Message from a Coyote
A muggy darkness tinged with wildfire smoke and the scent of skunk spray enveloped Elmer the husky and I as we walked down a sidewalk toward the park to being our day.
I carried with me a thousand page history of the world intended for a street library. I'd read it 20 years ago when it first appeared and perused it recently again. When you read sweeping histories like this it all comes down to a single main point—every empire vanishes. There are no exceptions. The reasons may differ, but they always end, sometimes in silence, some even without a historical report.
How will the American empire end? Yes, I think about such things on my walks with Elmer.
Elmer stopped abruptly. Something was massed ahead of us in the middle of the sidewalk three doors down from our home. The dog didn't bark, but he did go on alert status.
What was it? I inched us forward and then visually dissected the mass: a man wearing a tank top and shorts half way down his ass was curled in a fetal position and not moving. His scooter was toppled in the front lawn of a million dollar home. Two full black garbage bags and a backpack rested near him. I deduced he was riding the scooter and then simply passed out or his heart or brain blew up.
He's dead, I thought. I always knew this discovery was coming in my encounters with the homeless.
I had no phone with me. I could have returned to the house and phoned it in. I did not. I pulled Elmer around the mass and we kept walking to the park. No welfare check of any kind.
A block later, I felt overwhelmed by a crushing lack of citizenship. I considered turning around. I did not.
These are the times that try my soul like nothing I've ever experienced in life.
We made it to the park. Light still hadn't risen. We paralleled the lawn bowling field. I glanced that direction and saw a coyote standing motionless in the middle of the lawn. He was somewhat lit up by a street lamp. Elmer and I came to a halt. I told him to check out the coyote. He didn't seem to notice anything. I kept watching the coyote and it didn't move. I clanged the fence and shouted hello! Nothing.
Over the years of my Oregon life, I have observed coyotes remain motionless for minutes, watching me and whatever dog I rambled with across the woods, dunes, headlands, beaches and twice in this very city park.
They have always outlasted me in staring contests.
Several times during these moments I have divined a message from the coyote, something in a language one writer described as “older than words.”
I have always acted upon these messages and the results have always ended with positive outcomes.
You scoff? I was a preacher's kid and divined absolutely nothing from God in my many years sitting in a pew. What I did divine was that my ass hurt and I wanted to get home and watch an NFL game.
You double scoff? The indigenous peoples of North America were receiving messages from coyotes millenniums before Christianity and turning them into far more entertaining creation stories than anything found in the Bible.
So there the coyote stood on the manicured grass of the lawn bowling field and...go back to the man; render aid!
Yes, coyotes can deliver messages with ellipses, exclamation points, and, on extraordinary occasions, semi colons! You haven't lived until you've received a message from a coyote with a semi colon it.
Elmer and I circled around the park back to man. Darkness still prevailed. I had no idea my course of action. Rendering aid to homeless people in my experience is very much about winging it.
We went up to him. The man remained in the position we'd left him I could now discern his face—maybe in his 40s or 50s?
“Are you okay,” I said from five feet away.
The man roused and turned my direction.
“Yes. I'm fine,” he said in a Eastern European accent I couldn't place.
“Can I get you some water?”
“No, but thanks.”
“You might want to move off the sidewalk. Someone could bicycle right over you.”
“Okay.”
He rolled over and out of the way.
“Hang in there,” I said.
“Thank you,” he said.
Elmer and I walked away. An hour later, after loading him up in the car for a visit to the dog park, I looked down the sidewalk where the man had been splayed.
Gone and nothing left behind.
Unfortunately seeing people in distress, half-dead, three sheets to the wind or otherwise, has become an everyday occurrence, especially for those of us living downtown. My Goose Hollow neighborhood could easily pass for an episode of the Walking Dead. It's shameful we don't have more systems in place for these folks, especially in a city with so much wealth. Every time I step over someone I'm filled with a wave of shame for not doing more to help them, and anger at our leaders for letting things get so bad. That being said, I take solace in knowing there are scores of amazing people in our community who are doing their best to help, like you. Your writing has really helped me work through these feelings, and inspires me to take more action. Thanks for that.