Local Lenny

A few weeks ago I tried to write an epic story from my life on this very blog, and as I was about to finish, all was lost. It still hurts when I think about it, and even returning to write brings back some of the pain, which explains my long absence from writing. Someday, I will attempt to rewrite the story of my 8 childhood dogs, but until then I will focus on less ambitious, but hopefully equally thoughtful accounts from my life.


Today, I decided to run some errands that I have literally put off doing for two weeks. Sometimes life get so hard and overwhelming, that I have to take time off, avoid people and things and hibernate until I am feeling stronger, happier, centered. Today was the end of my hiding, which coincided with the first nice day all week, and the end of a terrible bed ridden flu.

Still snotty, I took my bike a few neighborhoods over to transport some things (the errand) back home. Although I had left my cave I was still down on myself about the usual things, getting older, poorer and more lost in life every day. How hard life is and how hard it is to get a break in this city. Upon returning to the block that I have lived for 5 years, while parking my bike, I feel a pair of eyes on me. It's a familiar feeling that I often get while outside my building, either coming or going.
It's the stare from one of the locals, a middle aged mentally disabled man, who grew up in Gowanus, right around the corner from me. He was just standing on the corner, across the street, looking at me casually, hands in the side pockets of his slacks, glasses glared over, hooded in his black winter's coat. I see this man often, sometimes He is loitering inside the bar below my apartment, sometimes he is hanging with the old Italian men at the Glory Social Club a block away and sometimes he is standing right outside my door.


For a long time, this person frightened me. He is not particularly big, or loud, and at all threatening in anyway. The only conclusion I can make to the origins of my fear is the story Of Mice and Men. I am afraid that this Man, who is as sexually mature as any adult but has forever the mind of a 5 year old, is going to touch me inappropriately, hurt me, or maybe kill me. Sometimes when he is conversationally close, he says hello to me, and offers his clammy hand, which I politely take, and always regret. On a few occasions he has told me I'm pretty, but I never got the compliment that my female neighbor once received from him, when he told her he loved her. She promptly said thank you. I'm not jealous. I want to make that clear.

I am not a prejudice person. I am compassionate to those less fortunate then myself. I enjoy the movie Rainman (it makes me cry) and even had a crush on John Malkovich as a teenager (I was mature for my age). So, this fear that still lingers after five years of seeing this person around the hood still surprises me.


Today as I looked at him, looking at me, thankful that he was on the opposite side of the street, I imaged what his life must be like. He has never lived anywhere other then his block. His life has not changes for the better or worse his entire life. This person doesn't have any friends. He spends most of his time walking up and down the same block waiting for someone to hold his hand while he crosses the street. He will never be self sufficient, never create goals and accomplish them, never be able to cross the street without holding a stranger's hand. It made me realizes how much I have accomplished in my life, how much I have grown and changed as a person. So what if I'm not where I thought I would be at 28. Who cares if I can't afford expensive things. Life could always be worse. Then again, he is probably more content then I will ever be.