I was standing in front of Union Station in Chicago waiting for the late Kansas City bus. Buses to Michigan and Ohio had just boarded and were stopped in the street, annoying the police officers trying to regulate traffic. A large crowd of people was gathered. People were smoking cigarettes around me. I watched a couple people bum cigs from others but couldn’t bring myself to do the same. Hungover and hungry, I had passed multiple places to eat on the walk from the CTA stop.
The bus was nearly an hour late. A woman and her son stopped next to me. The kid had a fresh bag of McDonald’s and the smell of insincere french fries intensified my hunger pangs. The kid’s mom lit a cigarette. An empty stomach prodded me with a twinge of nausea. I squirmed inside my skin. The woman finished her cigarette and went inside, the preoccupied, munching child following her.
Not long after, an old man came out those same doors onto the packed sidewalk. He moved slowly and didn’t seem to have a sense of personal space — he appeared in my peripheral vision and I sensed he was closer to me than is publicly acceptable. I pivoted and turned my head to get a better look at him. He wore a brown coat and dark cap. His neck was twisted away from me in a rather grotesque manner; I could see little of his face even though his body was in profile. He carried a few plastic bags and a tattered leather knapsack over his shoulder. His appearance was disheveled but not terribly so. I thought he might be homeless. Clearly there was no one caring for him. He shuffled in an aimless way. My awareness shifted elsewhere.
I looked down the street hoping to spot my bus and thought I saw the top of it two blocks away. I had almost finished a curse when the old man captured my attention again. He was a few meters in front of me now and facing my direction. I saw his face for the first time; his mouth was open and a long string of drool hung from its corner. I averted my eyes. He hobbled jerkily to my left. Watching a cop directing traffic, I heard a low groan coming from the direction of the old man. By the time I had turned back towards him the groan had become a hoarse yet spine-chilling rattle. Murky blue eyes grew wider and I realized he was looking in my direction. He looked startled, even scared. Dropped like a tree cut down in a forest. A thud that makes me cringe and then twitching and convulsing in a fetal position.
I’m shaken but I make no sound. Two cops appear and take control of the situation, shooing a woman who approached to help. The word seizure floats through the crowd. Everyone goes back to waiting. My bus arrives just before the fire trucks and ambulance. I walk to the bus feeling like the angel of death.
