Member-only story
Pioneer Square Vignette № 2.
I decided to go out for lunch one day last week instead of holing up in the loft. Wednesday April 6, 2022.
I walked up Yesler on my way to Uwajimaya for lunch. A man in his 20s with a mouth in its 90s walked past me, his head shaved, tattoos faded across his forehead. Tall and thin, he swayed down the sidewalk, like a stalk of wheat in a Palouse wind.
He wore a flannel shirt — too big, corner edges flapping. Paired with black and red stretch pants. Finished with brown leather oxfords and low profile socks.
“I just got out of the hospital,” he said, like he’d known me for years. He smiled. A sun break highlighted his blue eyes.
“Oh, man!” I said. I turned my head to answer his greeting. Seagulls swooped and cried while Friedrich stretched his harness, pulling me in the opposite direction up the hill. Up the hill toward Harborview*, the hospital from which this boy –barely a man– was undoubtedly just released.
He craned his neck to continue the conversation as he walked past, pushing a shopping cart. Not a full one, but a smaller one. The ones with a small basket on top and a slightly larger one on the bottom. Indiscernible belongings stuffed in both of them, its hard plastic wheels tapping a rapid ker-thud, ker-thud, ker-thud on the sidewalk.
“Yeah. I was in a coma!” He beamed, triumphant. Hopeful. I noticed his missing teeth. A beautiful smile, nonetheless.
He continued down the block, turning north on Second Avenue toward his future. I continued up the hill toward mine.
Nowhere Else to Turn: Harborview Services Extend Care for the Neediest into the Community
