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It started as a good day. Objectively that was a lie, but after six months of unemployment self-delusion becomes a survival trait. I was two days from getting booted off unemployment, with my girlfriend AWOL for the last week. By “good day” I mean I had wrestled a small drop of hope out of my heart that one of the half dozen jobs I had applied to while guzzling down iced coffees might result in an interview.
The old man, my next-door neighbor, had watched me throughout the entire process as I cut and pasted my meager work experience into the applicable boxes. This wasn't exactly new for either of us. He practically lived in that cafe, ordering iced teas and crunching on the ice for about an hour after the tea had been consumed. He'd sit in the sole comfy recliner in the cafe with a book in his lap and that tiny cat of his sprawled over the top of the chair. The cat, who looked like the sort of thing a Chihuahua could beat up for lunch money, often seemed more interested in the book than the old man was. The bigger the book, the less his wrinkled nose would be in it, but if he had a paperback, he never looked up. Often on the days he hauled in a huge leather tome, he'd look right at me. He didn't try to hide it if I caught him. Just gave me a little smile and a nod.
I didn't think much of it. I used to live in San Francisco, where you let folks be happy with their own weirdness. Grantsville, Pennsylvania, seemed to have the same creed. Between Amish farms and the folks who lived in the national forest a few miles north, it was a very different weird from Cali but still respected. So I gave the guy a polite “hello” sometimes and he'd say “hi” back. The man and his wrinkles seemed lost in their own little world. Or so I thought.
This day had been a paperback day. He had his nose in a wrinkled copy of The Green Mile, and I barely noticed him. I had been busy thinking at a little portrait of Angelica I kept in the corner of my desktop, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief and a grin that came off as a tad aggressive but that fit her, hinting at barbed wit. When we met we had clicked together, a logon and password combo. Too bad every two weeks she unplugged herself and disappeared for the same length of time—I didn’t have the access rights to know why. Whenever I asked, she just shook her black locks and said, "Top-secret. Stop asking." If I pried further I'd get a curt, "Do you want me not to come back? Cuz that’s the alternative." I'd always decided I preferred her more in limited doses than none at all. Now a certain reality called rent might make her next appearance our last visit. As far as I could tell, she didn't come back pockets stuffed with cash; she earned what little she did freelancing from the couch. Unpaid top-secret internships sounded unlikely.
My straw stopped making slurping sounds. A sure sign that I had outlasted even the ice in my cup. Guiltily, I got up. I had the best medicine for my quandary back home. The sweet sound of exploding newbs never failed to push back the feeling of doom crawling up my neck. Doom in this case asking my father for money and the strings that would come with it.
Turning towards the door, I found the old man in my way, shuffling out towards it with an unsteady gait. I held the door for him once I squelched a flash of annoyance. After all, you can't blame somebody for getting old. Usually it means they did at least something right with their lives. So I waited for him to shuffle past while I paused to glance at the bulletin board by the door, vainly hoping to see a job posting before I followed him out of the coffee shop, my gaze solidly on my feet.
I heard an engine roar just as my own foot touched the pavement of the road. I glanced up just in time to see what I still see in the dark of my eyelids. A car ripping across my field of vision. The heavy crunch of breaking bone. The impact of the old man’s body slamming into my chest.
Tires screeched as the blue sky filled my vision. Dazed, I lifted my head and looked at the car jetting off down the street. Common sense finally lit up my brain, and I sought out the license plate number. I stared at those white numbers as the car raced away, but not a single number registering in my memory.
The old man’s chuckle, a dry and reedy sound, drew my attention. Numbly I looked down at him sprawled across my legs, his limbs bent at odd angles. A rivulet of bright red blood flowed from his left nostril as he coughed out another laugh. "Didn't see that one coming."
"Hey, s-stay with me." The words slipped from my mouth as I looked around for somebody, trying to ignore the creeping sense of panic. A woman stared wide-eyed from the door of the coffee shop. "Get help!" I screamed at her, and she ducked back inside like a frightened rabbit.
The old man laughed again, his yellow teeth mottled with red. "Too late for that, Kitty."
And here comes the delirium, I remember thinking as his grin widened. "Oh, yeah?" Keep them talking, right?
My mind clawed for some first aid knowledge that might be useful for somebody who was probably bleeding internally. I came up with nothing other than it probably wasn't a good idea to move him.
"I got something for ya. It's in the cupboard," he mumbled, his eyes starting to drift from my face.
Desperate and not having a better idea, I waved my hand in front of his eyes. "Sure. Right after the ambulance comes we'll go check that out."
"Heh." He breathed out and died. I heard something that might have been a snap, and the world went all funny. I'm still unclear on the how or why. But that is the moment that my life jumped down a green pipe into crazy land.