Average Joel
Pete Armetta

Joel stood in the street waiting, feet shuffling. He noticed how clean this street was, much more than the streets were when he was growing up. Back then trash littered everything. At least that's how he remembers it. But that was in the 1970s, a LONG time ago. When throwing a McDonalds bag out the car window wasn't considered offensive.
That was all just a dream to him now.
He heard the screen door of the little cape cod cookie-cutter house creak open. Nice little fence, manicured lawn, the American dream here really. The lady motioned him to ‘come here’ with her finger. Joel put one foot in front of the other and walked up to the lady, smiling at her tentatively. She didn't really notice though, as she was preoccupied with her busyness. She led him into to the kitchen and indicated her husband, who was sitting down at the dining room table playing with some new device. He just grunted and nodded but didn't pay attention. Whatever was happening in the device was more important it seemed.
Why should he acknowledge Joel anyway? These people were never going to see him again. He’s just hired help here.
The lady was enthusiastically telling Joel lots of things about her plans for the house: new cabinets in the kitchen, water sealing the outdoor deck and sprucing things up in general. Joel was nodding politely in return, being civil and respectful as he usually was. One thing could be said about Joel. He never ruffled any feathers. Well not anymore. He learned a long time ago there were consequences for speaking his mind. That telling people how he really felt never ended well for him.
More than likely he wouldn't be in this situation today if he'd just kept his mouth shut all these years.
Joel followed the lady up the steps, with her still explaining her "things", and she was certainly excited and pleased with her happenings. "This is the room we want you to paint, can you do it?" she asked. He looked around at the room. There was a desk with shoeboxes full of something on it and under it, a twin bed, a bureau stuffed with so much clothing that the drawers couldn’t shut, and an assortment of other clutter askew. Clutter of the type that grows when people stay in one place too long. Joel didn't have clutter anymore.
The lady watched as he surveyed the room. He said, “Sure I can do it. I'll move everything to the center here and cover it with a sheet."
"Those are my antique photographs in the shoe boxes there. I collect them.”
He smiled. “Oh that’s nice. Yes, I’ll be careful with everything and it'll look nice for you when I'm done. I'll be real neat and thorough."
"So how much will you charge?”
Joel looked at her. “Well for this? 125 dollars.”
“Oh my,” she giggled. "That's very reasonable, I'd be willing to pay you more.”
“Well you can tip me if you want," Joel said. He was charming her, and they both laughed. Joel always knew how to turn on the charm.
"Can you start right away?” the lady asked. “I have company coming this weekend and it would be really nice if this room was ready by then.”
Joel told her he'd be back on Thursday, and this suited her fine. The lady was already halfway down the steps talking on her cell phone, and Joel followed her down.
She’d disappeared into the kitchen and when she came back out looked at Joel curiously. “Is there something else Joel?” she asked.
“Uh no, nothing else m’am. I'll see you on Thursday. Have a good rest of your day."
Joel started down the middle of the street. It was a pretty day, warm but dry. Joel walked a lot, and didn't mind it one bit. The way he saw it, it was one of the main things keeping him alive. As he built up his pace back toward the river, he started thinking about how much things had changed. These people were nice, he thought, but they don’t know anything about me, my experiences. Why should they want to know anyway? Things were so different back then when he hired his OWN people to paint HIS house. This was before Joel finally cracked, before everything went south. Before he lost everything, and everything he believed in. Before he found God, who he only found because he had no choice. God was the only one left. He just wished that he’d “maintained” everything like everyone else seemed to. Everyone clutching to what they had and what they believed in. The one time that Joel really did need help, and asked for it too, no one was there. Even though for so long he’d been there for many. People talked about Karma, or the Law of Reciprocity, but they really didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.
He walked under the bridge into the woods to the river. The usual gang was there, drinking their moonshine and just killing time in the shade. He saw Leonard, the one that he liked. He pulled him aside and took out a five spot, and pressed it into his hand. Leonard took it and looked at Joel, wondering. Joel said “I have a job coming up, so this is for you, Leonard. ” Leonard forced a smile, his wrinkled and tired face crinkling up. He offered Joel the bottle, which he refused.
He said goodbye to the guys, and started down the trail to where he’d been sleeping, that private and safer spot in the woods. He unzipped and got into his tent and lay down, pulling the blanket close to him. He was grateful that he found some relatively easy work, and could take care of a few things with the money. Plus this bought him at least another week before he got pressed into the corner again, with only his poverty of options.
Joel snuggled up in his blanket, holding it tight against his chest, closing his eyes. I don’t want to change back, he thought, easing into dreamland, with the rustling of the trees slowly lulling him to sleep. It’s going to be okay, I'm sure. I have nothing more to lose here. There’s no way to go now but up.
THINGS TO DO
It rained hard overnight, and although he was still half-asleep, Joel couldn't help instinctively running his hands around his bedding to feel whether any of it was wet. He'd always been a good camper, back when he still had a regular life that is. He'd be the one who’d set up the tent, and oversee the campsite. This was just to ensure that everyone else felt as comfortable as possible.
Now that he had this more "permanent" campsite, these skills have really been coming in handy.
Joel lay there listening to the last remnants of the rain. It was dawn, and he knew this only because of his impeccable internal clock, coupled with the very early morning sounds of tree frogs and cicadas. The universe stirring from slumber. His mind started to wander through his short list of things to do today. He'd move as steadily as he could through the early morning to make them happen, then return to camp for a couple of hours chores to ensure some level of continued comfort.
That being if it was still a safe place to stay by then.
Joel got up and threw some jeans over his nightclothes and stepped into his work boots, readying himself to get the coffee on. He walked out of the tent and grabbed the pot, filling it with water from the cooler, and fired up the propane hotplate. Stretching, he looked around at the misty morning, with the sun starting to peek its head over the river. He loved this river. It was a big part of him now. He always thought it was such a pretty place here in the morning.
I'll sit down at the waterline with my coffee, wash myself up a bit, then start my hike into town.
Being cleaned up enough, Joel zipped down the tent, closed up the site and started down the trail that led out of the woods. He was glad it was still quiet so early, with no one else wandering around yet. He didn't want to have to lollygag with anybody until after he'd taken care of business. He got to the bridge and walked up the steps and out of the woods to the asphalt. The early morning traffic was humming along Richmond Ave, headlights still on. This was one of the main roads in and out of town, and so many thought it was important that it be kept "pretty", what with a garden and welcome sign right in the middle of the median and all. Important to make a positive impression. Put the town's best foot forward is how Joel saw it.
Walking now with a steady clip, Joel was thinking about how grateful he was that he was physically able to do what he needed to. He knew so many that weren't. Often they'd want Joel to do THEIR list too, not feeling up to taking the hike in. Although Joel regularly did favors for some of the others, and was glad to, like handing out cigarettes or change when he could, he tried to keep those kinds of things to a minimum. Once you started, it was hard to stop. Had to say “no” a lot when people came around asking for things. They always did. It was hard enough for him to maintain just himself really, let alone taking care of anyone else.
It was a lot of WORK after all, just to keep things going.
He'd been paid on the paint job, and the folks were nice enough and the job came out good enough, and it felt great to have money in his pocket no doubt. Joel walked into the gas station and nodded at the regular guy there, a guy from somewhere in Asia he figured, Pakistan, or maybe even somewhere exotic like Nepal. He bought himself 3 packs of Marlboros, which was a splurge that felt great actually. Paying the clerk, who kept his face in the morning paper, he smiled a goodbye.
Continuing on his way up the big hill toward Market Street, Joel headed for the drop-in center. He walked in the front door and Pat was at the front desk, like usual.
"Hi Joel," she said.
"Hey Pat, how you?" Joel asked, with his best toothy grin. He always liked Pat, from the moment he met her. Always smiling and carrying on. Always cheering his heart. She immediately started in small-talking to him about the weather and her husband and rug rats, and how life was just so hard sometimes. She said Joel was so lucky not to have to deal with all the things most people had to deal with nowadays. Joel listened respectfully and counted and put his money on the counter, while looking up at the wall for his phone messages.
Pat reached up and pulled them down from under thumbtacks and said, "Joel I hope you don't mind me saying so, but your mom has called a few times since Tuesday, saying she really needs to talk to you. Maybe there's something's wrong?" Joel nodded and smiled, as Pat took his money and put it in his lockbox. “Oh and those guys were asking for you, some of the ones that have been staying over there in the park?”
Yeah, Joel heard something was going on over in the park, but people “asking for him” had become something he no longer paid much mind to.
“Any clothes here today?”
Pat shook her head no while Joel looked down through his phone messages. Same old stuff. Walking into the living room, he pulled his pack off his pack and picked up the old 60s black rotary phone bolted to the wall for God knows how long and dialed. His mom answered the phone. “Hi Mom.” She immediately launched into a diatribe about how she’d been trying to call him all week, and how his brother said this, and the daughter-in-law said that, and the regular things families talk about nowadays.
“Where are you Joel? Where are you today? Are you coming to see me soon Joel? When are you coming?”
Phone pressed to his ear, Joel leaned his back up against the wall. “Mom I’m where I always am when I call you, you know that,” he told her.
“I worry about you Joel, we all worry about you. I tried calling you all week, and all they do is tell me they have no idea where you go."
Joel let the wall hold him up. “Mom, everything’s fine, really. I’m just calling to check in, Mom, everything's okay.”
LIKE-MINDED
“See you Joel,” said Pat, as Joel picked up his gear and headed out the door.
For November, this was turning into a warm day, and the bright sun hit his face as his feet hit the pavement. Joel decided to take the long way home, as he felt like walking with a leisurely pace and just taking in the balmy weather.
He detoured over toward High Street, considered the “historic district” in this little town, which had been the birthplace of presidents and supposedly democracy. Democracy right, Joel thought. More like “survival of the fittest.” Although he had no resentment toward anyone much, his own experience and what he witnessed every day showed there wasn’t much evidence that the whole of society worked so well anymore. At least not for most.
No matter.
He passed the “shelter,” which was a new place in an old church. The community seemed to have a love/hate relationship with it, and he'd been encouraged more than once to go "sign up" there. But he had no interest whatsoever in any more interaction with the "do-gooder" set. He’d learned the hard way that although they were well-intended, he was just better off fending for himself. And hadn’t he done a good job under the circumstances? He cut across the street toward the library, planning to stop in and trade the books in his knapsack for some new ones. He'd been caught up lately in his favorite 18th century literature, but had a hankering for something different, maybe Capote or Hemingway. Joel had read more in the last few months than he ever had in his whole life. He believed it was a MUCH better way to live than all those years he sat stuck in front of the television set.
Yes sir.
Heading for the steps of the library, Joel saw Leonard yakking it up with some folks in front of the park. Feeling somewhat carefree at the moment, he walked over to the group. "Joel, what are you doing in town, you got a cigarette?” Leonard asked. The rest of the people were unfamiliar to him, and seemed like a bunch of arty types or what some people used to call "hipsters." He certainly had never seen them on the street before. Joel looked at Leonard, who had an unusually large grin on his face, and handed him a cigarette.
“Nothing much Leonard, just heading back now. Took care of my business over at Pat’s, and going to stop in the library real quick.”
“Well we’ve been staying over here Joel,” Leonard said, pointing to the park behind them, which Joel saw had tents pitched and people gathered, making a bunch of noise too.
“What do you mean staying over here, since when can people stay in the park? I never heard of that."
Leonard looked at him, then at the others, and they all busted out laughing. “Oh Joel, you’re just stuck in your own little world, aren't you? There’ve been people camping here for the last few weeks, haven't you heard? People who are fed up with the state of things today. THAT you know all about, right? I mean, the rotten state of things?” They were still laughing, and Joel had no idea what they were talking about really.
“I’m going to check it out,” Joel said.
He walked up the steps into the park, which was now a large and bustling campsite. There were rows of tents set up and even a “kitchen” tent with equipment, and tables with pamphlets and people “selling” ideas. Oh, political propaganda, I see, Joel thought. Anyone he made eye contact with smiled at him. Joel responded in kind. One guy, who had an official look to him, and an immediately likable Rastafarian-style thing going on, said hello, asking Joel if he was interested in joining their cause.
"What cause?" Joel asked, and the guy explained how they were taking a stand over the current disparity of wealth in the country, and the lost idea of the American dream. No more cookie-cutter cape cods for everyone like in the old days is what he said.
Joel felt comfortable with the man, who had a warm enough disposition, and he began to quietly share some of his story and situation. Joel certainly knew of disparity, although for him it was mostly a personal matter.
He had no ill will.
The man took him by the arm and walked with him down the aisles of the camp, introducing him to different folks. Some were playing guitars, and others were cooking on the big grill. Lunchtime here. Some teenagers maybe 13 or 14 years old were playing with some hula hoops in front of the big statue of Robert E. Lee, with him looking down on them. But most of the folks were just hanging around gabbing and enjoying the pretty day. And there was certainly a festive mood here. The man continued the dialogue with Joel, seemingly genuinely interested in his story, and encouraging him to consider joining them. Joel felt a sense of connection and a sort of “coming home.” And being the loner that he has for so long, he found it refreshing.
These people seem like-minded.
Joel and the Rasta-man finished up their tour, and Joel decided to skip the library and head straight back to the river. He said goodbye to Leonard, who was still standing there smoking and carrying on, and quickened his pace. Heading down the hill out of town, Joel played the events of the day over in his mind. The guy was so nice, he thought. And so were the others he’d met. They seemed very content to be there together, too. He made way across the bridge, looking down at the river gleaming in the sunshine below, then swung under it, heading overland down the trail through the woods. A lot of those people look like me, he thought. When he got to his campsite, he stopped short and just stared at his orange and tattered old tent. It's certainly served him well, there's no doubt about that. Joel thought about how he could always feel when things were about to change for him, and sprung into motion. He instinctively started to gather up the bits of dirty clothes he had, planning to walk them over to the river for a quick washing, and started sorting his trash and getting his other belongings together. He’d been here going on six months now and it had worked out the best it could, right? Predictable anyway. He felt torn, or maybe sentimental. Why leave? What could he really contribute to this "cause" anyway? I’m just gonna have to take the risk, he thought. He went inside the tent and jimmied with the main pole, and it fell to the ground.
It’s about time I packed all this up.
That was all just a dream to him now.
He heard the screen door of the little cape cod cookie-cutter house creak open. Nice little fence, manicured lawn, the American dream here really. The lady motioned him to ‘come here’ with her finger. Joel put one foot in front of the other and walked up to the lady, smiling at her tentatively. She didn't really notice though, as she was preoccupied with her busyness. She led him into to the kitchen and indicated her husband, who was sitting down at the dining room table playing with some new device. He just grunted and nodded but didn't pay attention. Whatever was happening in the device was more important it seemed.
Why should he acknowledge Joel anyway? These people were never going to see him again. He’s just hired help here.
The lady was enthusiastically telling Joel lots of things about her plans for the house: new cabinets in the kitchen, water sealing the outdoor deck and sprucing things up in general. Joel was nodding politely in return, being civil and respectful as he usually was. One thing could be said about Joel. He never ruffled any feathers. Well not anymore. He learned a long time ago there were consequences for speaking his mind. That telling people how he really felt never ended well for him.
More than likely he wouldn't be in this situation today if he'd just kept his mouth shut all these years.
Joel followed the lady up the steps, with her still explaining her "things", and she was certainly excited and pleased with her happenings. "This is the room we want you to paint, can you do it?" she asked. He looked around at the room. There was a desk with shoeboxes full of something on it and under it, a twin bed, a bureau stuffed with so much clothing that the drawers couldn’t shut, and an assortment of other clutter askew. Clutter of the type that grows when people stay in one place too long. Joel didn't have clutter anymore.
The lady watched as he surveyed the room. He said, “Sure I can do it. I'll move everything to the center here and cover it with a sheet."
"Those are my antique photographs in the shoe boxes there. I collect them.”
He smiled. “Oh that’s nice. Yes, I’ll be careful with everything and it'll look nice for you when I'm done. I'll be real neat and thorough."
"So how much will you charge?”
Joel looked at her. “Well for this? 125 dollars.”
“Oh my,” she giggled. "That's very reasonable, I'd be willing to pay you more.”
“Well you can tip me if you want," Joel said. He was charming her, and they both laughed. Joel always knew how to turn on the charm.
"Can you start right away?” the lady asked. “I have company coming this weekend and it would be really nice if this room was ready by then.”
Joel told her he'd be back on Thursday, and this suited her fine. The lady was already halfway down the steps talking on her cell phone, and Joel followed her down.
She’d disappeared into the kitchen and when she came back out looked at Joel curiously. “Is there something else Joel?” she asked.
“Uh no, nothing else m’am. I'll see you on Thursday. Have a good rest of your day."
Joel started down the middle of the street. It was a pretty day, warm but dry. Joel walked a lot, and didn't mind it one bit. The way he saw it, it was one of the main things keeping him alive. As he built up his pace back toward the river, he started thinking about how much things had changed. These people were nice, he thought, but they don’t know anything about me, my experiences. Why should they want to know anyway? Things were so different back then when he hired his OWN people to paint HIS house. This was before Joel finally cracked, before everything went south. Before he lost everything, and everything he believed in. Before he found God, who he only found because he had no choice. God was the only one left. He just wished that he’d “maintained” everything like everyone else seemed to. Everyone clutching to what they had and what they believed in. The one time that Joel really did need help, and asked for it too, no one was there. Even though for so long he’d been there for many. People talked about Karma, or the Law of Reciprocity, but they really didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.
He walked under the bridge into the woods to the river. The usual gang was there, drinking their moonshine and just killing time in the shade. He saw Leonard, the one that he liked. He pulled him aside and took out a five spot, and pressed it into his hand. Leonard took it and looked at Joel, wondering. Joel said “I have a job coming up, so this is for you, Leonard. ” Leonard forced a smile, his wrinkled and tired face crinkling up. He offered Joel the bottle, which he refused.
He said goodbye to the guys, and started down the trail to where he’d been sleeping, that private and safer spot in the woods. He unzipped and got into his tent and lay down, pulling the blanket close to him. He was grateful that he found some relatively easy work, and could take care of a few things with the money. Plus this bought him at least another week before he got pressed into the corner again, with only his poverty of options.
Joel snuggled up in his blanket, holding it tight against his chest, closing his eyes. I don’t want to change back, he thought, easing into dreamland, with the rustling of the trees slowly lulling him to sleep. It’s going to be okay, I'm sure. I have nothing more to lose here. There’s no way to go now but up.
THINGS TO DO
It rained hard overnight, and although he was still half-asleep, Joel couldn't help instinctively running his hands around his bedding to feel whether any of it was wet. He'd always been a good camper, back when he still had a regular life that is. He'd be the one who’d set up the tent, and oversee the campsite. This was just to ensure that everyone else felt as comfortable as possible.
Now that he had this more "permanent" campsite, these skills have really been coming in handy.
Joel lay there listening to the last remnants of the rain. It was dawn, and he knew this only because of his impeccable internal clock, coupled with the very early morning sounds of tree frogs and cicadas. The universe stirring from slumber. His mind started to wander through his short list of things to do today. He'd move as steadily as he could through the early morning to make them happen, then return to camp for a couple of hours chores to ensure some level of continued comfort.
That being if it was still a safe place to stay by then.
Joel got up and threw some jeans over his nightclothes and stepped into his work boots, readying himself to get the coffee on. He walked out of the tent and grabbed the pot, filling it with water from the cooler, and fired up the propane hotplate. Stretching, he looked around at the misty morning, with the sun starting to peek its head over the river. He loved this river. It was a big part of him now. He always thought it was such a pretty place here in the morning.
I'll sit down at the waterline with my coffee, wash myself up a bit, then start my hike into town.
Being cleaned up enough, Joel zipped down the tent, closed up the site and started down the trail that led out of the woods. He was glad it was still quiet so early, with no one else wandering around yet. He didn't want to have to lollygag with anybody until after he'd taken care of business. He got to the bridge and walked up the steps and out of the woods to the asphalt. The early morning traffic was humming along Richmond Ave, headlights still on. This was one of the main roads in and out of town, and so many thought it was important that it be kept "pretty", what with a garden and welcome sign right in the middle of the median and all. Important to make a positive impression. Put the town's best foot forward is how Joel saw it.
Walking now with a steady clip, Joel was thinking about how grateful he was that he was physically able to do what he needed to. He knew so many that weren't. Often they'd want Joel to do THEIR list too, not feeling up to taking the hike in. Although Joel regularly did favors for some of the others, and was glad to, like handing out cigarettes or change when he could, he tried to keep those kinds of things to a minimum. Once you started, it was hard to stop. Had to say “no” a lot when people came around asking for things. They always did. It was hard enough for him to maintain just himself really, let alone taking care of anyone else.
It was a lot of WORK after all, just to keep things going.
He'd been paid on the paint job, and the folks were nice enough and the job came out good enough, and it felt great to have money in his pocket no doubt. Joel walked into the gas station and nodded at the regular guy there, a guy from somewhere in Asia he figured, Pakistan, or maybe even somewhere exotic like Nepal. He bought himself 3 packs of Marlboros, which was a splurge that felt great actually. Paying the clerk, who kept his face in the morning paper, he smiled a goodbye.
Continuing on his way up the big hill toward Market Street, Joel headed for the drop-in center. He walked in the front door and Pat was at the front desk, like usual.
"Hi Joel," she said.
"Hey Pat, how you?" Joel asked, with his best toothy grin. He always liked Pat, from the moment he met her. Always smiling and carrying on. Always cheering his heart. She immediately started in small-talking to him about the weather and her husband and rug rats, and how life was just so hard sometimes. She said Joel was so lucky not to have to deal with all the things most people had to deal with nowadays. Joel listened respectfully and counted and put his money on the counter, while looking up at the wall for his phone messages.
Pat reached up and pulled them down from under thumbtacks and said, "Joel I hope you don't mind me saying so, but your mom has called a few times since Tuesday, saying she really needs to talk to you. Maybe there's something's wrong?" Joel nodded and smiled, as Pat took his money and put it in his lockbox. “Oh and those guys were asking for you, some of the ones that have been staying over there in the park?”
Yeah, Joel heard something was going on over in the park, but people “asking for him” had become something he no longer paid much mind to.
“Any clothes here today?”
Pat shook her head no while Joel looked down through his phone messages. Same old stuff. Walking into the living room, he pulled his pack off his pack and picked up the old 60s black rotary phone bolted to the wall for God knows how long and dialed. His mom answered the phone. “Hi Mom.” She immediately launched into a diatribe about how she’d been trying to call him all week, and how his brother said this, and the daughter-in-law said that, and the regular things families talk about nowadays.
“Where are you Joel? Where are you today? Are you coming to see me soon Joel? When are you coming?”
Phone pressed to his ear, Joel leaned his back up against the wall. “Mom I’m where I always am when I call you, you know that,” he told her.
“I worry about you Joel, we all worry about you. I tried calling you all week, and all they do is tell me they have no idea where you go."
Joel let the wall hold him up. “Mom, everything’s fine, really. I’m just calling to check in, Mom, everything's okay.”
LIKE-MINDED
“See you Joel,” said Pat, as Joel picked up his gear and headed out the door.
For November, this was turning into a warm day, and the bright sun hit his face as his feet hit the pavement. Joel decided to take the long way home, as he felt like walking with a leisurely pace and just taking in the balmy weather.
He detoured over toward High Street, considered the “historic district” in this little town, which had been the birthplace of presidents and supposedly democracy. Democracy right, Joel thought. More like “survival of the fittest.” Although he had no resentment toward anyone much, his own experience and what he witnessed every day showed there wasn’t much evidence that the whole of society worked so well anymore. At least not for most.
No matter.
He passed the “shelter,” which was a new place in an old church. The community seemed to have a love/hate relationship with it, and he'd been encouraged more than once to go "sign up" there. But he had no interest whatsoever in any more interaction with the "do-gooder" set. He’d learned the hard way that although they were well-intended, he was just better off fending for himself. And hadn’t he done a good job under the circumstances? He cut across the street toward the library, planning to stop in and trade the books in his knapsack for some new ones. He'd been caught up lately in his favorite 18th century literature, but had a hankering for something different, maybe Capote or Hemingway. Joel had read more in the last few months than he ever had in his whole life. He believed it was a MUCH better way to live than all those years he sat stuck in front of the television set.
Yes sir.
Heading for the steps of the library, Joel saw Leonard yakking it up with some folks in front of the park. Feeling somewhat carefree at the moment, he walked over to the group. "Joel, what are you doing in town, you got a cigarette?” Leonard asked. The rest of the people were unfamiliar to him, and seemed like a bunch of arty types or what some people used to call "hipsters." He certainly had never seen them on the street before. Joel looked at Leonard, who had an unusually large grin on his face, and handed him a cigarette.
“Nothing much Leonard, just heading back now. Took care of my business over at Pat’s, and going to stop in the library real quick.”
“Well we’ve been staying over here Joel,” Leonard said, pointing to the park behind them, which Joel saw had tents pitched and people gathered, making a bunch of noise too.
“What do you mean staying over here, since when can people stay in the park? I never heard of that."
Leonard looked at him, then at the others, and they all busted out laughing. “Oh Joel, you’re just stuck in your own little world, aren't you? There’ve been people camping here for the last few weeks, haven't you heard? People who are fed up with the state of things today. THAT you know all about, right? I mean, the rotten state of things?” They were still laughing, and Joel had no idea what they were talking about really.
“I’m going to check it out,” Joel said.
He walked up the steps into the park, which was now a large and bustling campsite. There were rows of tents set up and even a “kitchen” tent with equipment, and tables with pamphlets and people “selling” ideas. Oh, political propaganda, I see, Joel thought. Anyone he made eye contact with smiled at him. Joel responded in kind. One guy, who had an official look to him, and an immediately likable Rastafarian-style thing going on, said hello, asking Joel if he was interested in joining their cause.
"What cause?" Joel asked, and the guy explained how they were taking a stand over the current disparity of wealth in the country, and the lost idea of the American dream. No more cookie-cutter cape cods for everyone like in the old days is what he said.
Joel felt comfortable with the man, who had a warm enough disposition, and he began to quietly share some of his story and situation. Joel certainly knew of disparity, although for him it was mostly a personal matter.
He had no ill will.
The man took him by the arm and walked with him down the aisles of the camp, introducing him to different folks. Some were playing guitars, and others were cooking on the big grill. Lunchtime here. Some teenagers maybe 13 or 14 years old were playing with some hula hoops in front of the big statue of Robert E. Lee, with him looking down on them. But most of the folks were just hanging around gabbing and enjoying the pretty day. And there was certainly a festive mood here. The man continued the dialogue with Joel, seemingly genuinely interested in his story, and encouraging him to consider joining them. Joel felt a sense of connection and a sort of “coming home.” And being the loner that he has for so long, he found it refreshing.
These people seem like-minded.
Joel and the Rasta-man finished up their tour, and Joel decided to skip the library and head straight back to the river. He said goodbye to Leonard, who was still standing there smoking and carrying on, and quickened his pace. Heading down the hill out of town, Joel played the events of the day over in his mind. The guy was so nice, he thought. And so were the others he’d met. They seemed very content to be there together, too. He made way across the bridge, looking down at the river gleaming in the sunshine below, then swung under it, heading overland down the trail through the woods. A lot of those people look like me, he thought. When he got to his campsite, he stopped short and just stared at his orange and tattered old tent. It's certainly served him well, there's no doubt about that. Joel thought about how he could always feel when things were about to change for him, and sprung into motion. He instinctively started to gather up the bits of dirty clothes he had, planning to walk them over to the river for a quick washing, and started sorting his trash and getting his other belongings together. He’d been here going on six months now and it had worked out the best it could, right? Predictable anyway. He felt torn, or maybe sentimental. Why leave? What could he really contribute to this "cause" anyway? I’m just gonna have to take the risk, he thought. He went inside the tent and jimmied with the main pole, and it fell to the ground.
It’s about time I packed all this up.