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Guilt

Janet Kuypers, edited from 1994 prose 06/23/11

I was walking down the street one evening,
it was about 10:30,
I was walking from my office to my car.
I had to cross over the river to get to it,
and I noticed a homeless man
leaning against the railing,
not looking over,
but looking toward the sidewalk,
holding a plastic cup in his hand.
A 32-ounce cup,
one of the ones you get at Taco Bell across the river.
Plastic.
Refillable.

Normally I don’t donate anything to homeless people,
because usually they just spend the money
on alcohol or cigarettes or cocaine or something,
and I don’t want to help them with their habit.
Besides, even if they do use my money for good food,
my giving them money
will only help them for a few hours,
and I’d have to keep giving them money
all of their life in order for them to survive.
Once you’ve given money,
donated something to them,
then you’re bound to them,
in a way,
and you want to see that they’ll turn out okay.
Besides,
he should be working for a living,
like me,
leaving my office in the middle of the night,
and not out asking for hand outs.

I’m getting off the subject here...
Oh,
yes,
I was walking along the sidewalk
on the side of the bridge,
and the homeless man was there.
You see,
they know to stand on the sidewalks
on the bridge
because once you start walking on the bridge
you have to walk up to them,
and the entire time you’re made to feel guilty
for having money and not giving them any.
They even have some sort of set-up
where certain people work certain bridges.

Well,
wait,
I’m doing it again...
Well,
I was walking there,
but it wasn’t like I was going to lunch,
which is the time I normally see this homeless man,
because during lunch
there are lots of lights and lots of people around
and lots of cars driving by and I’m not alone
and I have somewhere to go
and I don’t have the time to stop what I’m doing
and think about him.

Well,
anyway,
I was walking toward him,
step by step getting closer,
and it was so dark
and there were these spotlights
that seemed to just beat down on me
while I was walking.
I felt like the whole world was watching me,
but there was no one else around,
no one except for that homeless man.
And I got this really strange feeling,
kind of in the pit of my stomach,
and my knees were feeling a little weak,
like every time
I was bending my leg to take a step
my knee would just give out
and I might fall right there,
on the sidewalk.
I even started to feel a little dizzy
while I was on the bridge,
so I figured the best thing I could do
was just get across the bridge as soon as possible.

I figured it had to be being on the bridge
that made me feel that way,
for I get a bit queasy when I’m near water.
I don’t usually have that problem during lunch
when I walk over the bridge and back again,
but I figured that since I was alone
I was able to think about all that water.
With my knees feeling the way they were
I was afraid I was going to fall into the water,
so I had to get myself together
and just march right across the bridge,
head locked forward,
looking at nothing around the sidewalk,
nothing on the sidewalk,
until I got to the other side.

And when I crossed,
the light-headed feeling just kind of went away,
and I still felt funny,
but I felt better.
I thought that was the funniest thing.

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