In 2009, I was in dire straights - homeless, and being mistreated by the unlikeliest (in terms of likelihood of existence) group of people. I was having a hard time at building 80 in General Hospital one appointment, and just then, I had a vision of one little man with a handheld machine that looked like a bullhorn; he was cavorting or tumbling, and then became three of himself...
In late Spring, early Summer last year, I saw the same man. I was looking out my kitchen window, and almost always, something catches my eye. Or somebody - drivers passing by, government-looking types raiding for boxes of paperwork, the lovely V. doing her weekly inspection, et alia. This was in May or June, perhaps, and I saw the juvenile delinquent/altar girl/Infanta Concepcion-get-a-mantilla-I-hear-voices-worse-than-Laura Branigan's Gloria... I remember, clear as day, she had a sullen little attitude and was driving their golf cart around; on the passenger side sat the little man: Caucasian (perhaps luso-brasiliano or Portuguese American by his aspect?), dark haired, afflicted with achondroplasia dwarfism... He seemed to be panicking, gesturing wildly. And surely, the ride looked perilous for him...
I don't know why I mention it. For years I've been treated less than understandably often times when I hear voices, react to people who aren't there, et cetera... I've faced hostility, anger, judgement, cruelty, intimidation from those who more or less would protest they themselves ARE there... But anyway...
I've always wanted to find this little man, because no matter how much of a scalliwag some might think him, I know I'd just want to eat him up like he was a candy bar, EL-OH-EL, as it were...
Whatever, I'm funny in lots of ways: the Sal Mineo/my-house-is-backwards-on-bottoms-land-and-I-wear-hankies-out-my-left-back-pocket funny, as well as odd...
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