The Man of the Day

I’ve watched him for several weeks now and he’s there on all but the stormiest of days. He sits under a tree on a straight-back wooden chair with an unpainted table beside him, with only about 15′ between him and the road. Sometimes he’s fanning himself and other times when it’s especially humid, you can see him wiping his brow and neck with a clean, white handkerchief. His house sits just behind him, listing a bit to the left and its’ doors and windows wide open to the world, the heat and the flies. It couldn’t be much bigger than 500 square feet or so.

When I first began to notice him, I assumed he was without electricity due to the hurricane and that he was finding relief from the heat outside and hoping for a breeze. But electrical lines in his vicinity have long been operating and now I’m wondering if he even has electricity. I’ve never driven by in the dark, so I don’t know.

I felt sorry for him at first, this poor man with no screens on the windows or door, no air-conditioning and maybe no electricity. I knew he must be lonely and bored and wished I could help him somehow. But now that I’ve gotten to know him in this unusual voyeuristic manner, I see that his life consists of much more than I originally thought. Some days when I go by, there will be a truck pulled up in front and animated conversation going on between he and the driver. Other times I have seen a couple of boys sitting on the ground leaning up against the tree and talking with him. The other day the old table was loaded down with turnip greens all neatly bundled and laid out. I’ve seen no evidence of a garden, but it makes sense he would have one – maybe somewhere out behind the old house. I’ll keep watch to see what else is put out there on display and maybe one day stop to buy some vegetables and strike up a conversation.

I’ve been wondering why I felt sorry for him. Was it because he didn’t have an air conditioner? I lived in this part of the world growing up and no one I knew had an air conditioner then. Maybe it was because he didn’t have screens on his door and windows. My grandparents had no screens on their windows and so they only opened them after dark, when the flies weren’t active and the mosquitoes had called it a night. They did have an old screen door on the back porch, but it still let enough flies in to make us all pros at fly swatting.

Maybe I felt sorry for him because he didn’t have anything to do but sit in that chair. But it seems as if he has friends because people stop by to visit with him. If he’s selling greens then he either has a garden of his own or access to one. He enjoys a cool breeze because he’s still and can feel it. I wonder if he’s out early enough to see the sunrise or late enough to see it set. My guess would be that he is. I think how wonderful it would be to experience a day in its totality from daybreak to sunset, the cool dampness of the morning, the humid heat of midday and the cool breeze in the early evening.

He must be familiar with all the birds that live in the trees around him and I would bet they have no fear of him. He knows their calls and when and where they migrate. He probably watches the kids pass by going to and from the school bus and smiles at how they’ve grown over the summer. It would be hard for a rain shower or storm to take him by surprise, as he can easily watch the storm clouds gather and feels the changes in the atmosphere.

I wonder if he’s become familiar with the cars that pass by every day and knows who’s going to work and what time they’ll return from the opposite direction. Has he noticed my car with enough regularity to decide I live around here? I wonder if he even thinks about these things.

I’ll keep watching his piece of the world and spend more time supposing what his life is about, but I don’t think I’ll be feeling sorry for him anymore. Why would I when he is experiencing everything we’ve been given to enjoy. The beautiful outdoors, the sky, the sun and the moon. The birds and their songs, the people going to and fro busy with their lives. The first kiss of a cooling breeze and the shyness of the first baby raindrops as they gather force. He gets to follow a butterfly’s dance and watch the iridescent bodies of the dragonflies as they play in the sun. When he goes to bed at night he knows he has been at one with his day, has shared in its birth, all its beauty, all of its extremes and seen it to completion.

His life seems to be a simple one and a rich one in many ways. No, I don’t believe I feel sorry for him any more.