Prologue:
He used to play the violin. His music teacher said he was the most
talented student she had ever instructed. Under his guided and gentle touch he
could create music that would bring tears to even the coldest hearts. By
seventeen he was travelling to more countries in a month than most people see
in their entire lives, performing in front of thousands of people. He would
sign autographs until his hand would cramp, and drink champagne like it was
water.
That was then.
Now he lives on
the street and his past is a shadow and nothing more. It appears briefly during
certain moments of the day, during times of clarity and then disappears into
the night. It lingers and follows him at every turn, but offers nothing more
than a glimpse into what he once was. He has evaporated, turned into mist, and
is nothing more than a shell left to roam the earth. If he died he would be
dust, dust that people would brush off their boots, and sweep into the trash.
Even the trash would loathe his uselessness. Robert may have been somebody
once, but he is no more. That’s how it is out here.
He rifles through
the bin behind the grocery store looking for something edible. It’s amazing
what people throw away. He finds tomatoes that are almost ripe but for some
mould on the side. He will slice that off. There’s a loaf of stale bread, and
some expired crackers. He loads up his cart with his trophies. Tonight he will
eat well.
He wheels slowly
down the side streets, pushing his home. It drags left as the wheels are
broken, no matter. It could be worse. People rush past him. People on their way home from the office,
people headed to the gym, moms buying groceries, students headed to the
library. They create a draft as they glide by him. No one notices him. Only the
subconscious prompt to shift right, or shift left, shift any way, as long as it’s
quick and opposite Robert. If they acknowledge him then they will know. He is
there. But he is not there. He pushes along, the only one on among the crowd
not in a rush, the only one perhaps that appreciates the soft orange of the
setting sun across the horizon. They may
judge him but at least he sees.
He makes his way
to his corner, settling himself for the night. Leaning against the cold stone
wall of the subway, he arranges his bed and dinner table. Some may see day old
newspapers, second hand sleeping bags, and a block of wood from a nearby
construction site, but Robert sees his house take form. He eagerly unpacks his
treasure from the dive in the bin earlier and makes himself a cracker tomato
sandwich while admiring the setting sun.
With a full stomach he turns his attention to people
watching and remarks at how similar everyone starts to look, like ants circling
about their mill. They blend together like colors on a canvas if you mix too
many, ruining what could have been art. Humans do this often. But Robert knows
if you wait long enough one will surprise you. Eventually one will stand out. They may break
your heart or try to fix it. It’s inevitable. So he waits patiently looking at
the crowd before him wondering which of the hundreds will surprise him.
Even he could not
have predicted what would happen next.
