The Discarded Bullets
I was running a convenience store and every day I would encounter different kinds of people save for some regulars. One of the regulars was a man without a home. He would mutter to himself but would not indulge in a discussion with any one. I saw him begging too but it would be only at the end of the month. I would see him collecting cans and bottles in a grocery cart. I tried to initiate a conversation with him many times but he would just stop murmuring, stare at me but he would not utter a single word. The homeless man though with cans and his grocery cart would always catch my attention but some how he was different than others. Other homeless people would love to chatter. In their case, I would avoid indulging in a long talk with them.
One evening, he brought a six pack beer and put on the counter, after counting all change he had on him, he found out it was not enough to pay the bill. He looked at me helplessly and mumbled, “Can I pay the rest tomorrow?”
“Sure.” Right here was an opportunity to learn more about this homeless man, for a moment I thought, so I asked him, “what’s your name?’
“Jim Baker”
“Alright Jim Baker, remember, you owe me 85 cents.” Saying this, I bagged his beer.
“See you tomorrow, thank you.” He left without a smile.
I took a break for a week and when I resumed my duty, he came to buy beer again. He paid for the beer in full this time.. After bagging his beer I looked at him with a curiosity to ask something. Guessing I was going to inquire about the 85 cents-credit a week ago, he said “I paid 85 cents to other guy, you can ask him.”
“I knew you would, I just want to ask you a question if you don’t mind?’
He looked straight into my eyes but remained quiet.
“Jim Baker, would you mind having lunch with me?”
“What? Why?” He was surprised, I could also read curiosity in his eyes.
“I like to listen to other people’s stories and like to share mine with them.”
“I really do not have any stories and excuse me, I am not interested in hearing others stories.”
Smilingly I responded to his refusal. “Jim, you have a story, I know that you are different than many, a lot people walk in here but you are different than all of them.”
For the first time I noticed a smile on his face, “Maybe later,” and he walked towards the exist door.
I said loudly, “Maybe tomorrow or day after tomorrow? Jim have a nice day!”
“You too,” he responded and left without confirming the invitation.
After a couple of days, Jim Baker came to buy beer again. He was short of money and asked rather politely, “Would you trust me for a dollar?”
“Of course I will… but Jim, what about having beer on me today? Keep what you have but you have to go with me for a lunch,” I tried to take advantage of his situation to just listen to his story.
He gave in and putting back in his pocket all the money he put on the counter, he asked. “Fine, what time?”
“After one hour, I will be free, don’t go away, and stay around.” I responded.
“Alright” he left.
I took my lunch break for one hour on that day so that I could talk to him in detail about
his life because I was doubtful he would talk with me again. There was a fear of disappearing. Many of the homeless people would just disappear, never to be seen again; where they went, I honestly don’t know.
Jim was sitting in the parking lot under a small tree. He was reading something. I approached to him and said, “Let’s go Jim.”
He stuffed his pocket with whatever he was reading and came with me.
Before I started the car I asked, “Jim, where do you want to go?’
“As you like, I really have no choice, I do not like to go to those fancy restaurants”
“Are you aware of any thing closer?” I asked as I did not want to waste time in finding something better to eat. He replied “No mister”
“Do you like Indian food?’
“Don’t know sir, never tried”
“What about that Deli around the corner, they make good sandwiches,” I suggested.
“That will be fine”
It was about 1.45PM and Hillside Deli was empty. So we had ha had the chance to choose where to sit. We sat in a corner booth I had to order for both of us because he wouldn’t order. What I ordered, it brought a smile on his face; he consented to my order with a reason; he said “I used to eat this kind of sandwich a lot when I came back from the war.”
“Really?” I smiled. So he served in a war, I thought.
“It has a lot of stuff in it, and it is always filling” he expressed his views about that special sandwich.
“I am glad I could order you the right stuff”, I smiled looking at him, and he was staring at a window.
“You have good taste” he replied without stopping gazing through the window.
I skipped the small talk. “Jim, what were you reading?”
He looked at me and took out an old envelop from his pocket and handed it over to me.
“Can I read it if you don’t mind?” I asked.
“Sure, I brought it for you because you wanted to ‘listen to my story’”, Jim said.
It was a love letter addressed to him by a lady named “Sandra” and there was a beautiful picture of her attached to the letter. After I finished reading it, I pointing at the picture asked him “Is she Sandra? Where is she?’
His eyes turned sad suddenly, then he said “Yup, she is my ex wife.”
“She is beautiful; did you two have any children?’
“No, when I came back from the war, I was in bad shape there was a lot of pain medicine I had to take, I didn’t work for some time… I started drinking excessively … it led to separation and eventually divorce…how much she could have taken man?”
“Jim you took pain medicine due to your wounds, right?”
“That is right, but there was more than the pain of wounds.” He lowered his eyes, why, I couldn’t figure out.
( TO BE CONTINUED )
I was running a convenience store and every day I would encounter different kinds of people save for some regulars. One of the regulars was a man without a home. He would mutter to himself but would not indulge in a discussion with any one. I saw him begging too but it would be only at the end of the month. I would see him collecting cans and bottles in a grocery cart. I tried to initiate a conversation with him many times but he would just stop murmuring, stare at me but he would not utter a single word. The homeless man though with cans and his grocery cart would always catch my attention but some how he was different than others. Other homeless people would love to chatter. In their case, I would avoid indulging in a long talk with them.
One evening, he brought a six pack beer and put on the counter, after counting all change he had on him, he found out it was not enough to pay the bill. He looked at me helplessly and mumbled, “Can I pay the rest tomorrow?”
“Sure.” Right here was an opportunity to learn more about this homeless man, for a moment I thought, so I asked him, “what’s your name?’
“Jim Baker”
“Alright Jim Baker, remember, you owe me 85 cents.” Saying this, I bagged his beer.
“See you tomorrow, thank you.” He left without a smile.
I took a break for a week and when I resumed my duty, he came to buy beer again. He paid for the beer in full this time.. After bagging his beer I looked at him with a curiosity to ask something. Guessing I was going to inquire about the 85 cents-credit a week ago, he said “I paid 85 cents to other guy, you can ask him.”
“I knew you would, I just want to ask you a question if you don’t mind?’
He looked straight into my eyes but remained quiet.
“Jim Baker, would you mind having lunch with me?”
“What? Why?” He was surprised, I could also read curiosity in his eyes.
“I like to listen to other people’s stories and like to share mine with them.”
“I really do not have any stories and excuse me, I am not interested in hearing others stories.”
Smilingly I responded to his refusal. “Jim, you have a story, I know that you are different than many, a lot people walk in here but you are different than all of them.”
For the first time I noticed a smile on his face, “Maybe later,” and he walked towards the exist door.
I said loudly, “Maybe tomorrow or day after tomorrow? Jim have a nice day!”
“You too,” he responded and left without confirming the invitation.
After a couple of days, Jim Baker came to buy beer again. He was short of money and asked rather politely, “Would you trust me for a dollar?”
“Of course I will… but Jim, what about having beer on me today? Keep what you have but you have to go with me for a lunch,” I tried to take advantage of his situation to just listen to his story.
He gave in and putting back in his pocket all the money he put on the counter, he asked. “Fine, what time?”
“After one hour, I will be free, don’t go away, and stay around.” I responded.
“Alright” he left.
I took my lunch break for one hour on that day so that I could talk to him in detail about
his life because I was doubtful he would talk with me again. There was a fear of disappearing. Many of the homeless people would just disappear, never to be seen again; where they went, I honestly don’t know.
Jim was sitting in the parking lot under a small tree. He was reading something. I approached to him and said, “Let’s go Jim.”
He stuffed his pocket with whatever he was reading and came with me.
Before I started the car I asked, “Jim, where do you want to go?’
“As you like, I really have no choice, I do not like to go to those fancy restaurants”
“Are you aware of any thing closer?” I asked as I did not want to waste time in finding something better to eat. He replied “No mister”
“Do you like Indian food?’
“Don’t know sir, never tried”
“What about that Deli around the corner, they make good sandwiches,” I suggested.
“That will be fine”
It was about 1.45PM and Hillside Deli was empty. So we had ha had the chance to choose where to sit. We sat in a corner booth I had to order for both of us because he wouldn’t order. What I ordered, it brought a smile on his face; he consented to my order with a reason; he said “I used to eat this kind of sandwich a lot when I came back from the war.”
“Really?” I smiled. So he served in a war, I thought.
“It has a lot of stuff in it, and it is always filling” he expressed his views about that special sandwich.
“I am glad I could order you the right stuff”, I smiled looking at him, and he was staring at a window.
“You have good taste” he replied without stopping gazing through the window.
I skipped the small talk. “Jim, what were you reading?”
He looked at me and took out an old envelop from his pocket and handed it over to me.
“Can I read it if you don’t mind?” I asked.
“Sure, I brought it for you because you wanted to ‘listen to my story’”, Jim said.
It was a love letter addressed to him by a lady named “Sandra” and there was a beautiful picture of her attached to the letter. After I finished reading it, I pointing at the picture asked him “Is she Sandra? Where is she?’
His eyes turned sad suddenly, then he said “Yup, she is my ex wife.”
“She is beautiful; did you two have any children?’
“No, when I came back from the war, I was in bad shape there was a lot of pain medicine I had to take, I didn’t work for some time… I started drinking excessively … it led to separation and eventually divorce…how much she could have taken man?”
“Jim you took pain medicine due to your wounds, right?”
“That is right, but there was more than the pain of wounds.” He lowered his eyes, why, I couldn’t figure out.
( TO BE CONTINUED )
