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A cold icy morning in Chicago. That whim to not take the train for once. To walk, to break some pattern if even in such a meek tiny way. It brought me to him. Six in the morning and he was fused to a lamp post with ice, his mouth open like words were going to tumble out in cold brief clouds. His eyes were open like he was still waiting for a ride that didn’t come.
His arm and torso had fused to the pole with ice. His hands below the street sign made me think of hamburger,turkey, chicken wrapped in plastic, what my dinners might look like back in the slaughterhouse freezers, flesh and ice. My stomach churned in a little ugly flutter.
Those horrible pits that had once been his eyes; they were like sinkholes in the street, just iced over. I wanted to shake it, this stupid frozen meat, this corpse, wake it up to beg it to explain what he had been thinking. I couldn’t get away.
I looked closer and saw more little horrors. His eyes were open sewers, his nose hairs were iced over like the feelers of a crab emerging from the shell, his eyebrows were melting ice in drops dripping across those open expressionless brown eyes in horrid little rivers toward his open mouth. I knew I would soon be running late. I just couldn’t help but stare, couldn’t pull away. You could almost see a thought, some faceless, lost thought trapped in that frozen piece of meat.
In a crazy impulse I put my hand in his coat pocket. There was a bundle, I could feel paper and rubber bands. An image of needles: I yanked my hand out. His coat pocket tore clean off, weakened in ice, the little worthless rectangle of fabric falling to the ground with a key, some bits of metal,what appeared to be a button. It was a rush. I have to admit it. It felt like when I stole a box of ice cream bars from the market as a kid bored over the summer. That strange thrill and fear.
There was something clenched in his dead iced right hand. It was melting tiny drops. In a crazy impulse I pulled them from his hand. No one was around. The ice cracked off in little pieces. It was a bundle in rubber bands. A pile of burger wrappers, those cardboard coffee cup temperature protectors, cereal box tops, candy bar wrappers. Junk. Refuse.
There was writing on them. Smeary pencils and pens of different dull colors and fades. I looked at the old cardboard of a really old burger container and in blue ball point was:
1.Shoes
2.Jacket
3.Hair
4.Pants
((((plan))))
.got it
It made no sense. He was simply insane. Yes, that was probably it. I took the little bundles anyway. Artifacts of a bored curiosity, what the hell. I put them in my backpack that I brought instead of a briefcase for the walk next to some papers. Whatever. I put it back in the rubber bands and away. As I rushed off as fast as possible to catch up some lost time I only looked back just once. As I moved away he grew smaller and smaller to me, big black shoes becoming ant sized dots, the whole corner just a bit of texture along a single street, a stain in the snow.
I came to work thirty minutes late and it was those minutes at the random corner with the frozen man, I carried those thirty minute throughout the day. Everything was one beat off.
