the New Testament and many
passages in the Old Testament look like someone put a rainbow through a paper shredder,
but it helps me pay attention to what I’m reading and also find specific types
of content faster. After a while of that I pull out a passage of Romans that I’ve
been trying to memorize for two years now. It’s not such a long passage, but I
never get very far before life gets distracting and I forget about it, so I’ve
probably forgotten and re-memorized the first 20 verses over and over again. In
a moment of strong motivation I had decided that I was going to memorize the
entire book of Romans. I carefully outlined and printed the first two
paragraphs, and I still have that original print-out. It’s crumpled, stained,
and torn, but still readable and still not memorized. At this rate I’ll have
the whole book committed to memory by my 600th birthday. For
several hours I walk up and down the beach reading the lines and trying to say
them without looking. Memorizing has never been easy for me, but I never feel
like I really “feel” the meaning of a passage until I have studied it to the point
where I don’t have to look at the words. Eventually I decide it’s time to get
out of the sun for a while. I’m as white as a sheet of paper, so I have to be
careful.
Someone
else is sitting in my pavilion, (How dare they!) so I roll down to the next
one. It’s time for a break from Romans, besides, that’s in English. The Bible
wasn’t originally written in English, and I’d really prefer to be studying the
Greek. I took biblical Greek classes in college. I’ll never forget how excited I
was the first day of class! I was going to learn the original language of the
New Testament! Within a couple weeks the excitement had turned to overwhelmed discouragement.
I miserably failed the class that semester and when I re-took it next semester
I BARELY passed with great difficulty. I wasn’t going to give up easily though;
I went right ahead into second semester Greek and repeated it three times
without coming close to passing. I’ve never given up though. Someday I’m going
to speak Greek like a native and memorize the Bible in its original language. I’m
determined enough that I took all my vocabulary flash cards with me, so I sit
down at a picnic table and fish them out from the bottom of my cart. There are
hundreds of them and I have hardly looked at them in years, but this is why I’m
here and not back in my old life. Several packs of cards are looped onto rings,
so I pull out a pack of nouns and begin flipping through. It’s encouraging that
I can still remember the English definition for about 90% of the words.
A crow lands on a nearby table and
eyes me suspiciously. I reach into my cart for a handful of instant oatmeal and
toss it onto the concrete floor. As I go back to flipping through my Greek
cards he inches closer and begins picking up the pieces without taking his eyes
off me. When I move too quickly he flies away, but always comes back later for
more.
By mid-afternoon I go back to the
beach and continue flipping through the Greek vocabulary cards as I walk up and
down the stretch of sand. It’s crowded here today; probably well over a
thousand people are spread out tanning and socializing in umbrella villages.
Jamie, my sister in law calls and
it’s lovely to hear her voice. She’s always very encouraging and fun to talk
to, so I completely lose track of time. When she has to say goodbye I realize I’ve
been in the sun a little too long. It’s not a bad, deep burn, but I’ll be a
little sore for a day or two. Oh well, I might as well get my base tan on. I’m
getting hungry anyway and it’s nearly sunset, so I head back to the pavilion
and get myself something to eat. As I munch on trail-mix, another crow drops by
and eyes me carefully, so I toss out another handful of oatmeal, and open my
Bible on the picnic table for a little more reading when a familiar figure
rolls by on a bike and then turns back toward me.
I haven’t mentioned Baywatch before.
When I first met him I didn’t realize he would be significant, but there’s more
to this guy than you would expect. I first met him one night as I was leaving
Dunkin’ Donuts. I was waiting for a break in traffic to cross the street and he
pulled up beside me on his old-fashioned bicycle with tattered grocery bags and
a re-used detergent bucket hanging from the rusty handlebars. He’s a tall,
skinny black man with a strong Haitian jaw and a worn but happy face. Probably
around fifty, but in good condition. He greeted me, asked my name, and
introduced himself.
“My name is Baywatch. I look after
t’beaches of t’world goin’ aroun’ weavin’ these baskets. I don’t live in this
world. I seen you over on t’beach t’other day where you sleepin on t’picnic
table. You won’ have no trouble with me long as you pick up your trash and
respect t’beaches. So, who looks after t’beaches?” He pauses and waits for me
to answer his question. I realize he’s checking to see if I remember his name.
“Uhhh…” I don’t.
“Baywatch” he repeats and rides off
with a wave. At the time, I just figured he was one of the local kooks. In a
way he is, but I hadn’t heard the last of Baywatch yet. A few days later I was
whipping up a little breakfast for myself as I watched the sunset and a man
came walking by the pavilion on the trail. He was an obese man with a lumbering
gait punctuated by heavy breathing and he was carrying two armloads of luggage
including small duffels, some carry-on sized suitcases, and a loose, unfolded
sleeping bag. When he saw me he turned toward the pavilion and set his things
on the first table.
“Hey, you got a phone I can borrow?”
“Uh…” I’m always hesitant, but this
poor creature is clearly in need of help. “Sure, here you go.” As he takes it
he’s telling me about some run-in he just had with someone. It’s hard to follow
what he’s saying, he’s not exactly coherent, but he’s clearly furious at
someone and using all the most offensive profanity and racial slurs in his colorful
description. He sits down at a table, dials a number, and turns his complete
and un-mitigated wrath into the virgin microphone of my unsuspecting little
android.
“I want you to know that you are
the most miserable piece of…” he continues for several minutes, but I won’t
write any more of what he says. It’s the most vile and hateful string of
profane insults I’ve ever heard in my life! And I haven’t exactly been living under
a rock. My poor phone is used to hearing Bible preaching and happy music, but
it’s going to need counseling after this! I’ve known this man for two minutes
and I’m already so sick of him I’m ready to puke! I really just want to go over
there and take my poor, innocent phone right out of his grubby hands and tell
him to get his smelly chins out of my sight. From now on I’m going to ask for a
reason before I let anyone borrow my phone! Who knows what he’s just gotten me
involved in! Finally he runs out of nasty things to say and waddles over to
give the phone back to me. It feels shocked and frightened in my hand. The man resumes
complaining to me about this person he ran into. From what I can understand of
his rant, he’s homeless too but got mistreated this morning by someone who didn’t
want him around. He says the man called himself Baywatch! I try not to laugh.
Baywatch, hu? I wonder if this dude was leaving trash around. He must not have
been “respectin’ t’beaches.” I really can’t wait for him to get out my sight,
but he’s standing there spewing his hatred. Finally I put my hand up in his
face.
“Hey! I think I’ve heard enough
negativity for one day!” He’s surprised, but from the icy glare I’m giving him
he gets the message and waddles off with all his loose luggage under his arms.
It’s hard to feel sorry for stupid, ignorant people who bring hard times on themselves,
but he’s a pathetic figure. Somewhere deep inside he’s a little boy filled with
fear and pain, but the shell of anger and hatred keeps him destitute, alone,
and unloved. I pray the rest of his day goes better.
So, all that happened several days
ago. I didn’t mention either encounter with Baywatch or tubby because I run
into fellow bums like this regularly without much reason to include them in the
narrative. But as I’m sitting there this evening, Baywatch rolls by on his bike
and swings around into the pavilion to where I’m sitting.
“Hello Mr. Baywatch.” I greet him
but he’s intently fishing for something in the duffel bag he had slung over his
shoulder. He pulls out two canned hams and compares them for a second before
putting one back in his bag and handing me the other.
“Wow, thanks! I appreciate that.”
He looks at my bag of instant oatmeal that’s still sitting on top of my cart
from when I threw some out for the crow earlier.
“Is that wheat germ?” he asks as he
gives the large Ziploc bag a poke with his long finger.
“Uh, no, it’s instant oatmeal
actually.”
“Can I have some?”
“Sure!”
“Hold, on. I’ve got another bag
here somewhere.” He dives into his sea green duffel again and comes out with a
wrinkled old sandwich-sized Ziploc bag which I fill with as much oatmeal as
will fit. This stuff is cheap, and he just gave me a canned ham, so I’m certainly
not going to be stingy!
“So how do you eat this?” he asks as
he takes the bag of rolled grain and eyes it curiously.
“Just a little hot water is all you
need.”
“Cool” He goes back to shuffling
through his duffel bag and the old detergent bucket hanging from his handle
bars.
“You got your good book with you
there.” He points to the Bible open in front of me on the table. “That’s good.”
“I seen your stuff over by t’Dunkin’ Donuts place.”
“Yea, I go over there a lot.”
“It’s right next door to Miller’s
Ale house. I get good tips there. Hey you need any sugar? I got a ton of sugar.”
“Um, yea, actually, I was just starting to run
low on sugar.” He hands me a large plastic can of coarse grain sugar and I
refill my supply. While he goes back to looking through his things.
“How about chocolate?” He holds up
a Ziplock full on M&Ms.
“I’ve actually got some chocolate
here, so I think I’m all set. Thanks though!” He nods, and stuffs his things
back into place and slings the duffel bag back over his shoulder.
“You smoke pot?”
“No, not really.”
“That’s inside my religion.” He
smiles mischievously, and continues mumbling but I can’t really tell if he’s
talking to me or himself. He swings a leg over the bike and rides slowly away
without a goodbye. Baywatch is definitely a special case, but he’s a friend and
a good guy. I hope I see him around more.
My phone is nearly dead. I usually
recharge it at Dunkin’ Donuts, but for the first time since I got here, I haven’t
gone there today. There’s a single exterior outlet on the lifeguard headquarters
building nearby, so I go plug it in and sit with my back against the building.
The sun has just set and there’s a steady stream of people coming off the beach
and headed across the street to the parking lot. A familiar lady pulls her
ranger truck to a stop nearby. I’ve often seen her driving around in a golf
cart or other park vehicles. She calls out to some three young men walking
past.
“Gentlemen, the park and beach are
closed after sunset!” There’s a firmness in her voice.
“Yea, we’re just leaving.” They answer.
I’m not sure what her problem was, they were clearly walking toward the parking
lot, but that’s more than I can say for myself.
“Excuse me sir!” She’s barking at
me now. “The park and beach are closed after sunset. It’s time for you to head
home.” I jump up, grab my charger out of the wall and walk away, but I’m
confused. All the other parks in the area have clearly marked signs saying that
they are closed from sunset to sunrise, but there are no such signs on this
park. They all say the beach is closed after sunset, but I’ve gotten pretty
comfortable around the park because it seemed to me that access was
intentionally left open after dark. I was very fortunate and blessed to find
this place the first night I got here. I’ve been here well over a week now and
seen most of the surrounding area. There really is not a single other decent place
where I could spend the night. I guess I took this spot for granted, but suddenly
this lady is driving around running people off! Suddenly I feel homeless. I
feel like a vagrant; an unwanted bum. My head is spinning. I’m just not sure
what to do.
I walk back to the pavilion, zip up
my cart and hoist the heavy pack over my shoulder. I’ve got no idea where I’m
going, but suddenly I feel unwelcome here. I’ve got my doubts that she’s even
correct. All the signs say that the beach is closed at sunset, but I’ve never
seen anything indicating that I’m not supposed to be on the rest of the park. Why
is she doing this? Other maintenance and lifeguard people have been around as I’ve
slept under the pavilion and hung around for over a week now. I’m sure I’ve
become a familiar sight with my large orange pack and bright yellow cart. Everyone
has been so nice to me I was starting to take it for granted that I was free to
stay here as much as I liked. As I walk the trail down the length of the park, I’ve
got a knot in my stomach. I really just want to wait until she finishes her
rounds so that I can go right back. It’s pretty conspicuous in the pavilion
though, maybe there’s someplace I can sleep without being seen. I can’t sleep
on the ground though; I’ve seen snakes and cockroaches here, and there’s plenty
more wildlife I’d rather not see too closely. The tent is brightly colored and
would definitely draw negative attention, so that’s not an option here. The hammock
would need a couple strong trees but would also be conspicuous and likely to
get me in trouble here.
The lady went the other way, but I
know there isn’t an outlet on that side of the park so she’ll be coming back
this way. I see the truck pass me down on the beach, but up ahead she turns back
onto the road and heads toward me. I swing my cart and march swiftly up a side trail
toward the edge of the park. I feel like a fugitive. She’s blaring the horn
repeatedly as she drives around the park. I’m nearly to the edge of the park
when I see her head back to the other side of the island where the maintenance department
is. Maybe she’s done, so I head back toward the pavilion. I simply don’t have
anywhere else to go! Along the way, I see headlights coming up behind me and I
duck into the bushes. This really stinks! I’ve been perfectly comfortable here
for over a week and suddenly I feel like I’m out on the lam!
Back at the pavilion I tuck my
things lower than usual so that they’re less visible among the picnic tables.
Suddenly, I’m thinking differently than I have been. Having this park as a
resource, made a big difference, but if I have to worry about getting kicked
out, that changes everything. I came here thinking that the nearby forestry
reserve would be a potential place to disappear. But it’s thickly overgrown
everglades with swamps and crocs, so I’d be likely to disappear for good in
there! Besides, it’s restricted to campers and could get me in serious trouble,
so I’m definitely not going to be doing that! I’m hoping that if I get the job
at this golf course I might be able to get away with spending the night
somewhere on that private island, but if they’re going to have a problem with
that I could be in a serious bind! Back at the pavilion, I roll out my pad and
sleeping bag, and crawl inside, but it’s going to be a long night. I’ve been
sleeping comfortably an hour or two past sunrise each morning, but tonight I
sleep fitfully and keep jolting awake with the feeling that someone is after
me. As I lay waiting for morning, I’m wondering if I should just forget about
the job, pack up, and head somewhere else. Maybe I could find someplace further
north outside the cities where it’s easier to slip away at night. If I don’t
get the job, that will answer my question, but if they offer it to me I wonder
if I should turn it down? I hate this feeling of uncertainty, fear, and
insecurity. Hopefully, the picture will be clearer in my mind when the sun
comes back around. But that’s still a few hours away…
This is better than I had been imagining. I thought a drug gang was descending on the area. Still not good, but better than I had thought.
ReplyDeleteYea, I'm not worried about the hoodlums; it's the authorities giving me grief.
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