Lost in Paradise

I live in a town where I can leave my relatively new iPhone sitting in plain view on an otherwise empty table in a crowded coffee shop and, an hour and a half later when I realize it is gone, I am not worried that anybody has taken it. It did, indeed, go completely unnoticed, or, if noticed, simply ignored.

It occurred to me that this might be more about apathy than core goodness, but I prefer to believe that my town, a town with its fair share of "have-nots" despite its reputation to the contrary, is a small oasis of decency in a world gone so horribly wrong, at least in places that seem far away.

The homeless man who used to wander the streets one town over, back in the day when I lived there, seems to have landed here as well. Usually, I glimpse him from afar, through the distance and slightly grimy fog of my car window. He is bulky, as he always was, I suspect from the layers of clothing he has amassed over the years. On a rare but seasonal ninety degree day last week, I watched him lumber along slowly, wondering how he could survive under all that material in all that heat. I glanced guiltily at my spaghetti straps, and at the air conditioner dial cranked to its highest level. I thought about turning off the air, sweating in solidarity with someone less fortunate than I. I thought about it.

Once, years ago, I passed right by him on the street, close enough to brace my nostrils against the thick odor, close enough to see his smooth, babyish face. I was taken aback by his smooth skin and his soft, clear brown eyes. He seemed so young. I wondered how he ended up where he was, buried beneath layers of discarded clothing, always walking somewhere, in some broad continuous loop. I thought about bringing him a meal, maybe some fresh clothes. I thought about it.

I live in a town where the Starbucks baristas insist I take my coffee on the house when they have unexpectedly run out of my favorite blend. I appreciate their kindness, but I don't find the situation all that tragic. I toss something extra in the tip jar. I live in a town where the lady at the dry cleaners insists upon giving me a discount because the guy ahead of me was so nasty. To her. I make a mental note to visit more often, bring in all my winter sweaters. The ones I don't give to the homeless man.

When I finally made my way back to the coffee shop to collect my iPhone, the guy behind the counter handed it to me, no questions asked. It's that kind of town. A town where things can be left behind and nobody even seems to notice. Things, and people. It's not a bad place to be, I suppose, if you're going to leave something or get left behind, but it might be nice, every once in a while, if someone noticed.