It’s definitely a different world living in the tunnel. I’ve had the luxury of sleeping in my car after spending days meeting people. That’s going to change tomorrow night. I’ve decided to get the full experience of tunnel life by seeing what it’s like to spend the night in the open air with no locked doors and no inflatable mattress—just me and my sleeping bag and whatever and whoever is out wandering around at night.
I’m also making this move, in part, because I’ve just gone an entire week without any significant connections with “salvageable” people. I’m not a huge fan of the term, salvageable, because there are actually very few people in the tunnel who aren’t salvageable, but the timing has to be right if they’re going to have any real chance of getting back on their feet. Also, I want to make it clear that, although I haven’t run into any people who are truly ready to get out, there are very few people who aren’t, in some way or another, truly fascinating to me. I think one of the most interesting things about the tunnel is that, while people are still guarded at first, they’re much more likely to take the time to share their entire life’s stories with a perfect stranger because, you know, what have they got to lose, right? Given the dynamic, it makes sense, but I still find it interesting and refreshing, actually.
For example, I want to tell you about Tomas. Tomas was born in Panama and was brought to America as a very young child along with his older brothers and sister. His father had a good job, but it required multiple relocations around the world, so Tomas has lived in a lot of countries throughout his thirty-eight years of life. He’s seen how life works within different cultures, under different governments, under different ideologies, and on four different continents. Fluent in three languages, able to get by in three more, and having witnessed life in some of the poorest and richest nations, the most heterogeneous and homogeneous nations, and among the most and least populous as well, he has chosen to spend his adult life smoking mind-altering chemicals near a freeway overpass in the United States.
He spoke eloquently and intelligently about the state of the nation and the world. He knew far more about South America, Europe, and Asia than I know about the U.S. He spoke of gentrification and the pros and cons of social housing systems. He knew about GMO’s and GDP’s and has friends in the IDF. He’s read Tolstoy and C.S. Lewis, Bible twice, Quran once, but prefers the Vedas for their simplicity.
“How did you end up here?” I asked.
“You ever see that movie, A Few Good Men?” he asked in return.
“Yeah.”
“That dude was right—I can’t handle the truth.”
It was a well-practiced cop out, but I let him have it.
I nodded and smiled, thinking of my old buddy, Gamburg. “I guess ignorance truly is bliss. Still, I find it’s just as easy to loathe the world from a warm bad as from this dust and sand.”
He retorted, “I may be dirty, but I’m not a hypocrite.”
“True,” I said, “and it may make me a hypocrite but I have an appreciation for the ability to make my poo go away by flushing it.”
He nodded and smiled this time, “I can see that.” He tapped his head, “But there’s only one type of flush that can make this kind of poo go away.”
Leaving him, I felt like I’d just watched what was meant to be a brilliant fireworks display, but at noon.
Thursday (yesterday), I also met Stephanie and her dog, Ambrosius—named after the fearless mutt-steed from Labyrinth (I love that movie!). Stephanie is a licensed beautician and a trained stenographer. She could easily find work in ten minutes in any city in America, but instead can be found holding a piece of cardboard on a street corner in the early evening, or passed out under a shade tree in the afternoon with her husband, “Crew-Too,” whose unique rapping skills should be making them a fortune “…any day now.”
Mr. and Mrs. Too have been smoking meth and/or fentanyl and living on the street for almost seven years now, “since 2012,” Crew explained. Neither of them had any idea who Joe Biden was. They looked at each other crookedly when I revealed the year is now 2024. There were tears in Stephanie’s eyes, and fear in Crew’s. This looked like the best possible moment to press the issue, so I asked them if they remembered their wedding vows. They did. Listening, it was gut-wrenching and heart-rendering at the same time. I asked them if they would like to renew their vows—different vows, and they agreed, so I winged it. They sat on what appeared to be their only possession beyond their clothes—a twin size black comforter—spread out over dirt, comfortably under a small tree. I kneeled (simply because I despise the word, knelt).
“Take each other’s hands, please, and repeat after me,” I said. They giggled and played along, repeating my words:
“My darling, my sweetheart, the love of my life…
“I am eternally grateful to you…
“for always being by my side…
“these past seven to twelve years.
“and I don’t give a shit…
“if I do it with or without you…
“but it’s time to make a change.
“I pray that you will remain by my side…
“along the next leg of my life’s journey…
“but I absolutely refuse to spend…
“another dollar on drugs…
“or another night in the tunnel.
“I vow to always be with you…
“as long as you choose to come with me…
“on my journey toward a better life…
“bound by our love…
“and freed from the bondage of addiction…
“and my hands will always be in yours.”
Ok, I admit, it didn’t come out quite that smoothly underneath the tree, but it was pretty close to that, and they shared a kiss to perfect it anyway. Then we stood up. They knew exactly where to go to find the help they needed, and they walked, arm-in-arm, down the street. Until… they got across the bridge. They veered off the sidewalk and toward the group of zombies milling around on the far side of the river. A beautiful moment lost in a lifetime of bad decisions, like two beautiful people lost in a crowd. Still at each other’s side, it was a wonderful thing to see, and an easy thing to wonder, where they each would be, if only they didn’t have each other.
Is there a moral to this story? Perhaps. It seems obvious to me, but you can decide that on your own. Whatever the lesson is to be learned, it’s certain to me that there is an untapped wealth of love, knowledge, and talent reduced within lifestyles of troglodytes—would-be winners living life like trolls beneath bridges. Oh well, maybe next week I’ll find another diamond in the rough.