american christmas

In the distance I can see golden Christmas lights poking out of trees like frozen fireworks. And I think back to Fourth of July and the slick and sticky watermelon seeds that glued to my cheeks for hours and how I didn't realize that until...well, until I saw pictures.

There is a homeless man in the distance holding a soggy piece of cardboard so tattered and worn that the there are indents on their sides which resemble the chomp marks on leaves made by hungry caterpillars. Christmas lights illuminate his sign, which says "please give," except please is misspelled. And I can hear the gas station's holiday jingles and see families with cherry-stained cheeks hop into their waxy SUVs, rolling their eyes at the homeless man and speeding off into the night. I look for him, and for a moment he has disappeared behind the exhaust of their luxury "utility" vehicle. Struck by the irony, I wonder if petroleum vapor and slammed doors were what the homeless man had in mind when he asked for others to "pleese give." I would roll down my window and give him a dollar or a hug or something, but I only have a MasterCard and my light is green now.

I look into my rearview mirror as I drive off into the night and toward the lights, and soon his face fades into the blobs of black that separate the Christmas lights from the leaves of the hedges that stand like soldiers in front of the many suburban tudor style homes. And I think about the watermelon seeds stuck on my cheek and how I didn't realize they were there even when they were gone. I hope the homeless man doesn't think he's been forgotten.