POLE CAT
POLE CAT
By
Millard Lowe
Sitting up, the man dug deep into his matted hair to reach his itching scalp. This was no easy task. His matted crown made the best of dread locks look like baby Shirley Temple curls.
He stood up, stretched, yawned and farted. He then looked down at the remnants of which was once was some type of smart foot wear. The top toe area had separated from the sole leaving his reptilian-like toes peeking out like turtle heads from their shell. His long, blackened top coat had a sheen that from a distance may have looked like the shine of the best shark skin cloth. However, its appearance was due to oily muck accumulated over time. Satisfied that all was well with his foot wear and clothing, he picked up the crumpled newspaper and the malodorous blanket off of his bus stop bench-bed. He balled up the newspaper and threw it in the adjacent trash can. He neatly folded the smelly blanket and stuffed it into his trusty black garbage bag that held all his worldly possessions.
Mumbling something to himself about the day, he walked behind the faded green bench to relieve his nagging bladder. He stood there peeing for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally finished, he reached into his black garbage bag and took out a plastic bottle of water. He poured a small amount of water in his cupped hand and mimicked washing his face. Clamping his jaws shut and widely stretching his parted lips, he drew his index finger across his teeth as though he was brushing them. “Now let us get some breakfast,” he said to no one in particular. The reference to us was to him and himself. You know, like me, myself and I.
Now prepared for the day, he looked over across the street that ran perpendicular to his, waved and tipped an imaginary hat to his neighbor, “Turd Man”, who had taken up resident on the bus stop bench that was located on the corner where the two streets intersected.
After the morning salutation, he grabbed his black garbage bag and walked across the street to the location of the “Gospel Bird” fast chicken place. He went around the back and began rummaging through the garbage bin. In the back right hand corner of the bin, he found the plastic bag containing last night’s left over chicken and fried okra. “Good boy. Good boy,” he mumbled as he gulped down the food.
Despite his seemingly deranged state of mind, he had been befriended by the Night Manager of the Gospel Bird establishment. They had an arrangement that as long as he would not stand outside the establishment and harass the customers; and as long as he and his companion odor would not enter the establishment to use the restroom, the Night Manager would always leave him the nights’ leftovers in the back right hand corner of the garbage bin located behind the building. To maintain an “A” rating, leftovers could not be stored for the next day, they had to be discarded and written off as a lost. This included the little packs of unopened ketchup, salt and pepper.
Having finished his left over chicken breakfast, the man picked up an old dirty pop cycle stick, broke it in half, and used the end of the sharpest half as a toothpick. He then grabbed his stuffed black garbage bag, threw it over his shoulder, and set out on his daily 10 square mile trek through the community. Except for Wednesdays, he just seemed to wander aimlessly, going nowhere in particular.
Towards the end of 2007, Sean Smith and Heather Malvaux, were probably the two most happiest people in the world. Sean had just received his officer’s commission in the military and Heather, his fiancée, had recently completed her RN Master’s degree. In three months they were to be married. The date had been set for January 2. They had already taken out a one year lease on a two bedroom, detached condominium home, where they planned to have their small wedding in the fenced, back yard.
The community which Sean and Heather had moved into was close to both the military base and the city’s general hospital. This was convenient for both of them insofar as driving back and forth to work were concerned. It was particularly good for Heather. Being a Head Nurse, she periodically had to work a 12 hour night shifts. On such occasions, a short drive home was indeed, a blessing in disguise. Things were coming together very well for them. But things were soon to change.
On one of Heather’s days off, she decided that she would make gumbo for dinner. This was one of Sean’s favorite dishes. He just loved him some seafood and okra gumbo; particularly over a big bowl of Uncle Ben’s rice. On the side, he would usually have potato salad, French style bread and a cold beer. While preparing the gumbo, Heather listened to a CD of a Pattie Labelle concert. When she had finished preparing dinner, she sat down to catch upon her TV recordings of General Hospital, while she waited on Sean to come home.
When Sean pulled into the driveway, he did not open the garage door immediately. Rather, he sat in the car in deep thought for about five minutes. When he finally went inside, Heather was absorbed in her show. The aroma of gumbo saturated the whole house. Sean leaned over and gave Heather a kiss on the top of her head.
“Hi Baby. Damn! It smells good in here.”
“Hey Boo. How was the day?”
“Oh, you know, just another day at the office,” Sean said, as he went over to the bar and poured out a Hennessey. He took a sip of his drink and came over and sat down next to Heather.
“After dinner, we need to talk Baby.”
“Ok”, Heather said. “You sure you don’t want to talk about whatever it is now?”
“After dinner Baby, right now that gumbo is calling my name! But finish watching you show. Then we can eat.”
Heather continued to watch the end of her recorded shows. But she found it difficult to concentrate on what the characters were saying to each other. Her mind was on what Sean had said. “We need to talk.” She knew from experience, that whenever Sean used that expression, something serious was going on. Sean sat down next to Heather; and with his head on her shoulder, watched the end of the recording with her. Now, she knew something was wrong. Sean hated soaps.
Apart from blessing the food aloud, Sean and Heather enjoyed dinner in silence. While this may have been a discomfort for some people, experience had taught Heather that when Sean ate in silence, it was a sign that the food was “off the hook.” Yet, she still wondered what Sean wanted to talk about. She decided to initiate conversation.
“Hon, what is it that we need to discuss?”
“Oh, I got some bad news today, Baby,” Sean replied, as he got up and went to the bar to get another drink.
“What’s going on, Hon?”
“Well…I was informed that my Unit was being deployed.”
“What…you got’a be shitting me!” The tone of Heather’s voice and the expression on her face mirrored her anger and disgust.
“When,” she asked. Tears leaked from her eyes and slowly flowed down her cheeks.
“That’s just it Baby…they…they’re talking about two weeks from now,” Sean answered. The frustrations he felt were obvious by the sound of his voice and the quivering of his lips.
“No, this cannot be happening. Don’t they know that we have a wedding in a couple of months? It’s not fair…It’s not fair,” Heather said, as she stood up, waving her hands in the air. She ran her tongue across her top lip, tasting the salty tears that had now reached her mouth. “It’s not fair…”
“I know, Baby,” Sean said, as he walked over and embraced Heather, kissing her salty lips. “As far as the military is concerned, it’s duty and honor first. Everything else comes second! Even family! But we’ll work it out, Baby. We’ll work it out. Every little thing is going to be alright,” Sean said, as he attempted to console the both of them.
That was the day that the plans Sean and Heather had to spend the rest of their lives together, began to fall apart. The wedding was post pone until after Sean’s return. Arrangements were made to have three-fourths of his pay to be sent to Heather, so that she could maintain the household and set up a second saving account. This account would enable them to amass a little cushion during Sean’s three month deployment.
During Sean’s first two months of deployment, Heather wrote him once a week. At the beginning of the third month, she received a reply. When Heather opened the mail box and saw the letter, her heart skipped a beat. “Thank God. He’s alive. And he’ll soon be home,” she said to herself. Back in the house, her hands were shaking so much that she had to pause and take a deep breath to collect herself before opening Sean’s letter.
As Heather read the passionate words of the first two pages of the letter, she was all giggles, and there was a gingerly tingling in her thighs. But as she began to read the third page, the words became less passionate. Then she came to those devastating words, “…So we’ve been informed that because of the intensity of the campaign, our deployment has been extended another three months.” Heather fell to her knees and began sobbing. “No! No! No!” She screamed. “I can’t take this…I can’t take it!” She stretched out on the floor and cried herself to sleep.
When Sean eventually returned from tour of duty, it was obvious that he had become a changed man. Whenever Heather mentioned the wedding, he would reply, “Give me some time to adjust, Baby.” Heather also noticed that he had begun to drink more than usual. When he came home from the Base, the first thing he would do was to pour a drink before saying anything to her. When Heather would ask how things were going at the Base, Sean would simple say, “Another day at the office.” But what troubled Heather most, was the change in their sex life. The once gentle Sean had become more animal-like in what use to be, love making. Now, it was as if he was struggling to relieve himself of the frustrations of being in heat. Those six months in Iraq had done a real head job on Sean. However, the straw that broke the camel’s back, insofar as Heather was concerned, was when Sean came home and told her he had volunteered to go to Afghanistan.
“Have you gone out of your cotton picking mind,” Heather had replied, amplifying contempt and grievous hurt.
“That’s just it, Baby. I need to do this in order to get my head together,” Sean had answered. “Besides, it will bring in more money, enabling us to go on and get married and to be able to put a down payment on a mortgage for our own home.”
“But what about me Sean; did it not occur to you to discuss all of this with me before going off and volunteering to fight for somebody else’s freedom while we’re still catching hell right here at home.? Jesus Sean! This shit has gone too far!” Her pain was further magnified as she recalled how happy she had been when earlier in the day the doctor had told her that she was five weeks pregnant. She was so hurt and angry that she kept the news to herself.
During his first two months in Afghanistan, the letters between Heather and Sean were infrequent; and their content was more like that between pen pals. By the third month, there was no communication between them at all. Then one day around the middle of the fifth month after Sean had been gone, Heather received a military communication informing her that Sean had been seriously injured and was being sent to a military hospital in Germany, where he would be for the next two months. It was then that Heather made a decision that would change both of their lives forever.
It was almost seven months to the day that he had left, that Sean was released from the hospital in Germany. Along with his two Purple Hearts, he was now on his way back home.
When he landed at the airport, he did not expect Heather to meet him. He had not informed her of his arrival date, as he himself had not been sure of the exact date. After picking up his bags, he stepped out of the terminal to hail a cab. In his uniform and obvious military luggage, he had no problem with immediately getting a cab.
“Good evening sir. Welcome home,” the cabbie said as he got out to open the back door and to put Sean’s gear into the trunk.
“It’s good to be home,” Sean said, as he got into the back seat.
Having loaded Sean’s bags in the trunk, the cabbie got into the driver’s seat and looked in his rear view mirror.
“Where to, Sir?” asked the driver.
“Pine Crest Village, 2223 Spruce Street,” Sean replied
“Tell me,” Sean asked, “How are things going around here these days?”
“Same old shit. Just a different toilet,” the cabbie said. “Look, I’ve been back over a year and I’m still driving a cab part-time. But I suppose it could be worst. Some brothers are just sitting around waiting on their government checks and that hard to get appointment at the VA.
When the taxi cab arrived at the address, Sean noticed that the house was dark and that there was a sign in the front yard that read “For Lease.” He asked the driver to wait while he went to check out what was going on. He rang the door bell twice. No answer. He next rapped on the door three or four times; still no answer. Confused and somewhat distraught, he returned to the cab.
“Is everything ok, sir?” the cabbie asked.
“I don’t know what the hell is going on man,” Sean angrily replied. “Take me back to the Comfort Inn we passed on the way here. Their vacancy sign was on. But stop at that liquor store first.”
Paying cash, Sean rented a single for three nights. He figured that this would give him time enough to find out what was going on. Once in the room, Sean, who was tired, confused and in physical and emotional pain, took two pain killers, and washed them down with a huge shot of gin. He turned on the radio and found a Blues station. After a couple more shots of gin, he fell asleep; fully clothed.
The next morning, Sean got up, unpacked a few things and took a long shower. Afterwards, he got dressed and sat on the side of the bed and made a call to the hospital to speak to Heather. He was shocked to find out that Heather had resigned three weeks ago and had accepted an administrative position in a hospital up North. When he tried to find out the name of the city and the hospital, he was informed that such information was confidential, and that since he was not Heather’s legal spouse, such information could not be released to him. “Go screw yourself.” shouted Sean, as he slammed down the phone. He picked up the gin and took a big drink straight out of the bottle. He then went next door to the Waffle House to have breakfast. During breakfast, he tried his best to try to figure out what was going on. “Where was Heather?” “Why was the condo up for lease?” “Why had she not written to let him know what was the hell going on?” These were some of the thoughts that ran through Sean’s mind as he tried to enjoy his breakfast.
After breakfast, Sean made his way to the nearest Wells Fargo Bank to find out the balance in the joint checking and savings account he and Heather had established. Once again, he encountered a great shock. The savings account had been closed out and there was only $300.00 left in the checking account! Sean was utterly confused. He was sure that there should have been at least $5,000 in the savings accounts and no less than $1500 in the checking account. After fifteen minutes of going back and forth with the bank manager he gave in and left the bank in a dejected mood.
Back at the hotel, Sean poured out a half glass of gin and took three pain killers. He sat down on the side of the bed and began to sob. He had never been so devastated and confused in his whole life. For a man who had won two Purple Hearts and who had cheated death and escaped captivity during time in Iraq and Afghanistan, he now found himself in a situation in which he felt completely defenseless. He took another swig of gin. Now a bit buzzed, he began to think out aloud to himself. “Why has God forsaken me? What great sin have I committed? Jesus, in war, it’s kill or be killed. Besides, when you go to war, don’t you pray to God to be victorious---even if it means killing your enemy?” He waited for God to answer. But the wait was in vain. He got up and went to the bathroom to pee. After peeing, Sean came out of the bathroom and flopped himself across the bed and fell asleep. All throughout the night, he wrestled with nightmares of scenes in Iraq and Afghanistan. In one of those nightmares, he saw Heather standing on a hill with a small baby in one arm, and waving at him with the other. At first, it seemed as if she was waving, “Hello Honey, it’s so good to see you.” But then, he realized that she was waving, “Good bye Honey, we’ll see you.” He also had a dream of his mother on her dying bed. Her last nine words to him were, “Good bye son, you be a good boy now.” What strange bed-fellows devastation, gin, pain killers, sleep and turmoil make. Sean would wake up the next morning more exhausted than when he fell asleep.
The bright afternoon sun indiscriminately dispensed its heat over the community. The dirty pee smelling man with the black garbage bag over his shoulder turned the corner and walked south, one block to the Solid Rock Fifth Baptist Full Gospel Missionary Church. He had been on the move for the past six hours, meandering here and there through the community. He looked pitifully tired and hungry. But relief was just steps away. Today was Wednesday, and every Wednesday, Fifth Baptist provided a cooked lunch for the homeless. He had become a Wednesday regular.
He entered the huge revival tent which served as a makeshift cafeteria. He made his way to an empty folding table and sat down. Many of the grown-ups and children were happily eating and talking together. And then there were those scattered throughout the crowd who were busy eating and talking with themselves and their invisible comrades. He just sat there looking around as if he was in some fancy restaurant waiting for a waiter to come and take his order.
After a few minutes, a young volunteer came over to where the man was seated and sat a huge Styrofoam plate on the table. The plate was loaded with greens cooked with ham hocks; rice; potato salad; stewed chicken; and cornbread. The young lady rushed back to the serving area and returned with a large plastic cup of red punch. As if imitating a hungry dog, the man sniffed the food and punch, and then began eating. With obvious disgust on her face, the young volunteer again hurried backed to the serving area and began talking with Mother Steptoe, the President of the Women’s Missionary Society.
“Whew, I almost threw up over there. That man is disgusting,” the young lady said to Mother Steptoe.
“Over where Baby?” Mother Steptoe asked.
“Over there,” the young volunteer said, pointing to Pole Cat.
“Oh, that’s old Pole Cat, darling. He’s as harmless as a church mouse.”
“Yeah, but the odor from his body is about as harmless as a rattle snake. And do you see clothes and those supposed to be shoes he has wrapped around his crusted feet? Whew…boy…he stinks! I swear, that man smells like two skunks tied together,” the young lady said, as she took out her handkerchief to blow her nose.
“I suppose that’s how he got the name, ‘Pole Cat’,” Mother Steptoe said.
“What do you mean? I don’t get it,” the young lady said.
“Child, you’re a college student, and you don’t know what a pole cat is? Lawd a’ mercy,” Mother Steptoe said, wiping sweat from her face with the bottom tip of her apron.
“Well, you learn something every day,” the young lady said. “That’s why I keep telling some of my classmates they need to volunteer some time down here…that you learn more down here than you ever will…in our Social Work classes.”
Around 10:30 PM, the man with the black garbage bag over his shoulder, known to the community as Pole Cat, had completed his rounds and had made it back to his bus stop bench residence. He looked across the street and saw that Turd Man had already turned in. He bent over, opened his black garbage bag and took out the newspaper he had collected during the day. He carefully spread out the newspaper on the bench. He then sat down and leaned over and pulled out his reeking blanket. As he did so, two clinking sounds were made on the sidewalk. He bent over and picked up the two solid objects that had made the clinking sound. Each had a stained, purple ribbon attached to it. He neatly wrapped each ribbon around its piece of metal and put them back into the black garbage bag. He then stretched out on the bench and pulled his blanket over him. He leaned his head over, spat and whispered, “Another day at the office…Good Boy.” He then turned over on his side pillowing his head with his folded arms. He farted and fell into a dreamful sleep.
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