Lord, when did I smell you?
Schulz, Valerie
LORD, WHEN DID I SMELL YOU? Valerie Schulz walk into the library to read the Los Angeles Times on my lunch hour. I settle down with the Metro section and think, "What's that smell?" Belatedly...
...He writes again, and erases again...
...He wears longtraveledin boots and several layers of clothes, even though the library is warm enough to please the oldest and most fragile patron on this snowy day...
...He chews and pops...
...I begin to feel unjustly persecuted...
...It snaps and crackles: a piece of plastic...
...I'm tempted to ask automatically, "What's so funny...
...He is practicing his signature...
...He chews...
...This is a library...
...He laughs at the funnies...
...Commonweal 30 January 14, 2000...
...He chews something very loudly...
...See you tomorrow," I say...
...The library is an equal-opportunity refuge...
...LUKE SKYWALKER, he has written, all caps...
...I can all but hear a voice replying, simply: Yes...
...My reading companion is hairy, dirty, rankly fragrant, with holes in his dusty black jeans...
...I organize the monthly food party and community meal...
...I think of it as his cud as he works it and works it...
...I'm committed...
...He has finished writing again...
...He is probably ten years younger than I, but not as well-preserved...
...I could have stayed in my office, or gone to the coffee house, or home...
...I could have put down fifty cents for my own copy of the Times...
...His hair is encrusted with winter and wind, which hold it in a slushy, stylish, devil-may-care kind of 'do...
...It can't be gum--it's too unyielding...
...He has the most powerful BO I've ever encountered...
...It's not only for those who have showered, who have other resources...
...Valerie Schulz is a free-lance writer who lives is Tehachapi, California...
...He could say: Yes, you little Pharisee...
...I want only quiet, only the smell of books...
...Chews...
...I chose to come here...
...But he doesn't...
...Belatedly I realize it's the guy sitting right across from me at the newspaper table...
...I doubt it is intentional...
...He has come, probably, for the warmth...
...That means digging through the donated bins of marginal fruit to salvage plums or kiwis or oranges or broccoli, packing them in little bags, trucking them back for the people who can't afford fresh produce...
...Every spring I get all the scrubbed little faces lined up to receive their First Communion: I am the director of religious education...
...Jesus, ever forgiving, just gives me a good look at myself...
...In fact, it's rather like the church I say I believe in...
...The thing is white, in high contrast to his nubby teeth, and he maneuvers it around his mouth...
...But I don't...
...I came for the change of scenery, for the escape from coworkers and ringing phones, for the quiet...
...Casually I turn to the editorials, then sneak a glance...
...But I don't...
...Do I have to put up with smelly homeless people on my lunch hour too...
...I do it with a smile...
...My nose tells me I should get up and move right now, but that would be rude...
...As I get up to leave, I look before he erases...
...It's open and welcoming to all...
...He writes, luke skywalker, lower-case...
...Finished with the opinion pages, I scan the front page, the food recipes for the wok, the book reviews...
...Lord (I pray, sort of), I do my part...
...I think about my choices compared with those of my lunch-hour companion...
...All this time I've been sitting with a visiting space hero, and didn't know it...
...I'm the one who picks up the commodities from the food bank, and it's fifty miles away...
...I've worked hard all morning, and I deserve my library break...
...And every last Sunday of the month I'm there cooking and serving and cleaning up...
...May the Force be with us--both of us...
...He uses a pencil, and erases his work as he finishes...
...He writes something with great care on the margin of the funnies...
...I'd like to say, "STOP CHEWING...
...His choice, quite possibly, was: library, or snow...
...Writes, erases...
...Stinks...
...And the restroom...
...I work for the church...
Vol. 127 • January 2000 • No. 1
