The “Junkman” and the Torso

I even found, in the pile of Smiley's things, left on the curbside, a shimmering lamp that caught my eyes, sitting there glowing in the sun. A lamp that looked like a brass kaleidoscope of polka dots of copper discs that shimmered and shook in the afternoon breeze. I picked up the lamp and smiley said, “oh yes, I’m so glad you like it. Put it in your little shop”. And so, I carried it on my walk, and it was heavy and awkward, and I smiled all the way to the shop.

Of course, it works he had said, smiling. And I plugged it in, lighting up my newfound treasure. He gave away pictures and canvases and art supplies, furniture, motorcycles, trailers, and he talked about what he was going to do, where he was going to go, while we sat on his porch, smoking and drinking beer while all the things around his house and the things in his house and all the things that surrounded his house all, slowly disappeared.

When I asked about his next place, he replied, “I can go anywhere”, and that he had money to rent a new place, and so we sat in the two chairs in his little stoop and we watched the sunset behind an old, massive oak tree and he told me how over the years, that tree had grown and blocked parts of the view of the setting sun in its wide, outstretched branches.

Today I walked by the empty yard, with the empty house and the empty porch, wondering what happened to Smiley the junk man, and as I crossed the walkway of his neighbor, we crossed paths. The neighbor stopped and saw me and looked at me, and looking down with a shrug of his head, he said, “I don’t know if you knew what happened to Smiley.” I could tell by his tone, perhaps an illness, a disease, an unfortunate circumstance. And I said “no, I had not heard anything about Smiley.” And He replied, “Smiley shot himself in the head last week; I guess he just couldn’t handle it.” His head held down, as if something might had been done about it.
The rest of my walk, I shed tears for Smiley. But more than that, a certain sadness, a rising anger. In that walk first walk of observation, months ago, he had lifted my spirit. Because he had been a stranger and now, the junkman had become “Smiley.”

It was not long ago, this dispersing of things left an empty house, and all the while, while his things were dispersed, the contemplating of suicide had been creeping in there all along; while we sat and watched the sunset and drank beer and smoked, talking of change and things to come from these unfortunate circumstances. To outsiders, he was just the junkman, and cleaning up meant a place sold. To me, his palace had crumbled, disarray replaced by a yard cleared, and house repaired, and a kind, beautiful human that was still there on the stoop watching the sunset and waiting for me to walk by.

And while I’d been walking by, I looked for him to be there, and say hello, and talk about the weather, and the sunset, the big, old oak tree, stooping, heavily in the cold, winter afternoon.