Cadillac said to me, “it could be this step, or that step, or that step.” With each phrase he pointed to a new place on the concrete I could move to, which could be the very last step of my life. His tiny eyes sunk way into his skull, so you really had to stare into them to see his love. His skin was rough and dark, like an animals and his beard was white and frazzled. A bloody gash was present above his right eyebrow. He said that some people had “beat the shit” out of him in Oakland and stolen all of his stuff. I don’t know when this was, but by the time I had met him he had a full basket of new possessions. He had a blanket, a bible, a watch, some clothes and some alcoholic drink to keep him happy. His purple bloated lips would spit and drool the alcohol when he spoke. He cried three times as I stood their on the side of Laurel St., outside of an abandoned building, cars driving by, listening to him talk about his love for God.
He told me that I was being given a warning from God, that I had until midnight to repent for all the wrongdoings I’ve done in my life. He knew. He had seen it before and had been warned himself in the year 1971 in Seattle. I don’t remember exactly how the conversation had started. I was walking back to the apartment I was staying at after working on some homework, and he said something to me. He was a poor man hunched over, dirty and lonely. I could barely understand it when he spoke. His voice sounded like years of abuse and time spent neglected by society. He wanted to tell me a story about Apostle Paul, and then of John, and then he became prophetic. He told me he knew me. He told me I didn’t know love. I wasn’t going to give him a bed, I wasn’t going to give him food and take care of him. I didn’t love him. Maybe he was right. If I knew love, I would of taken him home right then and there. He told me I would burn in hell, and that if I didn’t give myself to God at midnight then I would never see the light of day.
I told him how beautiful he was, and how I appreciated what he was giving me. I left eventually, and later that night as I sat outside the apartment locked out, I prayed to God, and I apologized with my head in my hands for trying to be big, to be important, for trying to gain pleasure. I fell in love then.
I think back on that conversation with Cadillac and there were two other men there. While Cadillac was talking to me about Apostle Paul a man came by eating a slim jim. He was about twenty five maybe with a shaved head. I explained to him the story Cadillac was telling to get him up to speed, and Cadillac began speaking again. As Cadillac spoke the man left saying, “I can’t understand you crazy old man.” Cadillac called to him, asking why he wouldn’t like to hear his story, but the other man took this as an offense, and started to ask if Cadillac wanted to fight. “You wanna start something, I fucking hate religion.” The man was Irish, and I guess felt disrespected and unloved by society and felt the need to defend himself with anger at any chance. He was a funny man.
He left, and then later another man came over to speak to us. Cadillac told him that he was telling a story about Apostle Paul and the man got very offended. He said that he did not need anyone telling him how to live his life. He then got up in my face, “I am fifty years old, I do not need you to disrespect me, I draw the line. If you don’t respect me then you can fight me. I raised my kids, no one else, I raised them. I have a daughter who is going to get married.” I congratulated the man for his daughters marriage. He like the man previously made his own claim on how no one should not cross him, or else, then put his headphones on and went on.
So much was said in that hour, about the homeless, about race, identity, life, class and interpersonal relationships. It showed me how love nullified all the conflict that arose and how no ones voice should ever be denied.
