Joe's Dream

Joe was tiered as a ghost. As he sat hunched against the cold cement building, his eyes looked down at the ground, looked beyond the cement, looked at nothing.

His legs were bent, one arm resting on a knee, the other collapsed between his legs, his fore arm resting in the crook of his crotch. His mind was quiet, empty. He barely knew if he was alive or not.

The clopping of expensive shoes walking by barely peeked his interest,
“spare some change?” he muttered, loud enough for the young woman to hear, but quiet enough for her to pretend she didn’t. She sped up, or slowed down, to Joe they were the same, as two loose quarters fell at his feet. His eyes fell on them, drawn away from the nothing that’d had him transfixed. He collected the coins one at a time, using his broken blackened fingernails to pry them from the concrete.

In his early days, the very earliest days he could remember, he had called himself the cardboard poet. He’d fancied himself a noble artist, if only as a joke. On old boxes confiscated from behind restaurants he’d scrawl his works.

“too old to work, need money for food”

“lost my job, need your help”

“sick and tiered, will work for food, god bless”

These had been his haikus, the sonnets of the street, his contribution to the world. He would often think to himself that, if everything else was exactly the same, ever blade of grass every drop of rain was in precisely the same place, but he wasn’t there, it wouldn’t be the same world would it? He made the whole world what it was.
Joe once watched a woman walk across the street to avoid him, she tripped over the curb, and broke her wrist as she hit the ground. Where ever she had been going, now she wasn’t. Joe had wondered how many things would change as a result of that woman not getting to where she was going. Watched as people stopped to help her. in 2 minutes simply by being, Joe had changed the whole street.
But that was so long ago, and even a man who knew he made the world what it was had hard times. As year after year went by, and he spent night after night in the cold, Joe began growing old. And as hard as life can be to a man, life can be harder to a man on the streets. Soon Joe started losing his memories, losing his thoughts. He stopped holding signs, his beard grew long and grey, blackened only by dirt.
Joe had stopped bathing himself in public bathrooms, stopped roaming the streets. His clothes seemed to become his unchanging skin, his face covered in wrinkles deep and long.
The less Joe thought, the faster his mind slipped from him. And since it took no intelligence to beg, his mind almost completely disappeared. He forgot everything, his name, his past. It seemed a man with no history had no cause, except that to live. He would scrape just enough change together to buy a burger across the street. And then return to his spot and sit again. His body taking the look and shape of a pile of trash, so that people walking by sometimes didn’t even know they’d passed a living being.
Joe could hardly even be said to exist anymore. He no longer effected the street, he was merely a prop, akin to a light post or a post. A dead body would have meant more than him
As the day wore on, and darkness fell, Joe stood. He walked the 3 blocks to the shelter. He got in line with the other bums, all in their own stages, all in their own type of poverty. Joe sat on the ground between them. And stared back at the nothing.
At 7 the line started moving, Joe stumbled to his feet again, his muscles as atrophied as his brain. The man in front of him stepped up to the desk,

“What’s your name sir?” the woman behind the desk asked, ready to write it down in her log book.

“Mark,” the man replied gruffly and walked on.

“name sir?”

Joe couldn’t remember so he muttered “mark” and followed the man down the hall.

Joe sat on the cot, then lay down. The lights were all still on, the men around him talking loud and soft. Joe fell asleep.
Black, as Joe slept there was black, nothing. Nothing like the nothing he stared at all day. Black, but not black. It’s was not black at all really, but blue, dark blue, but it was getting lighter. It was a sky, a sky with a sun. The sun bust into Joe’s eyes and Joe gasped. He flung his head around and looked down at his body, it was small. He looked around, grass, a driveway, a car. This was his house. This is where Joe had lived. As he floated around this old memory, suddenly a car pulled in behind the one in the driveway. Suddenly from the car bust his family, his parents. All his friends, all the people he’d ever known. They smiled and laughed as they ran to him. His eyes awake with strength. He ran to meet them. That burning golden orb above them heating them, warming their beaming hearts.
But now the day was done, and the sun was gone. In it’s place a bright full moon cast shadows over the grass, but it’s wasn’t his yard anymore. As Joe stood there in the white light of the moon he saw he was in an infinite meadow, with small trees here and there. He marveled at the expanse. Unimaginable space was covered in uncountable stars. Joe held his hands up to drink it all in, but at his feet he felt rubbing. He looked down to see a fox, playing around his ankles. He laughed and bent down to pet it but it darted away, stood still, then looked back at Joe

“Play with me” he seemed to say and Joe chased after him. Joe flew. His feet carrying him faster than any man could go, over grass and trees and suddenly up into the air. He laughed as he and his friend bounded through the earth and sky. Spinning and darting with every imaginable trick. They soared together up higher and higher, to touch the moon.

But the fox was falling now. And Joe couldn’t do anything. Suddenly he could no longer soar through the air but was being drawn down to earth slowly. He wanted to dive after his plummeting friend but he seemed stuck as in a snow globe. He watched the fox falling, for days, for weeks, as the sun and moon flew faster and faster around him, and all he could do was watch. The fox hit the ground, and as quickly as he hit Joe was with him.
Joe stood next to a eucalyptus tree, glowing with it’s own moon light. He bent next to the fox, he picked up the soft red body. He screamed at the eternal heavens, and dug into his friends warm fur. His sadness filled the universe, his pain echoed through everything. Joe cried.

The lights popped, and Joe’s eyes popped open. Laying on his cot tears still on his cheek. He looked at the crusty grey ceiling, the men around him raising for the day. The dreams were still buzzing in his head, he remembered the grass under his feet, the smiles of his friends and family, the joy of flying, the pain of his loss. He thought about the wolf, or was it a lion? or was it… well he was in the woods right? no, he couldn’t have been flying in the woods, was he flying? He had seen his friends, he couldn’t remember who had they been, they had called his name, what was it…?
Every moment the lights above him flickered, more and more memories of the night faded. He sat up in his cot to try and remember, but by the time he’d reached an erect position, it was all gone. And all Joe felt was confused.
Joe stood, his legs week and shaking. He walked down the hall, past the desk, the woman calling after him,
“good day mark!” Joe just kept walking, out the door, down the street, three blocks to his spot.
He put one hand on the side of his building, and slid slowly down to sit. His eyes looked at the fast food place, the few people already on the street, and then settled on nothing. His eyes fixed, his mouth dry, Joe couldn’t sense the passing of time, but with the sound of shoes again approaching, Joe muttered softly,

“spare change”

The sound of walking stopped, then coins were placed in Joe’s hand. The woman tried to catch his gaze, but Joe didn’t look up, seeing only nothing.
As she walked away the quarter in Joe’s hand fumbled and fell to the ground. Joe looked up, as it rolled a few feet away. He leaned forward, crawling onto his hands and knees to reach out far enough to snatch his piece of metal from the walk. But as he reached, the coins still left in Joe’s pocket from the day before came tumbling out onto the street.
Two dimes, five pennies, a quarter and a nickel all hit the pavement in order. And suddenly with the sound of 9 coins ringing in his ear, Joe remembered the stars.
With the stars the moon and with the moon the night, and then day. From the day everything flooded back. His eyes were broken from nothing and Joe took in everything. He saw the world as if for the first time, and as he saw it all, Joe gasped. And with his head suddenly full, awakened and dreaming, Joe stood,

Joe smiled,

and Joe slowly walked away.