The Metal Man
posted by nate on December 02, 2002
When we arrive at the station, he inches to the front, moaning and wheezing, toting two obviously heavy bags. It takes a good 3 minutes for him to convince his skeleton of a body to the door. As I am directly behind him, I offer to help. He doesn't look like he's going to even make it off the bus.
He squeezes a smile out of his face and thanks me. We emerge into the white sunlight of spring reflecting off the angular Olympia transit station. The air smells good. Although I'm certainly not giddy about the remaining 3-hour trek home to the flophouse in Westport on the ever-depressing Grays Harbor bus, the sun manages to brighten my spirits. I walk with the old man inside the stuffy, indoor seating area and set his bags down. He tells me he's waiting for the Aberdeen bus. I tell him I am also. He smiles at this and continues talking. I want to go back outside, but feel inexplicably obligated to stay by this man's side.
While we wait he slowly works up anxiety that we've already missed the bus. I tell him I've been watching for it and it hasn't gone by. OK, he says. A few minutes later, he's moaning pitifully: OH, WE'VE MISSED THE BUS! OHHHH! No we didn't, I repeat calmly, the bus has not come yet: I'd have seen it. OK, he says.
He searches through his bag for something, whining and working up worry. OH, I'VE LOST IT! OHHHH.. He soon finds what he's looking for: a pill bottle. He asks me if i want any: "THE STRONGEST PAINKILLERS THERE ARE. I DEMAND THEY GIVE ME THE STRONGEST." "Uh, no thanks," I say, noticing heads turning towards us. Later I regretted this. Most likely it's from my increasing intuition of how it was a bad idea to have helped this strange, old man at all. I also intuit that accepting a gift would be a bad idea.
The man tells me about all the diseases he has. He's got cancer, diabetes, muscle deteriation.. he's got everything. He just keeps listing off terrible diseases. His hips are all stainless steel, he tells me, and goddamn if it isn't cold from the inside-out. "THIS CHILL WIND GOES RIGHT TO MY BONES," he says. "YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT PAIN IS!"
He goes back to his moaning about missing the bus. Eventually I give up on trying to convince him otherwise. At first I could relate to him as I often have irrational anxiety over missing buses and trains. But with each moaning session, he was working up increasing mortification at our being stranded forever. It was ridiculous and sad.
Finally the bus shows up. I'm relieved and consider myself rid of the situation. No such luck. He sits right behind me.
On the three hour ride to Aberdeen, he keeps offering me Reece's peanut butter cups. I accept three before turning the rest down. It's suddenly obvious he's buttering me up for further services.
In Aberdeen, he talks me into walking his stuff to the bar. "COME IN, I'LL BUY YOU A DRINK," he says. Here he gets me: my realizing accepting gifts incurred obligation for futher help suddenly diminished in importance when confronted with free beer. To my dismay, however, he orders a pitcher of Budweiser.
He then tells me he's going to meet a woman here in Aberdeen. He gives me the number, some change, and asks me to call her, mumbling something about his fingers not agreeing with payphone buttons. I take my beer and sit in front of the worn & haggard payphone. The number he's given me returns the "disconnected or no longer in service" message. I try again. No luck.
The irrational fear that I'll never be able to get away from this man suddenly fills me with considerable fear and panic. What if there is no escape? I imagine myself being tricked somehow into helping him for the rest of my life. At the moment it somehow seems possible and that scares the piss out of me.
I walk back to the table and tell him he gave me the wrong number. "WHAT? THAT'S... HER NUMBER! I'VE CALLED HER... 10 YEARS... SHE'S GOT TO..." The multiple painkillers I watched him pop are obviously just making introductions with the alcohol. His eyes are glazed over. He seems to be having trouble staying awake and doesn't finish his sentences. I keep at him, trying to get the right number, figuring if I could just call this woman, I'll be free. But whenever he can wake himself, he just repeats the same number.
Then the bartender is at him. She takes the unfinished pitcher away. He jerks his head up and yells at her: "STUPID BITCH! CAN'T A MAN REST HIS EYES FOR A SECOND! GIVE ME MY BEER!" His head drops, eyes closed. She says he can't fall asleep in the bar and, i'm surprised to hear, generously offers a refund for half the pitcher. His head again snaps upright: "STUPID BITCH! GIVE ME MY BEER BACK!" The bartender calls me over and asks who he is. I tell her I met him on the bus and just helped him carry his bags over here. She wants me to try and get him out of the bar.
I'm through with this situation but don't know how to disengage. The man gets up and stumbles out the door. The outside air wakes him a little. He pleads to me to carry his stuff to another bar, where he's supposed to meet someone he's going to stay with. "Riiight," I say, "but then I definitely have to go."
At the other bar, he gives me a different phone number to call. He starts to fall asleep again.
This time a lady answers. I tell her about this man I've been helping and how he gave me this other number to call. "OH GOD, THAT WAS HIS MOTHER'S NUMBER. SHE'S BEEN DEAD FOR 2 YEARS."
"Mm.. Well," I say, "he's here at the bar and he's falling asleep, and I have to leave." She gives me a noncommital recognition of the situation. I hang up.
I tell him I'm leaving and grab my bag. He looks at me like he hasn't the slightest idea who the hell i am, yet whines under his breath and heaves his bony body into motion after me. Outside the bar a taxi driver is just pulling up. They exchange excited greetings. He's apparently another ancient Aberdeen creature, as they launch immediately into reminiscing old stories.
Recognizing my chance for escape, I slip away at a quick walk. I turn back to make sure he isn't lurching after me, but I get the feeling he doesn't even remember I was there. I heave a sigh of relief and make my way towards the Aberdeen bus, immediately grateful to be alone & feeling like i'd narrowly escaped eternal servitude.
