the bright coming morn

 

The other day, I met a tramp in a sober suit. He was drunk. And he was complaining that the sun was in his eyes. "Don't mind the sun," he said."' Cept when it's in my eyes," and he took out a pair of cheap sunglasses, the kind ZZ Top sang about, and put them on. He looked like a blind man with those sunglasses on. I know that sounds ridiculous, but he did. 

He was about five feet four inches tall and weighed about a hundred and thirty pounds. He had a lot of alcohol swimming inside of him. I imagined the alcohol doing the butterfly or the breaststroke or maybe even the backstroke. He was what my mammy called "booze-sodden." He was so booze-sodden that I began to feel like I was getting a contact drunk from the guy. "Do you mind if I read something to you?" said the tramp. 

"No, sir," I said. 

He took out one of those Moleskin pocket notebooks, the kind they say Hemingway used. Was that the reason he bought the notebook?

I was about to ask him that very question when he began to speak: "You know, they say Hemingway used a notebook just like this.' I had no idea until the sales clerk told me so." If you wait around long enough, people will usually answer most of your questions without you ever having to ask them. The tramp opened the book, and began reading. "…and then the sun shone, blinding me to the possibilities of the light, and some young, beautiful, eclectic girl with a great personality whispered, it's amazing how good I feel when the sun is out, and came home with me and fellated me in a way that no other young, beautiful, eclectic girl with a great personality had ever fellated me before… and I was happy… for the moment… because, as you know, (or may not know, depending on your level of knowing), happiness is a fickle mistress who sometimes likes to falsely accuse you of communicating threats… and that is when the matter must then be resolved in small claims court, preferably adjudicated by somebody who passed a bar on the way over to the courthouse...which is about the time I looked at my watch and declared it Need to Stop Looking at my Watch Day… I've been watching my second-hand watch for some time now… and can tell you that this first-hand knowledge of the second-hand can be a waste of time… so I'm going online to book my watch on a flight so I can watch it fly and so I can start having fun again…"

He put the book away and then lit a Hav-A-Tampa sweet cigar. "To be forgotten by readers, colleagues, and critics who once praised you is a hell of a lot like wearing a wet wool blanket in the middle of an August heat wave with lots of holes in the damn thing. Ah, but I digress…" 

"You're a writer?" 

"Well, I fell on hard times and developed an addiction to crack cocaine, had to declare bankruptcy after attempting to finance a play I'd written, and ended up living in the Salvation Army homeless shelter…Unfortunately, I've been unable to maintain my sobriety, and the shelter requires regular drug tests… but I'm keeping hope alive, as they say, as well as keeping my options open; whatever options happen to be open to me, that is… Don't despair; I see that look on your face, a combination of pity and horror, but I'm still much of a glass-half-filled guy… I used to be the other kind, the half-empty guy, but it wasn't working for me… I read that book, 'The Power of Positive Thinking' and the one by Norman Cousins; what the hell's the name of it…? Cousins also believed in the power of a positive attitude…and laughter… he'd watch Marx Brothers movies…he survived years beyond what his doctors predicted… fascinating story…" "' The Anatomy of an Illness.'"

"What's that?" 

"The name of Norman Cousins' book." "Yes, of course, thank you… how could I forget that? Wonderful book… So it's a mind-over-matter thing… it's like my friend at the Chinese restaurant down the street… every day he gives me a fortune cookie because he believes in me and wants me to bounce back…" He reached into his pocket, pulled out the latest fortune, and read it. "' Don't underestimate yourself. Others need your social skills at this time.' How perfect is that for a guy like me…? I'm telling ya, I'm about to turn over a new leaf; I can feel it." 

"That's great," I said. 

"It's all in here," he said, tapping the notebook's cover. "Just find somebody willing to take a chance on me." 

"Any prospects?" 

The tramp smiled, but I could tell it was a frown pretending to be a smile. "The world is full of prospects… as my friend at the Chinese restaurant always says, 'A book tightly shut is but a block of paper'…" Then, opening the notebook, he said, "' But open it up and it is like a garden'… Just needs a little more cultivation, you know, and a little weed control… but it's all in here… need to find somebody willing to take a chance on me…" 

"Well, I wish you luck, sir," I said. 

"You're very kind, thank you… you err… wouldn't happen to be a patron of the arts, by any chance, would you…? I could use your support…" He drew a nearly empty fifth of whiskey from beneath his coat. "A writer's gotta have a little inspiration, you know…"

I grabbed a few bucks from my pocket and gave it to him. 

"Son, I appreciate this… listen, do me a favor…" He removed a small pencil from inside the spiral rings of the notebook. "Lemme get your name and address… soon as I get my advance, I'm gonna pay you back…" 

"That's not necessary," I said. 

"Please," said the tramp. 

"Consider it a grant." 

The tramp slipped the bills into his pants pocket and smiled. I could tell he meant it this time. "Bless you, my son," he said, walking away singing "Beautiful Dreamer".