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The car had been sold weeks previously. It was drawing too much attention, there were too many unanswered questions about who he was and what he was doing there. So he downgraded his nice car to a old Nissan, and he downgraded further after he was recognized again.
He got rid of the Nissan. He just walked everywhere. It wasn't as if there was anyone who was going to be able to hurt him. Even though he had the feeling that he was being [i]followed[/i] - or at least closely watched - the creepy-crawlies decided to leave him alone.
He dyed his hair red. He grew a beard, he wore a knit cap tightly over his head, he smudged the bridge of his nose. When he looked in the mirror, he had to admit he strongly looked like someone else.
It wasn't as if he was really roughing it. Like it or not, he still needed the money that came from the cash card, and he still had his real ID. But he had been making several cash withdrawals, squirreling the money away in various places, sending it by post, keeping it hidden on his person. He wanted to make sure that he could make necessity purchases if things got really bad, and that might include building an entirely new identity for himself.
There was, of course, the ring.
He didn't like wearing it, it was too strong a tie to the past, it made him [i]too[/i] findable. That, and its connection to his past was obvious. But even that could be changed with some wax and a fake jewel, and some paint from a Rainbow Person that he met in Alberquerque and who lovingly dolled up the ring for him.
The main problem was what he was supposed to do with his time. There were times when he felt like Job, or maybe like Satan. What did Satan say he was doing when he made that bet with God about Job's future? That he was just "walking the earth"?
There was great freedom from being cut off completely from the past, but it was [i]scary freedom[/i], like being a balloon untethered to any place or person. The balloon could float away into outer space and pop, just die. He could just die and no one would even know he was dead, unless they tried really hard to contact him.
So he settled into his brand new life, a life of [i]nothing[/i]. It wasn't living. It was just existing. It was eating cheap food, reading an old book he might have bought in a used book store on the dingy side of town, walking some more, food at a dive, sleeping in a cheap hotel that took cash and didn't ask many questions.
Dangerous? Oh definitely. There were a few...[i]incidents[/i]. He didn't make a show. He avoided trouble when he possibly could avoid it, and when he couldn't, he took care of business with exactly as much force as would needed to immobilize an opponent while he scrammed. But since no one really cared what happened to him or to his assailants, there was never any follow-up.
And now, he found himself on the West Coast. He had crossed the entire country. He was in Santa Cruz, California, walking along the Boardwalk of an amusement park. If the police decided to roust him, he had money and a story for them. If they decided to take him in - well, there were ways to stop that from happening.
"Do you need help mister?"
The figure turned. It was a teenage guy. He looked Hispanic.
"No," the figure replied. "No, I don't need help. I don't think there's really much you can help me with. Most of my problems are of my own making."
"Well, in that case - [i]let me help[/i]. I don't have much money, but I will help you in any way I can."
Finding a bench near the beach, the figure sat down and the young guy sat down with him. "What's your name?" the figure asked.
"Sam Hernandez," the young man replied. "What's yours?"
He thought of an appropriate answer. "[i]Anthony[/i]." It was partially derived from an anagram of his full name, one he could never get to work.
"Where are you from?" Sam asked.
"The East Coast."
"How are you doing for shelter?"
"I'm in good shape," the figure said. "I'll put it this way. I don't think I'm going to be freezing to death. I'm just trying to keep a low profile now, that's all."
The figure wanted to talk about something else. [i]Anything else[/i]. "I see that figure on your shirt. So what does it mean?" the figure asked. "A third of something?"
He referred to the figure on Sam's shirt. It was a pie chart of some sort.
"No," Sam said. "I will explain. I'm a member of the National Legion."
"Oh, you guys," the figure said sourly. "[i]It figures[/i]. My luck never changes. I am God's buttmonkey."
"Our chapter wanted to have its own logo, like the ribbon logo. I said that one thing that bothers me about the First Chapter was that they came up the Legion mottos. I didn't like the idea of "choosing the future we want" - the National Legion's motto, you know. My father said that he didn't believe in the future. It didn't exist. He said, 'Do it [i]now[/i], because that's the only time that anything gets done. Don't do it in the future. [i]Do it now[/i]."
He continued. "My friend said that we should have a logo that means 'now'. She said that we should do semaphore. The symbol for "N" is two arms pointing downward at 45 degree angles."
"That makes sense," the figure said. "After the peace sign, which is a combination of semaphore for 'N' and 'D'. Nuclear disarmament. The "D" is one arm extended upward and one arm extended down. Combine 'N' and 'D" and you get the wheel of the peace sign."
"How do you know that?" Sam said.
"I learned a few things," the figure said. "That's why your logo looks like a peace sign with the top spoke of the upward prong broken off. You have the 'N' but not the 'D'."
"What do you think?"
"I think it's [i]too abstract[/i]," the figure said. "It doesn't work."
"Yeah," Sam said. "But how do you put 'now' in logo form?"
"Good question, but I would do it a different way," the figure said. "So why did you pick me out of all of these nice people on the Boardwalk?"
"You look young," Sam said. "I didn't think you were an adult. You didn't seem to have any real aim. You're not dressed like a gang-banger. There are some homeless people, and our chapter tries to help them."
"That's a little dangerous."
"We've all been trained by people who know how to do outreach," Sam said. "So I'm being observed and you just don't know it."
"So you're going to save the world one person at a time?"
"I'm not interested in 'saving' anyone. I just want to help."
"I think," the figure said, "that your idealism is [i]really[/i] misplaced. I've seen a lot of shit. Besides, if you knew who I [i]was[/i], you'd be inclined to let me wallow in my own crapulence."
"I don't care about the past, Anthony," Sam said. "I care about [i]now[/i]. I care about if you're hurting [i]now[/i]. The only time is [i]now[/i]."
The figure looked at him. "There really is nothing you can do for me."
"Sometimes talking?" Sam said. "That helps."
"People have got hurt."
"Are you hurting people [i]now[/i]?"
"I don't think so," the figure snorted. "Or if I am, they're not around to complain. By our mutual choice."
"Then," Sam said, "we have something to talk about. Where are you staying?"
"Nowhere in particular," the figure said. "So the time...to talk...is [i]now[/i]."
"All right," Sam said. "You know, I'm just a random dude. I can't tell you how to live your life. I can't tell you what's right or what's wrong. I can't tell you that the future is going to be bright. I can't tell you if you're even going to have a future or not. What I can tell you is that...."
Sam paused. "Maybe I was wrong about the 'now' thing. Maybe the Legion motto is right. Maybe you [i]do[/i] need to [i]choose the future you need.[/i]"
The figure remained silent. Silent for an uncomfortable long time. He looked at his hands. "Anthony?" Sam interrupted.
"I don't know how," was 'Anthony's' response. "But you're right. You're right about a lot of things. The best time is 'now'."
"So you'll let us help you?"
"Sort of," the figure said. "I do have money, even though I don't look like it. But you said that there's a homeless problem here. [i]Tell me about it.[/i]"
(* * *)
The figure walked towards the motel. "I guess I'm [i]Anthony[/i] now," he said. He tried to get used to the idea.
[i]Anthony[/i] knew that one problem the homeless faced - aside from the obvious of having no homes - were those people better called 'drifters', predators that knew that the homeless were a population tailor-made to be victimized. They were robbed, beaten, even raped by the bottom-feeders of society who basically lived to [i]take[/i] from the homeless. The homeless had to beg for money to survive, and so did this drifter-class. They both looked similar and were often confused with each other.
It was complicated. Sam didn't even understand it very well, his National Legion chapter had only been doing homeless outreach for a brief time. Anthony didn't really understand it very well either.
"Well," Anthony sighed. "What better time than now?" He would investigate this problem and he would do what he could do about it.
There was a bit of investigation that he had just concluded. [i]Sometimes[/i], he told himself, [i]there are some problems that can be solved with money. Not many, but some.[/i]
(* * *)
Sam Hernandez's mother called to him. "Sam? Sam!!"
He buttoned up his shirt and ambled into the room, where his mother and two sisters waited. His sisters were chatting about something, and the TV was on.
His mother spoke in Spanish. "<Eat something before you go to school. Oh, and this!>"
She handed him a box. The box was in a plain brown wrapper with the words, "TO SAM" written on it.
"<Were you expecting some present?>" his mother asked.
"<I know who sent that!>" Sam's sister cried. "<It was Kimberly DUUUUUUUD-Ley!>" The other girl squealed in agreeement, Kimmie Dudley being a figure of mutual scorn.
"<Shut up,>" Sam's mom said. "<Sam, open your present in peace.>"
Sam grabbed a Pop-Tart and left the room. He opened the box.
What he found was a box which contained a watch. The watch had two hands - it could tell time - but there were no numbers on the face of the watch. There was only writing along the perimeter of the circle.
THE ONLY TIME
IS NOW
(* * *)
[i]What better place than here?
What better time than now?[/i]
-- Rage Against The Machine, "Guerilla Radio"
He got rid of the Nissan. He just walked everywhere. It wasn't as if there was anyone who was going to be able to hurt him. Even though he had the feeling that he was being [i]followed[/i] - or at least closely watched - the creepy-crawlies decided to leave him alone.
He dyed his hair red. He grew a beard, he wore a knit cap tightly over his head, he smudged the bridge of his nose. When he looked in the mirror, he had to admit he strongly looked like someone else.
It wasn't as if he was really roughing it. Like it or not, he still needed the money that came from the cash card, and he still had his real ID. But he had been making several cash withdrawals, squirreling the money away in various places, sending it by post, keeping it hidden on his person. He wanted to make sure that he could make necessity purchases if things got really bad, and that might include building an entirely new identity for himself.
There was, of course, the ring.
He didn't like wearing it, it was too strong a tie to the past, it made him [i]too[/i] findable. That, and its connection to his past was obvious. But even that could be changed with some wax and a fake jewel, and some paint from a Rainbow Person that he met in Alberquerque and who lovingly dolled up the ring for him.
The main problem was what he was supposed to do with his time. There were times when he felt like Job, or maybe like Satan. What did Satan say he was doing when he made that bet with God about Job's future? That he was just "walking the earth"?
There was great freedom from being cut off completely from the past, but it was [i]scary freedom[/i], like being a balloon untethered to any place or person. The balloon could float away into outer space and pop, just die. He could just die and no one would even know he was dead, unless they tried really hard to contact him.
So he settled into his brand new life, a life of [i]nothing[/i]. It wasn't living. It was just existing. It was eating cheap food, reading an old book he might have bought in a used book store on the dingy side of town, walking some more, food at a dive, sleeping in a cheap hotel that took cash and didn't ask many questions.
Dangerous? Oh definitely. There were a few...[i]incidents[/i]. He didn't make a show. He avoided trouble when he possibly could avoid it, and when he couldn't, he took care of business with exactly as much force as would needed to immobilize an opponent while he scrammed. But since no one really cared what happened to him or to his assailants, there was never any follow-up.
And now, he found himself on the West Coast. He had crossed the entire country. He was in Santa Cruz, California, walking along the Boardwalk of an amusement park. If the police decided to roust him, he had money and a story for them. If they decided to take him in - well, there were ways to stop that from happening.
"Do you need help mister?"
The figure turned. It was a teenage guy. He looked Hispanic.
"No," the figure replied. "No, I don't need help. I don't think there's really much you can help me with. Most of my problems are of my own making."
"Well, in that case - [i]let me help[/i]. I don't have much money, but I will help you in any way I can."
Finding a bench near the beach, the figure sat down and the young guy sat down with him. "What's your name?" the figure asked.
"Sam Hernandez," the young man replied. "What's yours?"
He thought of an appropriate answer. "[i]Anthony[/i]." It was partially derived from an anagram of his full name, one he could never get to work.
"Where are you from?" Sam asked.
"The East Coast."
"How are you doing for shelter?"
"I'm in good shape," the figure said. "I'll put it this way. I don't think I'm going to be freezing to death. I'm just trying to keep a low profile now, that's all."
The figure wanted to talk about something else. [i]Anything else[/i]. "I see that figure on your shirt. So what does it mean?" the figure asked. "A third of something?"
He referred to the figure on Sam's shirt. It was a pie chart of some sort.
"No," Sam said. "I will explain. I'm a member of the National Legion."
"Oh, you guys," the figure said sourly. "[i]It figures[/i]. My luck never changes. I am God's buttmonkey."
"Our chapter wanted to have its own logo, like the ribbon logo. I said that one thing that bothers me about the First Chapter was that they came up the Legion mottos. I didn't like the idea of "choosing the future we want" - the National Legion's motto, you know. My father said that he didn't believe in the future. It didn't exist. He said, 'Do it [i]now[/i], because that's the only time that anything gets done. Don't do it in the future. [i]Do it now[/i]."
He continued. "My friend said that we should have a logo that means 'now'. She said that we should do semaphore. The symbol for "N" is two arms pointing downward at 45 degree angles."
"That makes sense," the figure said. "After the peace sign, which is a combination of semaphore for 'N' and 'D'. Nuclear disarmament. The "D" is one arm extended upward and one arm extended down. Combine 'N' and 'D" and you get the wheel of the peace sign."
"How do you know that?" Sam said.
"I learned a few things," the figure said. "That's why your logo looks like a peace sign with the top spoke of the upward prong broken off. You have the 'N' but not the 'D'."
"What do you think?"
"I think it's [i]too abstract[/i]," the figure said. "It doesn't work."
"Yeah," Sam said. "But how do you put 'now' in logo form?"
"Good question, but I would do it a different way," the figure said. "So why did you pick me out of all of these nice people on the Boardwalk?"
"You look young," Sam said. "I didn't think you were an adult. You didn't seem to have any real aim. You're not dressed like a gang-banger. There are some homeless people, and our chapter tries to help them."
"That's a little dangerous."
"We've all been trained by people who know how to do outreach," Sam said. "So I'm being observed and you just don't know it."
"So you're going to save the world one person at a time?"
"I'm not interested in 'saving' anyone. I just want to help."
"I think," the figure said, "that your idealism is [i]really[/i] misplaced. I've seen a lot of shit. Besides, if you knew who I [i]was[/i], you'd be inclined to let me wallow in my own crapulence."
"I don't care about the past, Anthony," Sam said. "I care about [i]now[/i]. I care about if you're hurting [i]now[/i]. The only time is [i]now[/i]."
The figure looked at him. "There really is nothing you can do for me."
"Sometimes talking?" Sam said. "That helps."
"People have got hurt."
"Are you hurting people [i]now[/i]?"
"I don't think so," the figure snorted. "Or if I am, they're not around to complain. By our mutual choice."
"Then," Sam said, "we have something to talk about. Where are you staying?"
"Nowhere in particular," the figure said. "So the time...to talk...is [i]now[/i]."
"All right," Sam said. "You know, I'm just a random dude. I can't tell you how to live your life. I can't tell you what's right or what's wrong. I can't tell you that the future is going to be bright. I can't tell you if you're even going to have a future or not. What I can tell you is that...."
Sam paused. "Maybe I was wrong about the 'now' thing. Maybe the Legion motto is right. Maybe you [i]do[/i] need to [i]choose the future you need.[/i]"
The figure remained silent. Silent for an uncomfortable long time. He looked at his hands. "Anthony?" Sam interrupted.
"I don't know how," was 'Anthony's' response. "But you're right. You're right about a lot of things. The best time is 'now'."
"So you'll let us help you?"
"Sort of," the figure said. "I do have money, even though I don't look like it. But you said that there's a homeless problem here. [i]Tell me about it.[/i]"
(* * *)
The figure walked towards the motel. "I guess I'm [i]Anthony[/i] now," he said. He tried to get used to the idea.
[i]Anthony[/i] knew that one problem the homeless faced - aside from the obvious of having no homes - were those people better called 'drifters', predators that knew that the homeless were a population tailor-made to be victimized. They were robbed, beaten, even raped by the bottom-feeders of society who basically lived to [i]take[/i] from the homeless. The homeless had to beg for money to survive, and so did this drifter-class. They both looked similar and were often confused with each other.
It was complicated. Sam didn't even understand it very well, his National Legion chapter had only been doing homeless outreach for a brief time. Anthony didn't really understand it very well either.
"Well," Anthony sighed. "What better time than now?" He would investigate this problem and he would do what he could do about it.
There was a bit of investigation that he had just concluded. [i]Sometimes[/i], he told himself, [i]there are some problems that can be solved with money. Not many, but some.[/i]
(* * *)
Sam Hernandez's mother called to him. "Sam? Sam!!"
He buttoned up his shirt and ambled into the room, where his mother and two sisters waited. His sisters were chatting about something, and the TV was on.
His mother spoke in Spanish. "<Eat something before you go to school. Oh, and this!>"
She handed him a box. The box was in a plain brown wrapper with the words, "TO SAM" written on it.
"<Were you expecting some present?>" his mother asked.
"<I know who sent that!>" Sam's sister cried. "<It was Kimberly DUUUUUUUD-Ley!>" The other girl squealed in agreeement, Kimmie Dudley being a figure of mutual scorn.
"<Shut up,>" Sam's mom said. "<Sam, open your present in peace.>"
Sam grabbed a Pop-Tart and left the room. He opened the box.
What he found was a box which contained a watch. The watch had two hands - it could tell time - but there were no numbers on the face of the watch. There was only writing along the perimeter of the circle.
THE ONLY TIME
IS NOW
(* * *)
[i]What better place than here?
What better time than now?[/i]
-- Rage Against The Machine, "Guerilla Radio"
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