Ricardo

I locked my bike up next to an old man on a bench yesterday. He asked me if I would care to purchase a poem. I was running late for yoga and told him I didn't have time. He said the yoga teacher had also bought a poem and that it was okay, he'd be there when I got out.

I had forgotten him by the time I left class, but he spotted me immediately from his new perch on a bench across the street. As I approached my bike, he stood up and looked left, searching the oncoming traffic for a gap to cross. I watched him cross the street. He was a short man, and his shoulders slumped forward dramatically to accentuate this feature. He wore a loose cardigan - fitting for the strangely cool morning. I wore a sweatshirt. He hugged a stack of file folders close to his chest as he met me.

"So how was your class?"
"It was really nice, thanks. Did you sell any poems while I was in there?"
"Not yet... do you want to have a look?"
"Sure," I said. He invited me over to the bench where I first saw him.
As we sat, he began to read off words from the top of each file folder. He'd read one, look up for my reaction, and then give a short tagline to support the title.
" 'Grandmothers...' " he read, "do you have any grandmothers?"
"I've lost both of mine."
"I'm so sorry about that... Well, let's see here: 'A Conversation with ___ ____' - she was a classics professor over at Harvard. These are the old poems, you see." He opened the file folder to point out the font. "These were all done on typewriter! I'm computer illiterate. That stuff is not of my generation."

He continued in that way through the entire stack, until we got to the end of the pile, and he asked me which I'd like to read. I was so content to sit there that I decided to start from the top. I read through each one, overwhelmed by the volume, trying not to read too fast, but a little too shy to fully invest in his words while he watched. People approached him as we sat. He introduced them to me by name, inquiring after their wives and children. He told me that each one was his neighbor; he was everybody's neighbor. Eventually I picked a poem to purchase.

"This one is for a man," he said, looking sly.

"Oh really?" He didn't think I had caught the innuendo. It was better that way.

"Well, for a woman from a man's point of view. You give it to your boyfriend or husband."

"Okay," I replied.

But I didn't have correct change. So he waited while I ran into Starbucks. When I returned to purchase the poem, another old man in big sunglasses and whitewash jeans approached us.

"Paulie!" he said. "How are ya? Great to see ya. This is Anna - she's an opera singer!"

"Nice to meet you," I said. We shook hands.

"Oh boy, this guy knows everyone," said Paulie. "And I only just found out he likes these double entendre jokes! We were out here the otha day just laughin'! Hey, I got another one for ya."

He told us a few stories; they were definitely clever, but they were improved exponentially by his jovial Bostonian delivery. Ricardo's whole face scrunched up as he laughed high and loud. His smile revealed more rotted teeth behind his cheeks. Paulie said he was surprised that his jokes didn't bore me. I told him I was having fun. He stepped on my foot just before he turned to go.

"Oh excuse me, young lady!"

"No problem. I didn't mean to trip you. It was so nice meeting you."

We shook hands and he walked off toward CVS. Ricardo leaned in close to me then.

"Paulie's blind," he said, "he's been going blind for years."

"Oh - I didn't realize," I replied. I felt like a jerk for being in the way.

"That's all right. I'll listen for you on the classical radio then."

"You do know I'm not famous, right?"

"Not yet, anyway. Let me give you something." He reached into his file folders to pull out another poem. He took a pen from his pocket and signed it. "This is my favorite one."

"Thanks, Ricardo. I'll be seeing you around then."

"Alright then, Anna. You have a nice day."

He shook my hand tightly and I got on my bike.