Edmund.

I've been back in Chico for a month now, and have taken some time to be quiet and reflect on everything that I saw and experienced during my month on the road. I've rested, adjusted to life in a new house with new roommates, a new job at a wine shop, and a new schedule that for the first time in many years does not include homework, major deadlines, or term papers. Its been a strange, somber month.

One thing has been interrupting my quietude, however, and that is a man who pushes a shopping cart down the gravel alley next to my bedroom windows early in the morning, rifles through recycling bins, and screams Tourettes-like obscenities at an indecent hour. In the house we joke about him sometimes, imitate his yells, bitch about the rude awakenings. But he's quite an efficient recycling system, and is one of many cogs in the wheel of Chico standard transients. For such a small town, there are an outlandish number of homeless and broken-down people here. Maybe the park and general liberal aura of the place make for an ideal location to be without a permanent residence? Jobs are very hard to find in Chico, given the college student population and seasonal influx of business. I don't know, these are rambling thoughts about a growing epidemic that I've been watching unfold in Chico over the last decade or so. The point is, today it got to me.

I saw Tourettes-Man shuffling with his cart down the street, and recognized him instantly. He's huge, a hulk of a man, and always wears the same dark dingy gray jacket, torn green sweater, shabby white-ish shoes, and ripped charcoal pants. His hair is a mess, in his face, which is red, and today I was close enough (through my window) to notice that his hands were huge and ragged looking, gloves nowhere in sight, knuckles raw from digging through recycling and being consistently subjected to the cold. And speaking of cold, today it is downright chilly in Chico. A bad day to be homeless, a rough week to make a living by collecting cans outside. Its Sunday. Day of rest. Day of football, or reading, or family. Not day of scrounging empty PBR cans for pennies.

As I watched him push his cart slowly down the block, heading toward another alleyway, I realized that he wasn't screaming obscenities, and he wasn't growling. His cart wasn't even that full. And this feeling of sadness took over, uncontrollably, and I thought back to my first blog post here, about the woman named Karen in Berkeley who had inspired me to write for the first time, who stayed in my mind throughout my entire roadtrip, who forced me to realize how unbalanced and unfair life can be, yet how being grateful for the small things can make a huge difference. And without thinking I ran outside and followed the hulk in gray down the block and into an alley.

I probably wasn't thinking clearly, but it all happened anyway. I came up behind him and said, "Excuse me..."

He turned around, and to my surprise his face was younger than I thought it would be. I half-expected him to either yell at me or ignore me, maybe to abandon cart and run, or to attack me.... and he looked at me with clear eyes above swollen red cheeks, and said, "Yeah?"

I took off my scarf, a bright red wool plaid number, folded it up, and said, "I don't have much, but I saw you walking, and its cold out here." Great first line Chrisanna, real intelligent. Pretty sure he knows its cold out. I of course followed it up with some more blabber. "Plus everybody needs something bright and red. Here."

I shoved my scarf in his big hands, he stared at it, then said softly, "Thanks, I appreciate it." Thats it. No yelling. No obscenities. I turned around and walked away. I got three steps before the same urge that had come over me with Karen came over me again, and I couldn't leave well enough alone. "Whats your name?"

"Uh... Edmund."

He had to pause and think about it. Not that he was making it up, but I'd be willing to bet that nobody had asked him that in a very long time. He didn't ask my name, but I offered it anyway.

"I'm Chrisanna, I live down the street, and I see you around a lot. I just thought... that I'd say hello. And... I hope the scarf works for you. Have a nice day, Edmund."

I walked away toward the end of the alley, and tears started forming in my eyes. The look on his face while he searched his brain for his name and held my soft plaid scarf in his giant hands was killing me. As I rounded the corner I looked back, and Edmund was wrapping my scarf around his neck very carefully. It looked so incongruous with his gray and green ensemble that I had to smile. It never looked that good on me.