I’m doing a show at the Flame tonight and this is the story I’m going to tell, it’s from way back August 17, 2013:
Today I need to rely on the generosity of others. That’s a rare thing in our society: worshippers of the God of independence and I am an avid disciple. It always surprises me who comes to the rescue. Last week it was the affable lanky and lovely Jeff Gladstone and today it is a tag team of Russell Wallace and Colleen Winton’s boys, Sayer and Gower: handsome well spoken young men who will do the heavy lifting for free if I don’t insist on paying them. The kind of young men who give me hope for the future, these two. But they have jobs to go to and my move is unending and I end up…long story short: with a U-Haul full of heavies parked in front of my apartment with no help in sight. I put out a facebook notice and Kitty Nichols offers to pedal over on her bike within the hour. I can picture her with most excellent hair and signature bright lips: pin up girl to to the rescue! She alerts me by text “Kitty from the old Playhouse”: bitter sweet to read. I head out to the Uhaul and roll up the rim to win: carrying out the manageable articles in order to not keep Kitty long, and in my mind, to not over turn one of her high heels. (she’s forever Gil Elvgren to me) I hear a rattle louder than the one my truck ramp makes…down the street rolls a rubby with a grocery cart full of odds and ends. He has no teeth, he’s bald ears up, the rest of his long grey hair is splayed out under a baseball cap. He looks like a Kim Mitchell Jacob Marley who has absolutely no intention of going for a soda. The baseball cap has the visor in tact but the head part is missing the fabric, exposing a cross floating in a rapturous backbend over his skull. He says something about that desk being too heavy for me to lift and he gives me a hand down the ramp. And the first thing that flies through my head is “how nice” and the second thing that flies through my head is, “this man is here with a cart and I have my door open and a U-Haul full of my stuff to steal and he knows where I live.” He calls out with concern, “you’re not going to try and lift all that stuff by yourself, are you?” I wave him off, “I have a girlfriend coming to help.” He hums, then, “Ah, it won’t take a minute. I got nothin’ better to do.” And he leap frogs into the truck and starts lifting my desk parts like an Eastside superhero. I notice underneath the ripped shirt is a ripped abdomen. He sets them by the door, not going in and just gets down to work, man. He lifts my old TV (already broken a bit) and I drop the one end and smash the bottom even more and I have a speaker hernia on my hands. He pokes it back in, a seasoned doctor of used appliances and says, “the wires are still intact, it’s fine.” Then we set it down to readjust and the whole thing falls apart in our hands like a big black pastry shell. “This TV must be thirty years old but I hate to throw away anything that still works…” I laugh, it’s heavy as hell and so large it requires its own room. “You can still save it”, he offers, and this makes me laugh so hard we both lie belly down in the Panasonic rubble. “Keep it in the truck for a dump run, I never watch TV anyway”. “Me neither” he says. He spends half an hour helping me unload the rest of my stuff and he never once asks for a favor or money or any compensation. He just sighs at the end, “Man, I need a beer!” I apologize, “I’m sorry I don’t have any-” He cuts me off. “I got it.” He reaches into his grocery cart and sure enough, he pulls out two Alberta genuine drafts. He offers me a semi-cold one. I snap it and we drink. He shows me the innards of his cart: a skull jar filled with unidentifiable dark liquid, a glass boot mug, a pink tea pot, a set of drill bits and a poster of an aerial view of Vancouver “So I can see where I am when I’m high” he says. “Name’s Ed. I like to drink. Guess you might have figured that.” He says. And that’s it. We lean against the U-Haul, wiping away the sweat on our brows, drinking our beer and a couple of neighbors walk by: squidgy girls in colorful stretch pants who look at us “like, OMG”. I don’t give a flying f*&CK you girls, because you know what? Ed was there for me today. Ed did an honest bit of work and he deserves a beer in the sun, twenty bucks and my gratitude. Once his beer is done, he grabs his cart and wheels away. “I needed help and you were there for me, Ed. I sure appreciate that” I call out after him. He grins and points to his gaping maw. “I don’t have dentures. Whenever my teeth rot to the root, I pull them out and put them in a jar. And once they all go, I’ll make a necklace. Then I can pull them out and say, “See, I still got all my teeth.” That’s some kind of oddly wonderful beautiful smile.
