A Conversation
One of the members of the Old Crow Book Cub had been MIA for a couple of months. The last I'd seen of him was near his domicile, a busted truck with a canopy parked near a creek I often visit. We talked of his love for fantasy novels and their worlds far, far, away from his life as a young homeless man.
There he was, sitting on the sidewalk near the convenience store with another homeless man with walking casts on both feet holding an elderly, sweatered, shivering chihuahua in his lap. It was 30 degrees and around noon on a weekday afternoon.
We greeted each other and I asked where he'd been. He said he had to get off the streets for the winter because half the left side of his body contained metal from some sort of reconstructive surgery. He had moved in with his mother, but couldn't take living with her anymore, so here he was back on the streets and winter still had two months to go.
The last time we'd talked he said he was looking for work, but his criminal conviction for a violent felony made it almost impossible for him to obtain a job. He was currently on parole and wanted housing and employment to start rebuilding his life.
I asked if he was still looking for a job and he said he'd put in applications with several area convenience stores and none of them would hire him with his felony conviction. “I had one bad night,” he said.
How many of us can say exactly the same thing?
He then told me he'd had Covid, but that he still wasn't getting the vaccination. I told him I thought that was a bad idea, especially if he wanted a job. He said he understood my position, that he was no dumb shit Covid denier, but also kept to himself and wasn't arrogantly going around getting others sick and dead in the name of freedom. He cared about the welfare of others and didn't want to harm anyone. I believed him.
We next discussed books and he asked me when I was going to reconvene the Old Crow Book club. I told him it was happening soon, but I had to find the right book for several homeless men and one housed. He also asked if I could get him some of the zines I'd produced for the street libraries in the neighborhood. I told him I'd stash a few in the rear wheel well of his truck the next time I waked past it.
It was time for me to go. We said our goodbyes.
As I walked away, I thought about possible selections for the club. Siddhartha came immediately to mind. That novel had been a large part of my creative, teaching and spiritual life. It can work wonders. It did with me and many, many others. I even developed a writing workshop around it that I've taught well over a dozen times.
Yes, it's settled. The Old Crow Book Club will read Siddhartha and I might even try to get them to write.