Monday night the Metropolis bike group ended up at Belle Isle, as usual. I had to go to the bathroom, so I broke off from the group and rode through the center of the island, back to the Tim Horton's where everyone regroups after riding around the island. There were a few riders there already. None that I knew well. I asked if anyone would watch my bike because I really had to use the bathroom and a guy I had not met before offered. I ran to the door, only to find it locked. My new friend, Mark suggested the gas station nearby, but I looked in the other direction, finding the Big Boy a finer option. I was going to leave the bike and run over, but he said he'd ride over with me.
I walked through the glass doors of the restaurant, ant it was like entering the 70s. It really felt as if those doors were a portal to another time. The light was dim, there was some unrecognizable smooth jazz sounding muzak, I had the impression that the walls were wood paneled, though I can't say whether they really were. An older woman saw me scanning the place and pointed to a dim hall, "right there, ma'am." I thanked her and made my way to the restroom, where I found an abnormal amount of glitter and sparkle on the floor.
On my way out, I noted that she had her hands on a very well loved bible and was drinking coffee. A man had joined her and it appeared that she was reading to him. I said good night and re-entered my own time. As Mark and I were leaving, we were approached by a man who had a big shopping cart full of a bike. He began talking fast to us. telling us an extremely dramatic tale of being nearly sandwiched between two cars on the Slow Roll ride earlier that evening. He started to ask us for money, and Mark said we had no change, I almost agreed, but something told me to give the guy something. I reached into my pocket and gave him what I grabbed. He thanked me and then began telling us a more animated story about a lawsuit and a house - his mother's house and how she died because she was supposed to have a surgery to have a growth removed from her fallopian tube but the doctor accidentally cut out her liver instead, killing her. He was going to meet with a lawyer the following day. He was going to get the deed to his mother's house back and we could come stay there and there would be food so that we could eat until we were full, eat for days. He was going to sue the doctor who birthed him, too - he pointed out a number of scars on his face and underside if his chin and told us the doctor made big mistakes. This seemed unlikely, it all seemed highly unlikely, because he looked like he was in his 40s and if the doctor who did all the damage, and whose name he could not quite recall, was still alive, he was definitely old. We asked his name, "Jermaine," he told us.
He gave me this feeling I first experienced in childhood. My dad had a good friend named Doug. Doug lived in California and was very cool, earrings and a motorcycle and a youthful enthusiasm. One time when he was home visiting, he started telling me about some plan he had, to become a famous singer. He played me a recording of himself singing along with Spandau Ballet. I was young. Maybe 12 and distinctly recall feeling sad for him. Feeling disbelief that he'd ever achieve his unrealistic dream. He had other plans too, I can't recall them anymore, but even as a kid, I knew he was not going to get rich from any of them. Even though he wholeheartedly believed them. I later came to think of people with these kinds of improbable dreams and schemes as grifter types. These grifters might have varying levels of sinister-ness, but they all made me equally sad.
Jermaine hugged Mark and we told him we had to go. He wanted to pray for us first.
He said a long convoluted prayer that was mostly the Lord's Prayer but contained a long tangent about how Satan was trying to own the world for 100 years and we must fight against his darkness. He began to tell us all the people he'd lost in recent months. Aunts and cousins. Many losses. After saying the prayer he told us to be safe. He hugged Mark again and we rode away to rejoining the group.
As we ride away, Mark noted that is was odd. I told him it was not especially odd for me. "Oh, you are one of those people," he said.
Yes. I am one of those people.
No comments:
Post a Comment