“OK Junior. I have a few things I want to leave you with before you go. You have to believe in yourself. No one is above you. Don’t let anybody push you around but at the same time you need to respect others. Don’t be an egotistical snob. Nobody likes people like that. Do be confident and positive. Nobody likes a whiny negative person. Remember that love is the greatest ambition in life. Whatever you do, always strive to do it with love. Be kind to others and give what you can to those that need help but don’t let people take advantage of your generosity. That is your gift to give not what others should take. Be careful. Be good. Make me proud. Goodbye Junior.”
flush....
I watch my poop swirl around before it disappears into that place where poops go. I look in the mirror to make sure I am ready. I’m not sure why, but I have always been very sentimental about my poop. I know it’s weird but I can’t help it. Anything that was inside my body is just hard to see go. Somewhere along the way it got to be a habit to say goodbye. I’m 32 and last year I lost my first tooth. You should have seen me then. I had a burial service and cried, no shit. It even gets me to cut my hair, or cut my nails. I know its weird, but I feel like a part of me is dying. It is I guess. Anyway, I got this show on the public access channel that my buddy Carl helps me with. It’s got its own little cult following I guess you could say. We get the people you don’t see on TV very often and ask them things that you normally don’t hear. I try to get below the surface of the façade that is normally on mainstream American television. Even the reality shows are about as real as an artificial heart. The only thing real about them is that they’re called reality shows. Everything on network TV is about money. They have no concern about truth and the soul. If something on TV actually shows that, it’s just a coincidence. They found a way to make it sell. And they’ll change it if it stops selling. So it never really had it in the first place. I just try to be honest. Public TV is the only place left where you can do that. There’s no money, that’s why. Anytime there’s a buck to be made, you will find dishonesty. Even on public TV there are people who think they are going to make it big someday so they try to appeal to what they think is popular. Fake. I don’t want to be on network TV. I will never have someone else control me, and then sell it as real.
“Marty! Are you coming?”
“Ya Carl, I’ll be right there.”
Me and Carl are taping two shows today at my apartment. That’s where we usually do them. Not always though. Last week we did a show in the dressing room of a strip club. That’s nothing special, but the girl we interviewed was different. She was a midget and she was blind, and one arm was half as long as the other. She worked in a normal club though. She was used as a gimmick. When she would dance people would laugh and stare like they do the Fat Lady at the circus. They only liked seeing her because it made them feel better about themselves. I didn’t want to exploit that like Howard Stern does. Try and sell the oddity like everyone else. The thing was, she was a really nice girl. She could dance better than anyone else there. She was blind from birth. Never took dance lessons, and was a great dancer. She loved to dance. She had to dance. She couldn’t tell you why, she just did. I think it’s because she had a great gift. A gift that couldn’t be seen because of her appearance. She wasn’t there because she was a crack whore with a great body, obviously. Or because she was a circus act, likely. She was there because she loved to dance. And as much as she didn’t like it there, it was the only place she could dance. A blind midget with a short arm just doesn’t get work as a dancer. She knew people didn’t see her as beautiful. They thought she was a funny freak show. But they were still nice enough. Every once in a while she would perform such an amazing dance that everyone in the club would applaud with true genuineness. That’s why she did it. That’s when she felt beautiful. She said if she could get shallow men in a strip club full of women with perfect naked bodies, to see past her outward appearance and truly applaud her performance, then she must be the world’s greatest dancer. And that was her dream. That’s what we talked about. After the interview Carl took some video of her dancing in the club. The guys in the club laughed and slapped five, “Take it off baby, Take it off.” The way they do when an old lady on Jerry Springer takes off her top. I sat there and just watched her. She danced as if someone were battling every obstacle possible, fighting Hell itself, to reveal the truth. The truth that she was gifted. She moved me to tears. I have never seen anyone dance with such heart. She was beautiful.
“Hey Marty! What are you doing?”
“I’m coming.”
Mr. Hart is sitting on the couch enjoying the coke and pretzels we gave him. Carl is still fidgeting with the camera and lights. I met Mr. Hart a week ago at the park on 8th and asked him if he could be on the show. He is homeless and has lived in the woods next to the park for the last ten years. I told him we didn’t have any money for his time. There would be refreshments if he wanted. He could watch the tape when we were done and if he didn’t want it to air then it wouldn’t. He said he would come.
“You ready to get started Mr. Hart?”
“Ready when you are Mr. Marty Smarty Pants.”
“OK then, you ready to roll Carl?”
“You got speed Smarty Pants.” Carl says.
“Thanks bird-chest.”
“You have speed?” Mr. Hart asks.
Me and Carl smile at each other.
“Carl didn’t mean that kind of speed Mr. Hart. He meant the camera was speeding. It’s running. It’s ready to record. All systems go.”
“Oh, to bad.” Mr. Hart says.
“All right so lets get started.” I pause for a second. “Hello and welcome to Below The Surface. This is the show where we have no motive but to just learn about someone who is not what we see as normal. I am your host Mr. Marty Smarty Pants. That’s who I am referred to by today’s guest Mr. Hart. He won’t give us his first name because it’s none of our damn business. Mr. Hart has been homeless and living in the woods for the last ten years. Have you been drinking Mr. Hart?”
“Just this coke that you gave me Marty Smarty Pants.”
“Would you like a beer?”
“Now that would be nice.”
I get up and grab a beer out of the refrigerator. Carl follows me with the camera.
“Do you think he really needs that Marty?” Carl says on camera.
“He’s a homeless drunk. Beer is like water to him.”
I sit back down on the couch and hand the beer to Mr. Hart.
“Does it bother you that you smell really bad of alcohol and body odor?” I say.
“Would it bother you?” Mr. Hart says.
“Ya, it would. Why don’t you bathe?”
“It’s not that easy. The only place to take a shower is at the beach and nobody wants a homeless guy to strip naked there. Plus my clothes would still stink. These are all I have. If I washed them everyday I would always be wet. And I don’t have a drier.”
“What if you had a bathing suit and you took your clothes with you once every few days and washed them out at the beach while you took a shower,” I say.
“You sound like you used to be homeless Marty Smarty. I did that for about three months. It doesn’t help all that much. Without soap and deodorant body odor gets pretty bad. After a while though you don’t even smell it anymore.”
“But other people still smell it.”
“The only people I’m ever around are other homeless people. And they surely don’t care. If your gonna panhandle though it helps not to stink to bad. People give you less if you stink. They figure your just gonna buy more booze.”
“Don’t you just get sick of being dirty?”
“Not really. You don’t even think about it after a while. It becomes normal. Like a house dog that runs away and learns to survive in the wild. You just adapt to a different world.”
“But you still live in this world. You see it all around you everyday. Don’t you desire it?”
“That’s a loaded question right there. I might need another beer for that one.”
“Ya, me too.”
I go to the fridge and get three Miller lights. I give one to Carl and Mr. Hart.
“So Mr. Hart, do you desire to be like the normal people you see everyday?”
“Like you Smarty Marty?” He says.
“I thought it was Marty Smarty.” I say.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, you said Smarty Marty.”
“What the hell are you talkin about son?” He says.
“Forget it. So, do you desire to be like normal people who live in a house and bathe. Who work for a living and have a family?”
“That’s a loaded question. I would love all the good things this world has to offer. But having a house and a job and a family have nothing to do with it. People have that and commit suicide everyday. You know, once upon a time people lived more like me than they do like you and were capable of happiness. Being normal isn’t what I desire. Being happy is what I desire. Happiness that is based on social status is not real happiness. It is a mask. It is fleeting and fragile. A distraction from your heart. That is what I see too much of today. Lives that are so distracted that they have a false contentment. When they find themselves alone they realize they are empty. There is no love of being alive in their hearts.”
“So are you happy now. Homeless and alone?”
“I’d be lying if I said I was. But I’m not holding a gun to my head anymore. Before I desired a different life. I hated my job and my wife did nothing but cheat on me. I couldn’t afford to divorce her. When we finally divorced she took the house. I had no where to go and just couldn’t take another day at a job that was slowly driving me insane. I got drunk and fell asleep in the woods that night. The next day I didn’t worry about going to work. It was freedom. I was homeless, alone, and unhappy. But I was free. I didn’t plan to stay homeless but it got easier and the freedom was addicting. I’m better off than I was. I do wish I had a faithful and loving woman to share my life with though.”
In one swallow Mr. Hart drinks his entire beer. I finish mine with him and get us two more.
“Do you feel like your life has any value Mr. Hart?”
“I think every life has value. As long as you have a kind heart. This kid Preston gave me a ride in a limo once. He just saw me on the side of the road and told me to hop in.
It was late. He had just dropped off his date from the prom. Her parents were pretty protective so she had to be home at a certain time. We drove around half the night. Making stops every once in a while for more alcohol. We talked about everything. We stood up through the sunroof and screamed all around town at everybody we saw. We laughed our asses off.
We got pulled over four times by the cops. They didn’t know what to think of us. Preston kept telling them I was Batman and they should thank me for fighting crime. By the third time I was so drunk I started thinking I was Batman. The cop asked me my name and I kept saying ‘I’m Batman’. Then Preston would scream ‘I’m Robin’. The cops told the limo driver to take us home after the fourth time we were stopped. We had a blast. Preston dropped me off at the park and said he had the greatest respect for me. He never gave me a dime and said he would never forget me. That was value. To share joy and laughter with someone else. To share your soul without being judged.
“Do you have many friends Mr. Hart?”
“I have better friends than I did before. They die more often though,” he says. “But they are kinder and sweeter than the people I knew before. When people are desperate and hurting and have no other alternatives they tend to band together. The homeless world is a much kinder world than the one you live in. When you adapt the only thing you really miss is the love of a soul mate. But you miss that just as much in the regular world. Some do find love out here but it is rare. There is a much higher percentage of men to women and a high percentage of the women are mentally ill.”
“Anybody you’re interested in?” I ask.
“Ya, but she’s not homeless. Sometimes I think about getting a job and a place and cleaning myself up. Then meeting her and asking her out. But freedom is a hard thing to give up. I think love might be the only thing worth giving it up for. I’m just not sure if I’m really in love with her. I saved her from a rapist once. He was waiting for her in the park late one night. We both knew her routine. She works late at the bookstore on Fridays and walks through the park around midnight on her way home. I knew what he was up to. You just get a sense about things out here. I got to him before he got to her. She never even knew it. She walked passed me and looked a little nervous. Like she was afraid I might do something. She said hello and I told her the park wasn’t a safe place for a pretty girl to be walking through at night. I think she took me the wrong way. She kept walking and looking over her shoulder to see if I was following her. I keep an eye on her now when she walks home to make sure she’s safe.
“Maybe you are Batman,” I say. “Have you ever helped anyone else?”
“You would be amazed at the things you see at night. You recognize who the bad people are and where they go. If an evil man is known to be a rapist or a murderer, and we see him in the right place, he may not live through the night. Sometimes the bad people die in the park, just like the ones they kill there.”
“So you’ve killed people?”
“Yes. Sometimes with others. Sometimes by myself. I either kill them or watch them kill someone else. Usually a young woman. Most of the homeless just look the other way. I can’t. There are a few of us that work together. The ones that look the other way do help us identify the bad people. It’s kind of like a hidden network. Word gets around who a bad person is and when he is out. When I stop one from killing an innocent girl, I feel good. I feel like my life has value.”
“Has anyone ever thanked you for saving their life?”
“The victim almost always runs away. Sometimes if they have already been injured before I can get there, and they can’t run away, they will thank me. But I never hang around long. If I did, sooner or later the drunk homeless guy would be a suspect.”
“How many people have you saved?”
“More than fifty probably.”
“Why would you risk your life for nothing?” I say.
“I told you. I can’t look the other way. Besides, what have I got to lose.”
“You’re a better man than I am Mr. Hart. Can you wait here one second.”
I am about to cry. I am such a baby. I get that way when I see something beautiful. The thought of someone who had nothing, risking his life to save others. Wanting nothing in return. Not even recognition. Willing to die for a stranger who would never even know him. That is beautiful. I go to my room and grab a Batman T-shirt I bought a week ago. I sit back down on the couch and get a fresh scent of the drunk Mr. Hart and then hand him the shirt.
“Can I give this to you? I think you are a hero Mr. Hart. I would be so honored if I could visit you sometime and hang out. I would love to see more of your world.”
“If you bring a six pack Smarty Marty. You can drop by anytime.”
I shake his hand and turn to Carl.
“Thank you for watching this episode of Below The Surface. We are on every week at this time. Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel!”
I thank Mr. Hart for coming and being on the show. Carl says it was really good and he thinks it will make people think twice. I ask Mr. Hart if it is ok to air the interview and he says it would be fine. He gets up to leave and stumbles and falls into the end table next to the couch. He knocks over the lamp and brakes the porcelain base. He doesn’t spill a drop of beer. He says sorry. I tell him not to worry about it. I say I will visit sometime. He says goodbye and I watch this silent hero stumble away.
“That’s gonna be a good show,” Carl says.
“It’s just who he is.” I say.
Me and Carl sit around and wait for our next guest Ken to show up. We keep drinking beers and before we know it two hours pass. Ken stutters and has turrets. I met him at a twenty-four hour Wal-Mart. He was stocking shelves and I asked him if he knew if there were any more dvds left of the new remake of “Dawn of The Dead”, the uncut widescreen version.
“Dawn of the De, De, De, De, De, BLUE PANTIES!”
“Huh” I said.
“I’ll go Che, Che, Che, Che, Che, BLUE PANTIES!”
He put a hand up in the air and said without words “wait here”. He came back with the dvd.
“Last one. I wa, wa, wa, wa, wa, BLUE PANTIES! Saving it. You can ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, BLUE PANTIES! Here.”
A couple of teenagers standing nearby had heard Ken and were laughing. He tried to ignore it but I could tell it bothered him. The dvd was sold out. He had saved one for himself in the back and just gave it to me. Before he even knew if I would be someone who would make fun of him, he gave me his dvd, the last one. That was really nice. I talked to him for a while and we hit it off pretty good. I gave him my address and he said he would come by and be on the show today. I guess he forgot or changed his mind. That’s all right though. Me and Carl are pretty drunk and I don’t think we could do a show anyway.
The next day I wake up feeling dizzy and I have a headache. I go to the bathroom and take some aspirin. I am just about done giving my send off speech.
“….you can be anything you want to be. Believe in yourself and be kind to others. Be careful. Be good. Make me proud. Goodbye Junior.”
And then I feel something very strong inside. Almost like a voice in my head. I feel something from my poop. Like he is saying goodbye. I have always been sentimental about the boys but this time something is different. Like he is real. Or maybe just more a part of me than I have felt before. I put my hand on the flusher and say, “Goodbye to you to Junior.” And I just can’t do it. I sit there and stare at him, and then I get an idea. I call Carl and ask him if he can come over and do a show. I have an idea that I really feel like doing and we still need another show this week. I say I’ll tell him about it when he gets here. I feel really strange in a good way. Maybe Junior is real. I don’t know how. But he is a part of me. Why can’t there be life in him. This is a great feeling. Like giving life to something. I just keep getting this overwhelming feeling like he is alive. I ask him if he can hear me but that is really stupid. If he is alive I know he can’t speak. But he is alive. I know it. My cells are in him. There are living organisms everywhere. In some micro-organismic way I have given life. I am ecstatic. I feel like a new father. I feel wonderful except my head is killing me. I hear Carl walk in the door and I yell from the bathroom.
“Carl, I want to interview my poop!”
It strikes him funny and he starts laughing like crazy.
“Shut up. I’m serious. Just listen to me. There has got to be life in poop. Think about it. Fertilizer dude. Poop helps things grow. It’s alive. And I want to interview it.”
He is giddy and just thinks that is so funny. I let him enjoy himself until he calms down.
“I’m really serious Carl. I know it’s a strange idea but that’s what this show is about. If there is some organic life in poop then shouldn’t it be listened to?”
“Are you feeling ok?” He says. “I think your finally losing it Marty. Are we making a comedy now?”
“I don’t want it to be a comedy. I really want to try and see life from its world.”
“Are you kidding me? Poop doesn’t have a world Marty.”
“I’m going to try and talk for it. Maybe I’ve been really sensitive to life lately or something. I just feel like I can sense its life. And I think it should be heard. I feel like maybe I can say what it would like to say. I don’t know if I can. I just want to try. I’m dead serious.”
“I think your losin it dude, I swear your not normal. I can’t believe you want me to watch your shit floating around while you talk to it. That’s messed up.”
“Thanks man. It might be totally stupid. I just wanna try it.”
“You gonna leave it in the toilet or are you gonna hold it. I think you should hold it.”
“Shut up. I told you I’m going to be serious. It might be bad to take it out of the water.”
“You’re a sick man,” he says.
“I want to do the interview like we would anybody else. I’m gonna ask a question, and then I’m gonna answer with what I think it would want to say. But when I’m talking for the poop I want you to have the camera on him.”
“Whatever you say psycho.”
“Cool, you want a beer. I gotta have a couple beers.”
I walk to the fridge and pop open a beer. I down it pretty fast and think about the interview. How would I feel if I were a living organism made up of poop? What kind of awareness would I have of the world around me? I open another beer, grab one for Carl, and go back to the bathroom. Carl brings a chair in so I can sit down. I give him a beer and tell him I think I will just sit on the floor next to the toilet. We drink our beers and occasionally look down at Junior. He is a good poop. Nice and solid. A nice shape as far as poops go. A big boy to, twelve to fourteen inches maybe.
“You still want to do this.” Carl says.
“Definitely. I don’t know if it’s gonna work but let’s give it a shot.”
“He looks still. Like he’s sleeping.” Carl says smiling.
“I don’t know, maybe. You ready?”
Carl drains the last drops from his beer and sits it on the toilet tank. He puts the camera on his shoulder and aims it at me.
“You got speed freak,” he says.
I look at the camera and I still don’t know where I’m going with this. I have already had six beers today so I’m feeling pretty good. I don’t usually do that in the morning but today I feel like it will help.
“Hello and welcome to Below The Surface. This is the show where we have no motive but to just learn about someone who is not what we see as normal. I am your host Marty Anderson. Today we will be talking with a very special guest. I will refer to him as Junior. He is not quite human so please do not think this is a joke. This is a serious interview. I believe all life is beautiful if it has a good heart, a good soul. I’m compelled to find the soul. To recognize the beauty.”
Carl tries to hold it in but lets out a muffled laugh. It sounds like he is gagging.
“Carl thinks this is a joke,” I say. “This is not a joke. You have to listen to find the beauty. All I can say is I feel this is important today. Please just open your heart and listen.”
I look down at the toilet.
“Junior, I don’t know how but I sense you are alive. I know you can’t speak but I am listening to you. Can you survive out of the water?”
Carl pans the camera down to the toilet bowl where Junior is floating very still. He kicks the bottom of the bowl and Junior started bobbing in the little waves. I just stare at him. I want to say something like he loves the water. That it is his natural environment. Not that it is bad on land. Life is just different on the land. But I just can’t say anything. It just doesn’t feel right. The only thing I sense is no. I wait a second for something more to come to my mind but nothing does. So I say it.
“No.”
Carl pans the camera back on me.
“So are you anything like a fish Junior? Or maybe like bacteria that lives in the water?”
Carl pans the camera to the toilet bowl. I stare at Junior and try to sense how he experiences the world in the water. I want to speak for him but I have no feelings about his life to put into words. All I feel is that he is alive. I just look at him and I picture myself floating there, lying on my back with my arms crossed over my body. My legs together almost like I was in a casket. And then an overwhelming sense comes over me. The words just slip out of my mouth.
“Now you’re beginning to see Marty.”
I hear the words come out of my mouth but I didn’t mean to say them. Carl pans the camera back to me.
“What do you mean? Are you sick? Your not dying are you?” I say.
pan
“Yes, I am. It’s not like you thought Marty. Or like you hoped. But it’s ok.”
I can feel him. I know what he is thinking. I don’t know how, I just do. He is speaking through me. He is dying. I don’t want him to die.
pan
“Why are you dying?” I say.
pan
“It is my purpose Marty.”
pan
“Is there any thing I can do?”
pan
“I’m afraid not Marty. But please understand. It is my pleasure to die. This is the moment I receive my greatest joy.”
pan
“I don’t understand. How are you able to talk to me? I’m beginning to think I’m losing my mind.”
pan
“Is it so hard to believe that I am real Marty. I was just inside of you. We share the same cells. I can’t speak audibly to you, but why shouldn’t you sense what I’m feeling. I’m a part of you. Your cells are still alive in me. You only have to listen like you would to your own mind. And you have listened. I thank you for that.”
pan
He is dying. But I don’t understand why. I have always sensed something before. But I never thought it was someone dying. I always pictured him happy and alive. I always thought he was going out into the world to begin his life. But it was really his funeral.
“Why are you dying? Is there a way you can live?” I say.
“I don’t have much time left Marty. But I will try to explain. I am a part of the cells in your body that are chosen to carry out the bad bacteria and germs that are inside you. If we didn’t help remove this waste out of your body, then your life would be as short as ours. But it is not a sad thing. We are part of the same body Marty, this is our purpose. We must die so you can go on living. We know you Marty. We have watched you live. We can feel when you laugh or cry. You have a good heart and we are so proud. You always see the good in people. I know you have always thought of us like your children in a way. But you are more like our child. It is our only desire that you live a long and happy life. That is why when it is our time to take out the bad things in your body, it is our greatest joy to give our life so you can go on living. Even if we are never realized or thought of. But to be recognized by you Marty. To hear you say goodbye. It is more than we could ever hope for. I can not tell you how wonderful that makes our last moments. We carry the bad things and we are prepared to be seen as ugly, and vile, and something to be buried as soon as possible. But to be seen as we are. As a sacrifice. To be given that honor in our passing is worth more than words can say. Thank you for seeing us Marty. It’s time.”
pan
“I don’t know what to say. I always said goodbye like you were going to live a long life. Forgive me for not listening better.
pan
“Dear Marty, you were listening just fine. The things you always said to us when you said goodbye. We were saying those words to you. You were speaking for us like you are now. We were saying goodbye to you Marty.”
pan
I feel an overwhelming love. I ache to think that such a love existed and goes so unnoticed. And at the same time that’s what makes it so pure and beautiful. I put my head down on the bowl and my tears drop in the water.”
“Thank you for caring for me. I will remember you.” I say.
pan
“Marty. I have a few things I want to leave you with before I go. You have to believe in yourself. No one is above you. Don’t let anybody push you around but at the same time you need to respect others. Don’t be an egotistical snob. Nobody likes people like that. Do be confident and positive. Nobody likes a whiny negative person. Remember that love is the greatest ambition in life. Whatever you do, always strive to do it with love. Be kind to others and give what you can to those that need help but don’t let people take advantage of your generosity. That is your gift to give not what others should take. Be careful. Be good. Make me proud. Goodbye Junior.”
pan
“Goodbye, thank you.”
I pull down the handle on the toilet and he twirls away. I want to give him a name. I sit still for a moment with my eyes closed as a part of me dies. I rub my shirt across my eyes and look at Carl. He’s smiling at me and shaking his head.
