Sunday November 5, 2000

I haven't seen Tom in almost a week, and I'm starting to worry about him. I go to his week-end panhandling spot, at Scrims on Elgin and Somerset Street, but he isn't there. I decide to head up Somerset to Bank Street. As I walk, I see a small person with a slight limp on the left side, and as I get closer, I realize it's Tom. When he recognizes me he says "Hey Jo-Ann, how you doing?" His voice is a flat monotone.
"Hey Tom, how was your birthday, buddy?" I put my arm over his shoulder and give him a little hug. "I'm sorry, I missed it. I looked for you last week but you weren't at your spot. So how did you spend it"?

"Well it wasn't great. I was drunk as usual."

Tom is not very lively today. He seems quite sober, and quite shaky as a result. It is not what I expected: his mood is so different compared to the last time I saw him. He seems sad, almost in disbelief of his life.

We walk to Tom's weekend panhandling spot, on Elgin and Somerset Street. I go to get us a coffee. When I get back, Tom has two pieces of cardboard he's torn from a box he found behind the building. He's sitting on one, and has put one beside him for me.

Whatever has happened since I last saw him, Tom is not happy. It seems like one of those sad moments of clarity for him, the problems he has, and the comforts he doesn't have because of these problems.

"I can't keep sleeping outside or on the floor in shelters," he says. "I'm getting fed up. I'm gonna die out here; I'm half dead now."

"I know Tom, and the winter's only starting. This would be a good time to get off of the streets to build up your strength."

"Yeah, well I got to do something."

I try to get Tom to cheer up. Usually a dog going by will make him smile, but today not even that works. A guy across the street notices Tom and comes over to us. He's pretty wobbly. He's got one hand behind his back; it looks like he's trying to correct his undies. Finally he produces a small full bottle of Listerine. Tom introduces me as a lady friend but the guy doesn't pay any attention. He talks to Tom for a few seconds and passes on. He doesn't offer Tom a drink and Tom doesn't ask.
Up the street I see one of Tom's street friends whom Tom calls Jukebox. As usual he has a sleeping bag roll on his shoulder and a back pack. He parks his bike. He's talking to the wobbly guy and Bandit, the one-armed guy who sweeps a part of the sidewalk in hopes of getting some change from passers-by. Although he is a half a block away, we can hear Jukebox laughing. He spots Tom and heads our way.
Jukebox is in his usual wonderfully bright mood. He has a large bottle of Maria Christina wine inside his coat pocket.

"Hey Tom, how you doing? I'm leaving today, Tom. I've had it," Jukebox says. "I just need the money for the bus, and I'm out of here. I'm too old and too tired for this. I met a nice lady last week, and we're getting married. She's got her own business and she owns her own home. I'm leaving as soon as I get my "green card". I lost it again, I got to get me one tomorrow." He points over to the Toronto Dominion Bank across the street and I assume he means a bank card, but who really knows?

"Tomorrow morning, I'm going in there and I'm getting a new one."

Tom listens and believes it all. I'm a little doubtful, as Jukebox always says he is leaving, that he's got to get out of here, but he never seems to leave. Juke says to me, "Me and Tommy we go back a way. I've know Tom for 4 or 5 years. He's an angel. You take good care of him, 'cause I'm leavin'". He turns to Tom. "So what do you say, Tom, want to come share this last bottle with me before I go?"

"Well what time's your bus?" Tom asks, and I half fear Tom is going to ask me to give Jukebox money for the bus, but he doesn't. Tom seems torn. Mostly he seems too weak to make the effort to get up. He says he's been up since one in the morning walking the streets. Juke says he's done the same.

"Wow," says Juke, "when is the last time you had a shower, brother? I just caught a whiff of you. It's about time. Why don't you go and get cleaned up? Get some new rags. I just did, got rid of my old rags and got new ones."

There are places like the Union Mission, Oasis, Centre 454 that provide showers and a change of clothes for people. Some people on the streets use these drop-ins regularly. Tom is not one of them. He usually wears the same clothes for weeks or months on end. He will get so smelly that even sitting upwind from him doesn't help. It's funny, but I get used to the smell and what Tom is wearing. I can recognize his clothing long before I recognize him.

Last winter, he had a bright yellow jacket that he lived in for a very long time. It even got washed a few times by his worker or by the nurses at the hospital. I remember a nurse telling me one of the other nurses had taken all of Tom's soiled clothes and washed them for him. It's another sign of how people want to help Tom. I remember that hospital stay: Tom was in bad shape, suffering from pneumonia and a foot that wouldn't heal. I would have thrown the clothing out, but this nurse chose to do a random act of kindness, because Tom liked wearing those particular items.

Today Tom has on a long, below-the-knee down-filled jacket. He's had it on for well over a month. It's funny, but his jackets kind of become his home, I think. He seldom takes these coats off once he gets one that works for him. It needs to be warm and it needs to have lots of pockets. I remember the black leather jacket he wore when I first met him. He wore it all year round and for over a year. At one point he even painted images of Aboriginal mythology on the back of it. He finally lost it after one of his many stays in the drunk-tank, the cops told him they had to burn it. "It was full of bugs," he said, and got a good laugh out of the thought. "Well Tom," says Juke "are you comin' or not? I ain't got all day."

"Tom, you should go if you want to," I tell him. "I don't mind at all. Do what you need to do. I just wanted to say hi, make sure you're alright."

I remember I have his birthday gift in my bag, two long scarves. Tom is convinced that long scarves are his best defense against his next bout of pneumonia. He takes the red one and ties it around his neck, then he does the same with the other one. He looks down at them proudly. Juke tells Tom he's lucky to have a friend like me and I say I'm lucky to know Tom.

As Tom maneuvers his body and begins his ascent to standing he reminds me of a small child pulling himself off the floor and trying to stand for the first time. Tom grasps the pillar behind him, turns to face it on bent knees and then slowly straightens his shaky legs. Once he is erect, he needs to wait for things to settle, for gravity to kick in so he can stand. It seems that this is the way that Tom's life goes…body aching from too much booze, Listerine and maybe even solvents, sitting on a street corner looking at the past and seeing the future as a continuation of this abuse unless he stops.

And what of his friends like Jukebox? How can Tom possibly say no to a drink with him? A friend, someone who genuinely cares about Tom and a drink that will temporarily make some of Tom's pain go away. How can we expect Tom to leave this lifestyle? It's the only one he knows and he clearly has reasons to stay in it.
"Maybe I'll get that money for those cigarettes from you after all, Jo-Ann."
I give him the money he had earlier refused.

"OK, Jo-Ann, thanks for coming to see me". Jukebox and Tom head down the street. Juke has put his back pack over Tom's shoulder and I suddenly remember I have my camera, and ask if I can take a picture.

Tom smiles for the first time, and Juke says, "Of him or of both of us?" I say both, so they stand together and Juke puts his arm around Tom. They look at the camera and I try to capture the wonderful friendship between these two gentle souls.