In his youth he had enjoyed walking the big city streets and engaging with strangers. He would find a place to sit comfortably, enjoy a cigarette, and people watch. Quickly he learned that much was to be gleaned by observing people in their daily movements. His motivations were quite simple: he wanted to gain insights and understanding, observe attractive women in motion, and ease the angst he felt when trapped in his roach infested apartment. After a few hours of dedicated observation he would return to his desk, spin paper into his typewriter, and allow his imagination to run wild. All the mysteries of the human condition, his wild and sordid thoughts tumbling and fermenting, the strange voices in his head taunting and debating, primal carnal urges consuming and confusing- they were all parts of a puzzle he sought to define, re-assemble, and make peace with.
He’d been hearing about the happy ones ever since he was a child, but was unclear who they were. He’d also heard the word love bandied about regularly, but didn’t have a clue what all the hoopla was about. Was he simply a blank slate, and that by association with others and the right life style he would be like them and laugh and smile and know love. But for now he had to probe the nuts and bolts of his place in the cosmos, draw inferences, then construct in his head a workable architecture for surviving the urban chaos. It was clear to him that city folk weren’t like country folk, whom he felt more kinship with. The streets of the big city swarmed with predators, idealogues, religious fanatics, lunatics, and every other example of sapien. He sensed fear, confusion, and danger around him as he observed the spectacle flowing past him. He also knew that the fee for yearnings fulfilled was a steep one. “Like A Mule, A Muse Don’t Come Easy” was one of his many mantras and touchstones.
On occasion he was treated to an intimate and often times spirited interaction, when without warning he would find himself face to face with someone wanting to engage. One of his earliest memorable encounters occurred when he was 18 years old. Two young Christian evangelists stood before him just as he was lighting a smoke, and the taller of the two asked, “Have you been saved?”
”I’m not sure I understand. Saved from what?” he responded, surprised by the question.
“Are you born again and believe Jesus saved you by dying on the cross?” the shorter of the two asked. He wasn’t sure how to respond. The evangelists had an expectant aire about them, yet he honestly didn’t know the answer.
Just the day before he’d had a curious epiphany wherein, while pondering man’s history and the truthfulness of the historical record, he’d ruminated briefly on the stories he’d heard about Jesus, and the huge influence he’d had in history. It struck him as absurd, all the talk of miracles, gods, spirits, fire and brimstone. A faint voice in his head had said to him, while he was deep in thought, ‘That’s not how it really happened.’
“You mean that if I believe, it’s real?” he finally responded, still confused by their question. “You must believe in Jesus or you’ll end up in hell. It’s in the Bible. And you have to be saved or you’ll suffer damnation,” they chimed in unison, starry-eyed and enthusiastic in their mission.
“So if I believe it then I’m in good with god?” he asked, incredulous at the absurdity of the concept.
“Yes! You’ve already been forgiven. Jesus forgave you thousands of years ago. He wants you to know that each and every day you’re forgiven instantly for everything! But you have to believe! It’s great, isn’t it? Repeat after us, I believe… I believe… I believe in…”
He repeated their words and they finally walked off, both of them beaming and proud of their successful mission. As he sat there he recalled the old saw, ‘I think therefore I am’.
He also found himself humming ”I’m A Believer”, a popular song by the Monkees. He spent hours analyzing the bizarre exchange and formulating theories and possible insights.
One memorable spring morning he sat outside a cafe sipping dark brew and savoring his cigarette, when suddenly a voice next to him jarred his contemplations with, “Your smoke bothers me. Would it be too much to ask you to not smoke. I’m having trouble breathing!”
He looked over and was disoriented. The voice didn’t match the body standing next to him. He responded, “This is a designated smoker’s refuge Ma’am.”
“What did you just say? Did you say Ma’am?” she responded, with attitude in her tone. “You’re really a man?” he replied, perplexed by the figure before him.
“I identify as neither, and I asked you not to smoke!” she said indignantly and walked away snifflingly upset. The intricacies of that encounter were grist for hours of contemplation and amusement.
It dawned on him that these street encounters were mostly rewarding and inspiring, and set his creative impulses on sharp edge. There was the comic element, yet at the same time sadness when he was around the humblest of the characters he interacted with. It wasn’t lost on him that most passersby ignored him and the less fortunate folks around him. He observed that people would avert their eyes immediately after making a quick value and threat assessment. At least he wasn’t begging for handouts. He was begging for inspiration and understanding.
Scanning the streetscape he had to exercise restraint when observing desirable women passing by. On one occasion he was called out by an attractively built officeworker who walked past him, spun on her heels, and stared him down until he finally broke and said, “Do we know each other? Have we met before?”
“You were looking at me! You don’t have that right! You’re not allowed to look at me the way you looked at me!” she shrieked.
After a short pause he responded, ”I’m a writer. I people watch.”
“You raped me with your eyes! I felt it! Besides being cruel and monstrous, it’s against the law,” she shouted, her face a mask of hurt and anger. “You were looking at my breasts. I’ll bet you write porn, right?”
“Actually sweetheart, I write romance stories and love songs and promise I won’t include you in any of them,” he replied, warming to the ebb and flow of their interaction.
“So what you’re saying is I didn’t pass the audition,” she accused him. “And I’m not your sweetheart! Only in your dreams! You raped me in your mind and now you cast me aside with no thought to my feelings. How does that make you feel, writer guy?”
“If you’ll calm down I promise to include you in my next romance novella. Deal?” he said to her as he lit another cigarette.
“Seriously?” she asked while blushing and revealing a near imperceptable micro-grin. “I promise,” he said earnestly, delighted that they’d found happy resolution to their relationship issues. She found a girlish grin in her and went on her way.
Possibly the weirdest encounter he’d had was with a muscularly built, garishly tattooed, industrially pierced entity of unclear gender, who sat beside him and asked, “Spare a smoke, bro?”
“Of course!” he replied as he handed one over and then lit it with his cigarette. “How’s it goin today?”
“Could be better. My check didn’t come this week, so I’m out of funds. I qualify as disabled. It’s a crime that you can’t trust the government to be on time,” his new friend complained.
“It’s all going to hell, isn’t it?” he responded, almost certain of where this conversation was going, but still wondering if he was talking with a man or a woman. “You can’t work, so what’s your story?”
“I identify as and present as an alien lifeform. I can’t work cause I have to be ready to board when the mothership returns, and I don’t want to leave employers in the lurch. So I let the man pick up the tab. Seems the kind thing to do. There’s lots of us here you know. We don’t know why we’re here, but we know that it’s important for us to be here among you,” the alien lifeform stated, drawing on the fag dangling from it’s lips. “Free meds too! Medicaid paid for my hormone shots and equipment mods! I can go either way now, no problema.
Can you help me out so I can eat tonight?”
”I’m tapped out man,” he answered, by now weary of the encounter.
”I’m tired of people who aren’t generous and don’t live like Jesus did dude. We’re all in this together. We’re one big family and we need to look out for each other. Spare a couple of smokes at least?” His eyes flitted side to side as the street traffic churned around them.
“You’re straight-up man, here’s a couple fags for you. Nice chatting with you. You know your ship’s coming soon!” he assured his new friend as they parted ways.
The idea of belief as an important mystical concept tormented him as he rose and sauntered off to his typewriter and blank sheet of paper.
CP Butchvarov
2023
Copyright © 2023 by CP Butchvarov