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Before New York and Philadelphia, I picked up litter everywhere I walked. If I saw a smoldering cigarette flicked to the sidewalk, I ground my heal into it to protect the world for unborn babies. I planted seeds in cups and gave them away as presents. I said things like, "Earth Day is everyday." and "PICK IT UP, BUTTFACE!" to those who littered. When I walked by the especially observant they’d say, “What’s that sound Jess? That faint song I hear?” I’d reply, “Hark. It's the Captain Planet theme song, earth brother. I emanate it. Here, have this daisy crown.” I could make a flower bloom by looking at it.
I said good morning to everyone I passed before 11:59 AM and grinned so hard in response to stragers' smiles that a friend told me I looked like I was pooping. I strolled, allowed others to stroll and stopped in the middle of sidewalks to talk to ladybugs and small twigs.
These days, I only pick up litter if it's in the Society Hill area and looks really clean. When I see a smoldering cigarette I leave it burning-I'll even protect it by kicking it lightly out of the main foot traffic path- because some bum is going to sniff it out and make sweet oral love to it. I give gift cards as presents and refrain from eye contact. The only song I emanate now is one I made up called, "Walk faster, you piece of shit."
With regards to daily human interaction, my earth brothers and sisters have vanished. Now, my world is made up of people who talk to themselves and people who don't. The people who talk to themselves occasionally open to the outside world to ask if your butt likes “whoopass sandwiches humph diddy potata.” (1) The people who don’t talk to themselves might tell you, with utter and terrifying clarity, that they hate your face and "want to beat the white bitch out of you."(2)
***
So, back to the Rite Aid--I was picking up some meds when an old man walked by the pharmacy counter to ask where he could find eyeglass holders. I’m guessing he’d lived about 75 years. He left a minty/smoky scented trail and reminded me of my great-grandfather; I thought he probably even used the old powdered toothpaste that Papa loved because he had a tiny smudge of white on his upper lip. He was sweet looking; time had bent his shoulders down a little so that when he lifted his lined face to look around, he resembled a peering turtle. I made a mental note to start volunteering at a nursing home.
When no one at the pharmacy answered him, he ambled away. I left my place in line, against my city sensibilities, to look for the small eyeglasses tower that all drug stores have. “Sir, hold on; I’ve found them,” I called out, reaching out for a soft leather case and a hard plastic one. I walked them over and he said, “Oh, thank you, dear” and then he put them in his breast pocket AND WALKED OUT OF THE STORE.
As he was leaving, I heard one pharmacy assistant say to the other, “Well, looks like the old cokehead just stole some more stuff.”
1. attributed to the woman by the bus station who crunks to head phones that are not plugged in.
2. attributed to James Massenson, the man who lives 6 doors down from me and who stared at me the entire time the police filled out the report on why he chased me up the block about 3 weeks ago. Yes Kate, I now get out my mace and start shaking it as I turn onto 13th.
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