January 03, 2006
New Year Blues
January 1st, 2006. 
It was pissing down rain, and I just realized that I had to go to the grocery store to get some stuff for dinner. Great timing. Happy fucking New Year's.
So I meandered back to the bedroom and threw on a pair of slacks, a slightly rumpled white t-shirt, and my trusty trenchcoat. It's a drab-looking gray piece of shit, Goodwill special for $20. The side pockets burst out of it within the second day and I haven't bothered to fix them yet. Mind you, I bought this coat 3 years ago, a little while after I moved to LA. I bought it while stuck in a rainstorm. How coincidental.
Making my way back to the living room, I removed my iAudio from its umbilical cord (USB cord, thanks), kissed the girlfriend on the cheek, grabbed a handful of DVDs that needed returning, and stepped out into the rain. I punched the play button. "The Have-Nots" by X queued up.
Rain spattered all around me as I descended the stairway. The sidewalk and gutters were littered with the remnants of New Year's Eve, broken bottles and beer cans all dulled underneath the gloomy gray sky. The streets were surprisingly active for it being such a shitty day, cars hissed back and forth, gliding over the asphalt like snakes in a pit, one precarious turn away from an orgy of crunching metal. plastic, and broken glass.
I made my way down the watery sidewalk, navigating the occasional puddle and managing to cross the street without getting plowed into by some jackass. I passed soaked alleyways, dilapidated apartment complexes with Mexican children playing in the rain in the courtyard, the odd BMW passing here and there. It’s funny how this neighborhood has it all. You can go from one extreme to the next within six blocks. 
The shopping center that I usually go to for videos is a god-awful shade of pink. It’s actually quite horrid. Stands out like a thumb that’s been smashed to pulp with a tack hammer. Due to its unnatural color, I’ve dubbed it the Pepto-Bismol Shopping Center. But I digress. 
A group of transients hung out under an awning next to the video dump as I passed by and dropped off the DVDs. A bearded guy with long, greasy hair waved as I approached, a cup of coffee in his other hand. “Hey, man, how’s it going?” I nodded back and replied “Not too bad, fellas, how about yourselves?” “Pretty good, just trying to stay dry.” I pointedly looked down at my soaked clothing and said, “You know, I think you’ve got the right idea.” They all chuckled as I dumped the DVDs into the chute. “Take it easy, guys.” A balding guy with a ratty leather jacket and a cigarette dangling from his mouth grunted an affable “You too, man. Don’t get sick, alright?” I grinned and thanked him for the concern and turned back to face the weather once more. I wished I had brought a fucking umbrella. I wished I had brought that stupid umbrella for three more blocks. As I neared the grocery store, I saw something on the ground in front of a Goodwill store. I couldn’t really make out what it was due to the rain, but as I neared I could make out bits and pieces. A dirty gray blanket. Brown skin. And an unmistakable shade of red on the concrete around him. 
What the fuck? I walked a little bit faster. As I got closer, I realized just what was going on. A guy was lying on the ground, bleeding from the head. Was he just beaten? Stabbed? Shot? Struck by a car? All of these questions echoed in my mind as I took into account the fact that people have played possum before only to mug their would-be saviors. I took a good, long look at him as I passed. The man lay on the concrete all bug-eyed and restless. If he was trying to sleep, the blood that he was coated in was probably making it a little inconvenient. After a few seconds of deliberation, I did what I hoped was the right thing. I cracked open my cell phone and dialed a number. “Hello, Officer <blahblahblah>, West Los Angeles Division.”
“Hi. I wasn’t sure what number to call, but I need to report an injury.”
“Okay…”
“There’s a man lying on the corner of <blahblahblah> and <blahblahblah>, in front of a thrift store Center. He’s bleeding.”
“Okay, is he white, black, Hispanic, Asian…”
“Hispanic, from what I can tell.”
“Okay, about how old?”
“I’d say late thirties, forties.”
“Alright. Does he look like a transient?”
“Yeah, from what I can tell.”
“Can you tell where he’s actually bleeding from?”
“I’m not sure. I think it’s the head, but honestly it’s all over the place. I don’t really know.”
“Okay, sir, and you said this was <blahblahblah> and <blahblahblah> in front of the thrift store?”
“Yes sir.”
“Alright, sir, we’ll have someone down there in a few minutes.” I looked back hesitantly at the man rolling about on the ground, and headed towards the grocery store. ‘I called’, I thought to myself. ‘That’s all that matters, is that they get him some help. Even if they dump him in County, that’s a lot better than him being out here in the pouring rain, bleeding to death…right?’ I guess I should have had them send paramedics to check on my bleeding heart, too. Either way, the guy didn’t deserve to die in front of a charity store on the first day of 2006. I entered the parking lot to the grocery store, serenaded by the wail of sirens. There’s nothing slow about these guys, that’s for sure. I reached back into my ass pocket for my wallet, a knee-jerk reaction of mine since I’ve forgotten it many times before, and I grabbed nothing but fabric. Fuck. Now I had to go back. I headed back towards the streetcorner as a fire engine and an ambulance blared through the intersection. A couple of firemen leapt from the truck and helped the guy sit up. A few passers-by rubbernecked as they ran through the standard questioning.
“Sir, are you okay?” The man shook his head.
“Hablas espanol?” asked one firefighter. The man nodded.
“Como te llama?” The man responded as they sponged the blood from his face and hands. “Cuantos anos tiene usted?”
“Cuarenta y seis.”
“Tiene identificacion?”
“No, no tengo nada….” was all I heard as I headed back to the apartment. My work there was done. My New Year's resolution? Don't forget your fucking wallet. You never know when you'll need identification.
Posted by Jake at January 3, 2006 12:26 AM
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