Friday, September 24, 2004

When the clock struck midnight yesterday and Muse still hadn’t returned, I immediately grabbed my coat and set out to find her. Driving in pitch black is a pleasure reserved for lonely people and desperate people. All the things you find comfort in during the day–the foliage, the pedestrians, the familiar colors–change ever so slightly in the dark. You see things you shouldn’t see, and things you should see stay predictably out of sight.

I saw something yesterday night. I saw it when I veered off the main road, seemingly by mistake yet also by luck, and what I saw helped me find my way. You see, in my rush to dash out the door and find Muse, I had forgotten to take a map. Within 15 minutes I was hopelessly lost, vainly earmarking landmarks that confoundingly looked the same.

Just as I was about to give up and wait for daylight, I spied a man pacing the street, eerily illuminated by the moon and the anemic streetlights. He was an older man with a prodigious beard, probably in his early sixties, and he walked with a shuffling but confident gait. A tattered gray hat sat on his head, complementing his worn clothes and weather-stained coat. My gut told me to drive past the man, but against my better judgment I pulled up next to him and rolled down my window.

“Excuse me, sir, I need your help,” I shouted. “I’m lost.”

“Is that so?” asked the man, giving me a look that froze my blood.

I answered his question with shocked silence. There was something strange about his eyes.

“Looking at my eyes, are you?” he said matter-of-factly. “Let me tell you a secret. They’re both glass.”

“What? So do you have a cane? What are you doing out here at night?” I cried.

He chuckled and assumed the air of a practiced storyteller.

“This,” he gestured at the sidewalk and the neighborhood at hand. “This is my home. 472 steps from one corner to the next, 517 when the wind and snow pick up, bikers and dog-walkers on Sundays, children and old people on all the other days. There’s a bench from step 157 to 160, assuming your back’s to the setting sun, and you’re welcome to it.”

“Let me get this straight,” I replied after a confused pause. “You spend all your time walking back and forth?”

“That’s why I don’t have a cane,” he sighed with upturned hands. “Never needed one.”

“But, but what about food? Where do you sleep? What happens when it rains, when it gets too cold?” I exclaimed with some consternation.

“People around these parts will feed you something fierce,” he laughed contentedly. “That bench there? It’s my bed, not that I sleep much. Only need three hours a night. Or morning. When it rains, well, that’s my shower. When it gets too cold, some kind heart will take me in.”

“But, but–” I stammered. “What’s your story?”

“You don’t need to know where I came from or what I’ve done,” he told me slowly, “but what you do need to know is that I can help you. You see these eyes?”

I nodded.

“Well, behind these eyes there’s a whole lot of knowledge. And the occasional Tootsie Roll,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“What?” I gasped. “That’s disgusting.”

“Maybe so, maybe so, but you have to know this: Pick five and you will find what you seek,” he concluded.

I sat for a moment, trying to make sense of his advice.

“Pick five and you will find what you seek,” he repeated before bidding me farewell. “You’ll want to head back, take a right when you see a red rock, and keep on driving until you hit the highway.”

“Wait, how do you–” I protested, but he cut me off.

I followed his directions, moon to my back, Muse in my heart, my compass recalibrated. He was right.