Candy
A neighbor gave us a box of chocolates from good See's Candies. Neither Dad nor myself wanted it. We offered it to my sister when she stopped by for a visit. She declined, saying she was trying to lose weight.
I didn't want to throw it away or feed confections to the crows.
Why not present the box to Mark? Mmmm, surely bonbons dunked in Old Crow would sound heavenly to the book club. I was certain he'd accept the present although I had no idea why.
An hour later, I carried the box with me as I headed toward Mark's sidewalk. He was there, conversing with a tall non-homeless man I assumed lived in the neighborhood. Undoubtedly the man was talking to Mark for the same reason I talk to Mark: he's a superb conversationalist in an era of dying face-to-face conversations.
Everyone said hello to each other. I presented the box to Mark and told him how I came into possession of the candy. Do you want it? Yes I do! He was delighted and I handed over the chocolates. The tall man smiled, most likely because you don't often witness a homeless man presented with a box of chocolates and it was a happy sight let me assure you.
Mark buried the the box in his backpack and then produced a dog-eared, water-damaged copy of The Supernatural Short Stories of Robert Louis Stevenson, including “The Bottle Imp.” Mark had finished the book and now it was mine! I thanked him, said goodbye, and went on my way.
A half an hour later, I encountered Mark again, on the sidewalk, and he was alone. He was drinking a can of malt liquor and smoking a cigarette. He told me a friend had just bought him a pack.
I began by saying, Mark, I want to get back to our previous conversations about getting off the streets. I've been doing more research. Are you truly serious?
Yes. I want to give it a try.
What about Donny?
He's on his own.
What about Sean?
He's got three girlfriends in the neighborhood.
In the next five minutes I gave Mark the lowdown on the assessment/referral bureaucratic abyss and how I was willing to drive him downtown to try and obtain an assessment/referral assuming the process existed in real life and not on a web site or phone app. I also promised I'd drive him over to the Safe Rest Village Multnomah site across town for a personal inspection.
Mark said that was all fine. I told him I would start making more email inquires with officials in the morning and get to the goddamn bottom of the assessment/referral abyss.
And yes, getting to the bottom of an abyss is an oxymoron.
(Note to reader: I read “The Bottle Imp” not long after the above encounter and didn't really care for the tale but it did have a happy ending for a couple in love, but interestingly enough, at the expense of eternal damnation for a loathsome person.)