Human-ish

Chapter 1

"People," says the old homeless man, biting into the sandwich I brought to him, "we are always waiting for something. Waiting for the weekend, waiting for summer vacation, waiting to graduate, waiting to grow up; waiting to retire. Waiting to die."

I consider this while I chewed my whole wheat sub. "I suppose." I considered this for a moment. "These days it seems like everyone is waiting for that last one, though. Young and old. Waiting for one final apocalyptic blast to finish us all of for good."

He leaned back against the brick building. "Mm-hm," was all he said.

This disturbing fact didn't seem to bother him, I noticed, as he leaned against the crumbling brick building and closed his eyes.

"How about you, then?" I inquire. He peers at me through a single slightly open eye.

"What about me?"

I scoot closer to him. "What do you wait for? It doesn't seem to me like you've given up all hope...although I can't say I understand why."

He studies his sandwich. "I wait for the sun to rise each morning, and the sun to set at dusk. I wait for little changes in the world that give people hope of life. Not just survival, but actual living."

I don't say anything, so he speaks again, his mouth full of bread and cheese. "I also wait for you to bring me my daily sandwich." He winks at me. I shove him gently.

"Whatever, gramps," I tease, and then sigh. "I just wish that all that mumbo-jumbo that comes out of your mouth was as easy to digest as my sandwich." I examined the multicolored cheese wedged between two slices of thick bread and then finished my sandwich in two big bites.

"Whoa," he exclaims. "Girl can eat."

I wipe crumbs off my mouth and proceed to stick my tongue out at him.

"Anyway," I tell him, picking up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, "I should get going."

"Right, right. A mother of five certainly has her work cut out for her. Especially when your oldest is just a couple years behind you."

I laugh. "I keep myself busy. It was lovely seeing you today, Rocco."

"And you as well, Umaymah."

*~~~*

The hike isn't very far from home, and I wonder why I haven't taken any of the girls to see Rocco. I reach the brook and hop from rock to rock, until I reach the final stone, precariously perched atop the tip of a rock that's barely even jutting out far enough above the water to support my big toe.

All in but a half-second, I attempt to launch myself onto the other side of the gushing river but I end up losing my balance along with my dignity and falling face-first into water that's so frigid it almost numbs my entire head before my face is shoved into several jagged rocks. I remember, now, as I climb out of the gushing river, sopping wet, why I never bring the girls out to see Rocco. Earlier, furiously flowing rivers and razor-sharp boulders probably classified in my mind as a child safety hazard.

I cough out a small stream of water and a couple pebbles. As I once again start to trudge along the dirt path home, I wonder why I ever remembered the walk home as a brief trip. As the sky begins to turn orange, I realize I ought to pick up the pace if I don't want to encounter an angry gang of children attempting to beat me to death with rusty spoons and an infant with weasel-like baby teeth trying to gnaw off my leg. By the time I can see the outline of our ramshackle house/shed, I can already hear the ruckus of what can either be an angry protest held solely by very vocal, very angry cows, or children playing. Because I know that there are few cows that can survive only on the few green patches we have around our house, when I enter the door I fear no stampede. Of cows, that is.