My Brother, The Homeless Man

The theme of this story is Death, although there are really many other influences weaved inside this story.

The subway station was surprisingly empty for a weekday evening. Only the occasional passers-by absorbed in their own world trudged past me. The bitingly cold winds stung my face and my denim-covered legs as I shivered and wrapped my coat tighter around me.

While making my way to the exit leading into my apartment, I spotted a lone figure huddled at the corner. A homeless man, I declared, mentally sketching a path to the escalator that was as far as possible from the man, just to avoid the guilt of not giving him a tiny fraction of my fortune.

Nearing him, I caught a glimpse of a charcoal stick gliding rapidly across a surface. Curiosity overpowered my guilt and I stepped towards him, stretching my neck to get a better look.

I was struck with a sense of respect and wonderment for the man. He was using a stub of charcoal to portray the rushing and the pushing of the usual rush hour, making use of the newspaper’s tiny print to differentiate perspectives, and to add a unique flavor to the piece.

 Beside him lay stacks of newspapers which I suspect was his past drawings, one of which caught my sharp eyes.

“Excuse me; may I know what inspired you to draw this?” I asked, flexing my wrist to indicate that which attracted me so. As though awakening from a dream, he turned and looked at me.

“Honey, if you've got two minutes to just sit down and listen to a poor man speak, I’d be glad to tell you the whole story,” he answered. Mildly impressed by his manner of speech, I gingerly sat my bottom on the floor, eager to hear a fellow artist share his thoughts.

“As you look closely at the picture, you will probably start to feel a sense of loneliness creeping unto you. That was what this piece was meant to portray �" loneliness. The story of how I ended up here is a long one, so I’ll save it. However, even residing in this area will make a man feel lonely, although I’m surrounded by people almost every minute. The isolation of being cut off from society could make a man mad, so I thought that by pouring my thoughts and emotions into my art, I would stay sane a little longer. This piece was one of my earlier pieces, when I was at the highest point of, shall we say, loneliness.”

Nodding my head in acknowledgement, I glanced at my watch and replied, “I think I have 5 more minutes to spare. Care to share?”

Stories, opinions and techniques were exchanged, and five minutes turned to ten, ten to fifteen, and fifteen to twenty. After thirty minutes, I reluctantly said my honest thanks and farewells.

Who would have predicted that I would sit down with him every day regardless the crowd and just, talk?

While exchanging opinions and comments of Life, our bond grew stronger. He became my surrogate older brother, asking about my well-being and patiently listening to my rants and giving the occasional comment.

One day, I found him coughing badly and blamed it on the cold. I gave him an extra jacket and vitamin C pills to take, but he returned them to me, saying it would go down after a while. I assumed it was because a cough takes eons to completely stop. From the day he started coughing, he told me to wear a surgical mask so that he would not spread the bacteria to me, and I did.

Three weeks later, on December 25^th, I found him lying on the floor in a dead faint, tiny splatters of blood on the ground and his hands. He was sweating and shivering, and his whole body radiated heat, too much for his own good.

The homeless man whom I called ‘Mikey’ was diagnosed with latent tuberculosis on December 26^th. I offered to pay for his treatment, but he refused, even to the extent of running from the hospital in an attempt to discharge himself. Unknown to him, I paid the hospital for his stay, pleading with the nurses to tell him that it was free of charge. It was not easy, but I got my way in the end.

Outside, I wore an ear-to-ear grin. Inside, I was yelling at myself for being so foolish and heartless. My heart twisted painfully every time his emaciated frame racked with coughs as he lay on the cotton bed. The feeling of being utterly helpless plagued me day and night, as did the guilt. The emotions when seeing my ‘brother’ lying there was so intense it pumped through my veins every second �" I lost sleep, my appetite and my health.

When Mikey saw my dark eye circles and my hollow cheeks, his suspicions that something was affecting me were confirmed, and he confronted me. I blurted out, “I’ll get better if I pay for your treatment.”

His gold-speckled hazel stare drilled into my head and I gulped. Mikey sure had a mean glare if he wanted it, and I probably should not have said that.

Mikey sighed and fixed me with a firm gaze. “Are you afraid that I’ll die �"no, pass on?”

Even then, after that very idea had plagued me, I could not come up with a straight answer. Standing stock still, answers and variations flashed through my mind --Yes or no, and why? Finding the courage to speak up, only empty air echoed in my throat, rasping against the delicate surface. I cleared my throat and tried again, uncertainty growing stronger each second.

“Well… I guess you can say so. I mean, we’re so, close! You know the brother-sister bond kind of thing? Of course I’d be, well, afraid that you will pass on.”

“Hold your horses. First, tell me your opinion of death. Inevitable or …?”

“It couldn't be a celebration could it? After all, people mourn at funerals. If not a tragedy, that what could it be? Of course you could say it is inevitable too, right?”

Mikey tenderly held my hand with his slender fingers. They were currently unstained and clean. I always thought that Mikey had elegant fingers for a man �" especially when they gripped the charcoal stick and drew lies across the page, smudging and improving.

“Ellen, have you ever thought that death is a wonderful thing?”

“What?”

“In the circle of Life, something dies, and another rises to take its place, ten times better than its predecessor. I believe strongly in that fact, you know?  And, that I’ll be in a much better place when I leave this Earth. No more illness, or unhappiness �" I’ll be able to draw all I want! Isn’t it great? I’ll achieve happiness, final happiness. And I’ll be waiting for you in that place honey, I promise.”

Liquid filled my eyes. How could I tell him that I was a Christian, and believed so much differently? I could not stand the thought of losing him to Death just yet, and I knew that he disregarded religion and thought it a “useless and powerful form of propaganda”.” However, I could do one thing, and that was to attempt to see things in his perspective -- just, give it a try.

 That night, my inability to fall asleep was for a completely different reason.

Knocking on Mikey’s door, I felt a strange sense of calm. I figured everything out last night, and I was eager to share.

“Mikey, death is both a tragedy and inevitable, but you know what? I think I know where you’re coming from, and I quite like it. I get it, I really do.”

Mikey just smiled that beautiful and serene smile at my answer, which I knew meant “thank you”, and etched it into my memory. We hugged tightly, just like blood siblings, and we cried and held each other that day. I cried for him, and he me.

Michael ‘Mikey’ Jason Adams died on 14^th April 2013, with a smile on his face. As I sit on this sofa and type this tale out, I smile a watery smile. Images of Mikey flash in my head, each firmly attached to my amphitheater of memories. Looking at his drawings hung proudly on my wall, I can see him waving at me.

Goodbye Mikey, I love you, and I’ll see you soon. Be happy for me, okay?  

Author's Note

As I finished typing the last word, I could literally feel the gush of my mental energy just leave me. This was written for a portfolio that I have to hand in, so please do tell me your honest opinions so that I may edit it before the year ends. Thank you and have a wonderful day.