Bus Story: Dave

Wednesday I ran into Dave, the homeless guy who camps out at the Galleria bus stop. He was just getting situated on the bench when I passed him on my way to watch the Krav Maga class workout which is what I do when I like to feel more active, but not actually break a sweat.

Dave brightened a bit when I walked by because every now and again I will toss him a quick hello or leave him my leftovers. But this time I turned back and asked him how he was. 

He held out his hand to me and, after a fraction of a second noting that we were on a well-lit street with plenty of other people around, I reached back and took it. It was softer than I expected for a hand hardened with callouses.

He pulled me in to him and at first, I will admit, I thought we were headed for something uncomfortable and I would have to set him straight, but Dave has trouble speaking. His mouth is partially paralyzed so his voice comes out haltingly in a slurred rasp and he was pulling me closer so I could hear him.

"I'm lonely," he said. His tone was surprisingly empty of innuendo. This wasn't a come on. Dave wasn't making a play. And at that moment I realized that Dave mostly goes ignored by people who pass him by day in and day out just like I was about to do and wanted to talk to someone for a few minutes. 

I could see my next bus coming down the street and other riders were gathering to line up, but it was far enough away for me to ask him where he went on the days I saw him get on the bus to Westwood.

"Oh, I just go over there for a change of scenery." We talked about what a nice, warm night it was (one of our last encounters it had been raining and Dave had struggled to get a plastic trash bag over his head because he can't lift one of his arms up so I had helped him get his limbs through.) "Where are you ending up tonight?" I asked him.

"Here and there," he smiled waving his hand around. "But probably here." He was making a joke and it landed.

"Good plan," I told him.