Between The Teeth

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Zero or Hero

Growing up in a small northern town allowed for memorable times with some interesting folks. One fellow, in particular, etched himself into my soul with just a simple gesture. He was the man the whole town called "Zero".

As a child I would see him as my family and I would drive into town. He would often be walking along the bridge in the early morning, a green jacket and hood bundled around him. Where he was going or coming from no one knew.

Some thought he lived under the bridge, the crazy man. I was once told he was a wise and wealthy man in his youth, but he was brutally attacked, his tongue was cut out, and he was left for dead. He survived but with loss of speech and so he became a recluse. Of course as I grew older I realized much of this was hogwash, but curiosity about Zero still plagued my mind, for none really knew anything about him.

Once I started high school I would see him more and more. Sometimes he would be walking the streets carrying on a highly animated conversation in meaningless mono-syllables with an imaginary friend. More frequently I would see him with broom in hand sweeping so hard as if to wish he was sweeping the world away. Shovelling snow, picking up garbage, always in his signature green parka. He never spoke to anyone, but by gesturing with his broom or shovel, he was able to communicate offers to do clean-up work and the local businesses would pay him token amounts to do just that.

After I graduated I got a job working for highways. Early one morning I stopped at the convenience store to grab a coffee. Behind me in the line-up was Zero. Feeling light-hearted that day, I put down my money on the counter. "This is for two coffees ? mine and my friend behind me." I was running late so I just turned and smiled at Zero and quickly left.

Months passed and one afternoon I got together with some friends at the local coffee shop. We grabbed a window seat and there in the parking lot sweeping the world away was Zero. One of my friends commented that he was watching us. Zero suddenly paused from his sweeping and entered the coffee shop. He passed the counter and came straight to our table. Feeling a bit uneasy I smiled at him. He looked at me for a few moments, then nodded his head under the green hooded parka. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a dollar bill, pointed to my coffee and set the money on the table in front of me. Then he left.

One of my girlfriends commented, "See, that’s why they call him Zero." I never told them why he gave me the dollar. Perhaps I didn’t want to share our secret. But from that day forward, when I would pass him on the street, I would look up and smile, and under that green-hooded parka, with twinkling eyes, my friend would smile back.





This piece was on my Mother's blog last year, for those whom didn't have a chance to read it here it is again.

2 Comments:

  • What a moving story! I love it. I'm glad you made that gesture. Probably very few did throughout his life.

    By Blogger Bonnie, at 8:40 AM  

  • Thanks for Wandering by Wandering Willow. So it seems sometimes the smallest of gestures in life, the bigger the impact. Come by again soon.

    Crystal

    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 11:55 PM  

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