“Why do you love me?”

 

“I think it’s the way you love me back.”

 

“How so?”

 

“You know it’s indefinable, it’s simply it. It’s the way your mom shows me how to use the special spaghetti fork, and the way she yells at you in front of me, and the way she tells me to change your sheets. I love you even at four am after you’ve consumed a dozen tequila shots and are on the verge of a coma. The way you call me darling, and the way you make me feel when you say my name. It’s the reason I don’t mind spending all my paychecks to come visit you. I love you because I know you wouldn’t be embarrassed if I laughed at your orgasm face…”

 

The homeless man looks at me strangely while I repeat this conversation to him. His hand moves under his gleaming white boxers, massaging his penis while he listens to me talk, completely oblivious of our public location. He wears nothing else but his wheelchair and underwear, and his fresh boxers emphasize his tan nicely; a glamorous trophy of his homeless existence. His skin reminds me of Donatella Versace. I want to be as tan as this man.

 

In his other hand he grips so tightly a colorful child’s toothbrush. So tightly… I imagine his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand carving out miniature crescents. Miniature crescents that will disappear eventually if he lets go. I wonder how long he has been holding his toothbrush. I wonder if his palm is bleeding.

 

I can’t help but to stare at him while I wait for the street car and I find myself getting sucked in by his lunatic banter. He questions me about my religious beliefs, my life, my love interest, thus bringing me to explain why I love my boyfriend.

 

“Are you an evil person?” The man asks of me, “Are you evil in the Hannibal Lector way or in the common person evil way? Many people look at me and assume I’m evil, they look at me and assume I stabbed that Malden woman years ago, or that I’ve touched little boys. These people should direct their hate towards a more deserving cause. I swear to you, I’m no pervert,  I am no pervert…”

 

The way he reiterates the fact that he is no pervert while stroking himself at a public intersection may seem funny to some people. I almost giggle myself, but remember my manners. I think to myself, “This man is crazy,” but immediately regret my thought. I would rather not make such a judgement without trying to understand the man. I ask him if he thought me to be evil and I told him I used to steal coins from my parents and shoplift candy from CVS.

 

“Do you like giving presents more than you like receiving them?”

 

I tell him I do. He nods knowingly

 

“You like making your boyfriend happy, don’t you. You also like being told you are a sweet girl. I bet you spoil your family with Christmas presents. But your love for Jesus is the only way you will make it to Heaven. You need to care about Jesus. You need to hold him in your life. He sits right next to you, right now, I bet you didn’t know that. You need to know that. Jesus helps me push my wheelchair up and down Commonwealth Avenue when my arms are tired. Jesus gets you out of bed in the morning when you haven’t slept all night and you feel yourself getting sick. Judas didn’t care about Jesus. Look what happened to Judas. He died. Bam. Head snaps back and he’s dead. People who don’t love Jesus die.”

 

The man throws his head back, imitating Judas’s hanging to emphasize his point. I think he might tip himself backwards, but he hangs his head back for a moment and allows his eyes to roll to the inside of his skull.

 

I inform him that everyone dies. I ask him about the millions of people who lead wonderful lives but do not hold Jesus as their savior. The man does not answer. He leaves his head tilted back so I can’t see his face. He forces me to stare at his long, grizzled neck and pulsating Adam’s apple.

 

After heaving a sigh of exhaustion, he sits up and he looks me deep in the eyes and offers me a banana. I think to myself, “Oh my God, he’s actually going to show me his penis…” when in fact he takes his hand out of his underpants, reaches behind him into a pouch attached to his wheelchair, and pulls out a green banana. I tell him the banana is not ripe enough to eat, so he puts it away. 

• Coffee Break