Can Man

There is a black man who passes my corner of the world here on Mulberry Street every day. He walks to the recycling center, just up the street and along the tracks, and then he walks back with an empty grocery cart. And each time he walks by, he is yelling about something and sometimes I am sure he is yelling at me. He sees me sitting there on my porch and he addresses me in the most obscene manner. He may only be talking to God, but he is angry. Let there be no doubt about that. Nevertheless, I am sure that at least sometimes he is talking to me or he thinks he is talking to me. It's in the way he says…

"I know you hear me, man."

and in the way I retreat behind my screen; how I shrink back and shudder and know so clearly that I may be where he is any day; but I cannot walk, and so the fear is very great because I could not do what he is doing to make a buck. But he yells at me. He says…

"Stop f****n' with me man," and he means it,

and so I don't.

Instead, I work on this story which includes this old man and many others… and all the women too. Let's not forget the women. It's an all inclusive story. Anybody can join in.

There is a car driving by outside my window and it's playing "Stairway to Heaven" and it's just a song, just like the one this old, black guy is singing under the overpass; the "f**k you, I ain't never signed up for this and now you're f****n' with me" song. He sings this song under the giant beams which support the 91 freeway to Los Angeles and the tunnel formed between the poured concrete embankments amplify and echo his agonizing verse. It's funny, but I seem to know all the words.

And we are the same, he and I; he, pushing his shopping cart up and down Third Street every day and me writing this book; not much difference and singing same old song.

Perhaps he, like a familial few, thinks this is all my fault, in which case, I don't know how to comfort him; to inform him that this is not so; that both he and they are not escaping anything but only temporarily staving off the inevitable conclusion which is that no one living way down here is entirely to blame…

not even, and perhaps especially not, God.

Reviews

[Thomas Yarbrough]

This is a strong beginning that lures me into wanting to read more. Trying to add 1 helpful thought, might spur something, you could include a brief comparison of the top women in both of the character's lives- who is the woman the poor man bumps into most days, how does that relate to a women(s) in your life, that maybe only is thought about, maybe she's already a ghost, maybe they are one and the same.

[Allen Smuckler]

Very vivid, Keve...and quite the beginning to a book...You have grabbed me by the throat and pulled me into our world....and I'm ready to inhale it...
This is a terrific write about a side that most of us don't have a clue...
Hope there's more
I too am writing a book (my Life....) and have 6 chapters posted...I would love to hear your feedback on any or all of it...
Allen

[RainQueen]

Another breathtaking write. You are a writer that laser-focuses on the things most fail to see, and this man is no exception. The thing that makes this heartrending is your ability to empathize with him. Yes, your current set of circumstances may contribute, but it goes deeper, I think. To allow your mind to slide toward the forgotten - Frightening, but cruelly beautiful.