Cigarettes, Change

       It was past midnight and he was in downtown San Jose. He was walking down the city street, passing bar after bar and all those who came or who went. He was walking, thinking, and smoking a cigarette. 

A man was sitting on the ground and he looked up and asked him for some change. He looked and smelled homeless. He had a backpack and bicycle beside him.

The man looked down at him and puffed and told him he didn’t have any change. He told him sorry.

No, it’s okay, the homeless man said. He spoke slow, holding the syllables long so that his words blended into one another like dilapidated memories. Like the normal speed of utterance was painful. Like being afraid to rip off a bandage.

It’s okay, he continued. I could really just use some change. Anything really. I just want some food.

Sorry, I don’t have anything. Do you want a cigarette?

The man looked up under a head of curly, hanging black hair and beard of the same color. His eyes were light blue and reflected the streetlights like abalone shells in the sun and his skin looked like sand. Tan, rough, flaky.

Yeah, he said, that’d be great.

He lit the cigarette and handed it to the man and both puffed and breathed and the tobacco crackled together in unison.

You see, said the man, I’m facing a very big decision right now. I have cancer, you see. It’s underneath my jaw. Right below the bone.

He paused. Are you sure you should be smoking?

Oh, it doesn’t matter anymore, he said and puffed. It doesn’t matter. The cancer is already there. You see, I can either get the operation done, use all of my social security money, and sit in a hospital for months and pray it all goes okay. I had a friend, though, you see, who did the same thing. Cancer in his jaw too. From too much chew. But he died. Died nine months later after the operation. He spent nine months sitting in a home, doing nothing, fucking nothing, and then he died. He fucking died.

The man started crying while he talked. His words didn’t break, his crying didn’t interrupt. His words became stronger, clearer like he was pushing the words out as if each were his last. His eyes glazed with tears so that the bags underneath his light-blue pupils glimmered underneath the lights like an oasis.

So what do I do? Do I do the same thing and sit in a hospital and a home and use all of my money and still possibly die? Use it all and just die? Or do I use the money to go travel? To go somewhere I’ve never been and then die? I’ve always wanted to see the Colosseum of Rome. The one where the gladiators fought. But, if I do, I’ll die no matter what. What do I do?

I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.

There’s not really anything you can do. It’s just a decision I have to make.

What’s your name.

Nicki.

Nicki, I’m Matt. I have to go, Nicki, but I wish you the best of luck.

You don’t have any money? I’m really hungry.

If I did, I would have given you some. Good luck, Nicki.

He put his hand on the man’s shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. The man looked back. Good luck, Nicki.

He walks back to Nicki and gives him the five dollars.

Go get some food, says Matt and he walks away.

Nicki looks at the five ones in his hand and gets up and heads to Taco Bell. He walks, feeling his stomach burn, and thinks of Matt and the five dollars of food that he is about to buy.

I’ll have some food now, he thinks. I’ll have some food now and I’ll worry about everything later, tomorrow. I’ll think about all of it tomorrow. I’m just going to eat some food now. A burrito and a taco. No, maybe a couple of tacos and a burrito. No, I’ll see when I get there. It’s going to be good food, really good. I’m so hungry.

He walks into the Taco Bell and feels the money in his pocket and smiles at the menu.