this happened 10 years ago.

3 Prophets

Part 1

  I woke up one morning a couple of weeks ago-the sun was so warm on my body. My room at Nate's parents' house didn't feel so cold. I got myself together and for the life of me couldn't rush myself. I was enjoying that time to myself. The big house all mine, every little creak in the floorboards all for me…The sound of the furnace clicking on to warm the big cold emptiness. I stepped out the door into the light. It felt like it was shining just for me. It was the first sunny day in a long time. I had my polaroid camera in my hand, where it belongs. something made me stop and photograph the roses standing in our yard. The sun was shining through the petals, exposing all of the veins, and even in the frigid morning they stood tall, needing attention. The blue sky surrounded them in my photograph. 

   I walked down Foulkrod St paying attention to too much. The leaves were falling on my favorite little tree. People walked by and nodded to me, their hot breath coming out in smoke signals in the winter air. The house where the folks live (who collect trash the night before trash day and then re-sell it at flea markets or porch sales) had cats and kittens all nestled together to stay warm in the chilly day. I see those cats every single day. Almost always I feel bad for them, I worry about them. Today, this day, I seemed to understand, and it didn't pain my heart. I took Penn St instead of Foulkrod to Margaret. As I walked down Penn looking at new things-different houses, the obvious class change, the social structure change-the light itself seemed to change. It looked almost brighter. I nodded my head and gave a silent "thanks" to a god I swear I don't believe in. Everything in all of it's trash looked absolutely breath taking.

   I walked down Arrott St. Three young black kids were chasing each other around the rotten porch of a house. One girl who couldn't be older than ten years old sat on the bannister looking out into the world. She looked elegant, pained and beyond her years. Seeing her created a little space in my chest. I wished her comfort and looked at the boys playing and my hollow(ness) was replaced with a happiness for innocence. I stopped at Arrot St Terminal even though I was very late. I pulled out my cigarettes even though I didn't want to smoke. The sun was playing games on all of these peoples faces at the terminal and it illuminated a hispanic man as I asked him for a lighter. Blue collar man in well worn work clothes. His bus came as he was reaching for his lighter and he handed me his cigarette and rushed past to hop on the 59 bus. Immediately the old woman who was standing behind him said to me "Hey, do you want that cigarette?". And I did not want a soggy half-smoked newport. She said"Why don't you ask one of those fellers over they want it?' She pointed at two down trodden men dressed in rags, looking flushed with alcohol, looking tired from living hard and with no recognition of the life happening around them. I politely told her I was too shy, so she took the limp cigarette from my hand and asked them if they wanted it. They looked up and one of them became alive and animated instantly. He smiled wide and said "Lady, I've been trying to bum one of these for three hours…thank you so much!" She made his day, or his moment, or whatever. Her simple thoughtfulness made me remark on it. I told her she was kind for thinking of them. The sun was on her fully. She looked almost angelic. Her head was wrapped in an ancient scarf riddled with holes. It was dirty. Her coat was ragged. She was layered in clothes that were beyond repair. Her face and hands were wrinkled beyond her age. Lines ran deep like rivers down her cheeks and around her gleaming eyes. She gave me a big smile from behind her withered lips. I saw gaping holes where her teeth once were. For the first time I noticed a big, jagged scab on her nose. She was so pure. Something shined from within her. 

  We started conversing. Her voice was burly, deep and scraggly. She had a thick Kensington accent and I loved it. She kept talking smiling and laughing. I told her she was beautiful because it was bursting out of me. She just said "Yeah, 'cept this cut on my nose." I asked her about it and she explained that she was walking on Kensington Avenue beneath the El tracks late at night. The Street light above her was out and she could;t see very well. In the darkness she stumbled and fell face first to the ground, scraping her nose. She said "You know what the funny thing wasThe light went on as soon as soon as I fell." The she burst out with a big "HA!" She told me "you just have to laugh. There's too much in life to make you cry, so sometimes you just have to laugh." The she crinkled up her face and said "Hon do you want to hear a joke? It's corny but clean, like my life" I replied that of course I'd like to hear a joke. This 86 year old woman proceeded to tell me a silly ass joke about cockroaches of all things. It only made the Kensington come out all the more. It made me laugh hard. I told her a pirate joke and the laughter that bellowed out of her filled me up. It made me feel whole, made the day of work ahead of me a concept that didn't seem so bad. We stood and talked for a couple of minutes, those hazel eyes gleaming at me the entire time. She touched me, touched my arm and said "remember to always smile. Don't let life get you down. There's more out there to make you sad than happy…but you gotta laugh". This would be the first message of the day. When she touched me with her withered hand a warmth spread right through me. Her bus came then. She told me her name, Marion. She smiled that big decaying black smile and wished me well. I floated up the steps to the El. I felt like that God I didn't believe in was on my side. I couldn't stop smiling. I was in my own happy little world. Everything looked wonderful and my neighborhood was my neighborhood. 

Part 2

  I stood up there on the el platform at margaret and orthodox happy as could be, watching the sunlight move across the tracks, feeling possibility, feeling endlessness, just a calm warmth. Folks walked by, I watched them, their faces and differences. A woman saw me watching and immediately approached me. She was slightly heavy, fairly unkempt. Her long, dark brown hair was stringy and dotted with large dandruff flakes. Her brown eyes dances with a hint of mischievousness and curiosity. I watched her work the words out of her mouth before she spoke them. Her round cheeks pushing them out at me. "Hey, you goin to school huh?" I said "Naw, got work." She replied "Must suck. you like it though?" I said "Nope. Don't like it, but it's ok. I'm lucky to have work when the economy is so rough. " She said "yeah" but dragged it out. Something was off about her but I could tell she just wanted to talk. She moved about shyly but kept her eyes on me at all times. Her mouth was fun to watch, she half smiled as she talked. She looked lonely and tortured but smiled nonetheless. She asked me "Aren't you 'fraid to talk to me? You don't even know me." I said "nope. Your eyes tell me you're a good person. You don't mean any harm. You're just curious aren't you? Why do you talk to strangers?" She took a moment, looked at me with such full brown eyes and whispered like she'd get caught "so I don't have to listen to myself. It keeps my brain busy." I wanted to fill her with my warmth and honesty. I wanted to love her, touch her face. Here she was so honest and curious, so innocent, just in need of some validation. Doesn't anyone give it to her? Have they ever? She was not afraid to talk to me but she was socially awkward and she was extremely observant. something was strange about the entire interaction.

    The train came. I sat facing her. Things started moving fast, spinning almost. She barraged me with question after question. She asked me questions most people don't ask. "What do you like to do more than anything else? Are you scared when you wake up in the morning? Do you love your family? Do they love you?" She told me about her life. 37 years old, lives with her dying parents in the attic of her childhood home. She nearly whispered to me, looked like a scared child, but still smiled after each painful sentence. I couldn't help but love her. The questioning began again and just kept going. Her questions fierce an strange. I started getting goosebumps. The questions were getting serious. The train moved over North Philly at the pace of her endless inquiries. And she listened to my answers and I answered honestly, honestly to questions strangers shouldn't ask. They kept coming, her face becoming brighter, her eyes stronger. She knew me. She had me, and she wasn't who she was.  She asked me questions no one would know to ask but myself. They were in fact of the things I had been questioning of myself over the past month. It scared me. I looked in her face and questioned her with my eyes. I looked for answers in hers. Something extraordinary was happening. I don't know if I could ever explain it. The goosebumps spread all over me. 

    I asked her what made her warm? What does she love? Does she realize how special she is? Does she know how smart and observant and necessary she is? I told her that her bright eyes were lovely and warm and that she was setting me on fire with her words. She grabbed my arm, looked into my face and with all of the seriousness in the world said to me "You question yourself too much. Question the world. You look for answers every day. I want you to know that there are no magic answers to any of your questions." A hotness spread over me. I was dumbfounded. She took away her hand and I immediately felt cold. I looked up and all I could do was to ask her name. She simply answered in her shy nervous little kid way "Rose".  I looked down at the polaroid in my hand and something inside of me made me silently place it in her hand. After a moment I said "I think I took this for you when I left my house." She asked my my name and asked me if i knew of Saint Theresa, I said "of course, my grandmother is quite fond of that particular saint. She told me I had given her "the rose". She felt that God had blessed her with my presence and our interaction. She explained that "the rose" was Saint Theresa's sign that her prayers were to be answered. I remarked that she was in fact my own "rose". My own sign of Saint Theresa. She smiled. Her stop at 8th Street came. She stood, smiled at me at my eyes. She told me to remember what she said. She told me to have a good day. She said "Wish me luck finding nice plates at KMart." Her otherworldly powers shutting off. She embraced me and left. 

    I just sat there in a daze, trying to make sense of what had just taken place. Maybe god was making it hard for m not to believe. I got off of the train at 15th Street, that big giant clothespin above my head. Everything was bright and intense. I felt like i was dreaming and couldn't shake it for a moment. I had two very intense meetings in only 45 minutes. I shook it off and thought it a strange coincidence. Philadelphia is an intense place. With intense people. I just kept telling myself that as I walked up the steps, looked at Billy Penn and prepared to shoot a polaroid. 

Part 3

   When I looked up at City Hall an overweight Asian boy with a big horseshoe shaped scar on is head was looking at me and my camera. He was wearing shorts and a tee shirt. He was riding a scooter from the eighties. One of those scooters that is primarily an old skateboard deck with a metal upright handle. He rode it clumsily. He spoke too loudly at me. He said "Hey! Hey lady! Miss! You got a quarter?" I handed him two shiny dollar coins. He looked amazed, like I'd made a mistake. He said "Hey! Hey! This is two dollars!" I just said "yeah I know. It's all yours". He laughed a little too loud and very much like a child. He exclaimed "Yay! I got two dollars! YES!!!" I smiled at him. He smiled back. I opened up the polaroid to shoot the top of city hall. He saw me taking a photograph and said "Hey! Hey! Take my picture. Take my picture!" He was full of energy, excited. He seemed slightly retarded or mentally ill. His face was chubby. He looked like a bright shining buddha. He never stopped smiling. He looked like he knew something I didn't. Like he was in on a joke I'd never be able to figure out. I played along. I asked him where he wanted to be photographed. He moved to his spot of choice, in front of City Hall. 

  I framed the photograph and snapped. He let out a squeal of delight as the polaroid popped out. He dropped his scooter and ran to me, stood close to me. We watched the image appearing slowly. He giggled and blew on the photo. As he bent down close to me I noticed for the first time the social security tags hanging around his neck. The tags issued to someone with a disability or medical condition. Made sense. We shared space for a moment. He said "Wait till you see what I did!" and put his hand over his mouth and laughed with so much mischief. He then pointed to my back pocket and said "Hey, what's that?" I turned around to see what he was pointing at, finding nothing and looking again like a dog chasing it's own tail. I couldn't find what he was trying to show me and asked him what he was talking about. He laughed hard, amusing himself. He said "Ha!! Nothing! Got you! Got You!" I laughed. He composed himself, calmed down as much as he could and pointed at my chest asking me "What's that? No I'm serious this time, really. Promise." I said with my best fake curiosity "What? what is it?" I looked up and down and he poked my face with playful fingers screeching "Ha! Ha! Nothin!!! Gotcha twice" Then he snatched the polaroid from my hand and said "Ya gotta see this! You Hafta!" I looked down and laughed hard at what I saw. In the image he stood, smiling so big. He was giving me the finger. He laughed with me and said "Ha! Gotcha three times. That's three!" Then he put his big paw on my shoulder and said "You shouldn't be so EASY!" He just kept laughing And I laughed with him. I was having the time of my life. I asked him if he was cold in only shorts and a tee shirt. He stopped, stood tall, looked into the distance and said with all of the dramatics he old muster "I was born on a cold winter's day." It made me laugh. I asked him if he liked the cold. He just said "I like the cold, I like the hot." I questioned "So you like everything then?" He looked at me proudly and replied "There's nothing wrong with liking everything. It's better that way." I silently agreed with him. I smiled at him and asked him his name. He told me "My name's Alannnn, What's yours?" and shook my hand. I replied "kim". He jumped up and down, laughing hysterically. He yelled so loud "Ha Ha! KIMPOSSIBLE. Kimpossible. You make everything IMPOSSIBLE!" I laughed and felt strange because it fit me perfectly. How would he know? He stoked, looked at me directly in the face for the first time and said "Kimpossible, it;s time for you to go to work." Then he stood and put both of his arms out, pointing in opposite directions. I stood, puzzled, wondering what he was doing and asked him as much. He said simply "Whatever direction you choose will be the right way. You'll find your way, so keep going.Just go. " 

  I didn't know what to say. This was the third message I seemed to have been given in such a short period of time. I thanked him and started walking. I was confused and overwhelmed. Almost tired from the interactions I had had on my commute to work. He was the final prophet. I wanted to shake it off, blame myself for over sensationalizing the chance meetings I'd had with these three intense strangers. Something inside wouldn't let me. All of them had questioned me and gave me answers and some sort of advice that I couldn't throw by the wayside. I felt blessed almost or I suppose, how people describe being blessed. I thanked the nonexistent God one more time. I took in all that had happened and tried to digest it, feeling warm and pure. I walked the sun soaked bustling downtown streets to work, almost forty five minutes late and smiled at every single person I passed.