There was a homeless man lying on the park bench by his wheelchair as I walked by. It began to rain as I got home. I wonder what his story is. Why he is so alone and unhoused. I remember being turned out onto the winter weather of Toronto, by Anne. Maybe someone turned him out similarly, only he didn’t have the luck I had, of searching at the library for ways to kill myself, only to come across a crisis line number, and a librarian overhearing me say to the shelter staff on the phone, that I had no bus ticket to get to a bed they had available for me, and that librarian reached into her purse to give me a bus ticket. So lucky, but how was I to make that man on the bench lucky? He looked like he’s been through I don’t know what. He didn’t make eye contact. Maybe he’s the same person I saw by the London Drugs entrance about a week ago, flailing his arms like he was at a rave.
I don’t know why he was out there. I didn’t feel there was anything for me to do for him. It’s disturbing seeing someone out there like that, because it reminds me, that it could happen to me, and it’s a scary thought, but also, because I wish I were one of a team of outreach workers, that would support and look out for each other, so we could help people without being taken for suckers. Maybe this and maybe that. I don’t know what led to him being out there. I’ll never know I guess. It’s disturbing to allow for someone to be so disenfranchised, but on the other hand, maybe he’s out there to be dramatic, and really has options, very good ones at that, and he is just being a drama queen. I don’t know his story. I feel bad about not being part of a community that reaches out to people sleeping rough, as a team, and makes slack for such emergencies, supporting people so that no one has to go homeless.
