i am a selfish m.f.

I met Al Bolden on a subway platform. Amongst the people coming and going, there he was bobbing and weaving as he shuffled forward. I recognized he was drunk almost instantly. He must have weighed a good 275 or so, and with little momentum gravity took him straight down with an ungraceful collapse. Being a fairly rotund man, it looked as if he cushioned his own fall and was soon trying to get up, with little success. A small group of people stopped and stared, at a safe distance; non-committal, maybe wanting to help but staying safe inside their own perimeter of intention, unperturbed and not willing to veer off their path. It was both interesting and sad to watch them, watch him struggle, shuffle on his knees toward a cement post and use it to try and stand. His legs would not push his atomic belly upward and the alcohol made it near impossible as he collapsed under his own weight again and again. I could hear him talking softly to himself, "c'mon man, c'mon, damn, c'mon"; both frustrated and encouraging.

I watched him with the detached professionalism of a seasoned new york city EMT. Hardened by years of taking drunk folk off the street, them fighting with me, spitting on me, puking on me, and in general, a sad lot. I always felt bad for them, but had a job to do. I felt myself in that mode as I watched him, knowing if I went to help him I was initiating care and would be obligated to some end. I was like everyone else, not wanting to interupt my evening, thinking of calling an MTA person to help -not willing to just do it myself. Why?

When I watched a couple of strapping young dudes walk by him and he was calling out to them for help, that was it. That was the moment when simply being a damn decent human being was the point. Fuck where I was going, or what this meant for the trajectory of my evening.

I walked up to him as he held onto the concrete post, as if his life depended on it.

"hey man, let me help you" I said
"huh, whu..." his inebriated head bobbed in my direction and with it, the weight of him.
The moment I stepped up, another young man asked if I needed help. I said yes right off, I knew with one arm in mine, I'd never be able to manage him myself. This young guy grabbed his other arm and I asked Al to push up with his legs.

"Hold on" he said as I could feel him try and center himself and push. He was standing. Wobbly and reeking of alcohol, but standing with us on either side.

"where you going?" I asked him
"i just want to sit on that bench" he said nodding to the bench some 20 feet from us. And we walked him, shuffle, wobble, listing.
"you got any medical problems or are you just drunk" i asked point blank as we walked.
"both. i had a stroke and been drinking" he sputtered.
"any chest pain now?" i asked
"what, you some kind of medical genius?" he asked
"hardly" i laughed

With a great thud, his ass hit the bench. He was breathing heavily and before I could look up, the other guy was gone. I yelled thanks after him. I looked down at Al and he at me. A standard 'thanks man' was what he offered up. I said 'your welcome' and looked him straight in the eye. I didn't walk away, but stood still right there, waiting for the train. He looked me over and must have been thinking about his getting from the place he fell to the bench, now able to breath easy.

"seriously" he slurred "thank you very much"
I looked dead back at him and asked him "what's your name?"
"Al, Al Bolden" he said. I held out my hand toward him, told him my name and shook his big paw of a hand.
"I used to be a marine you know. But now I'm all used up"
"You ought be kinder to yourself Al" i offered
"yeah, i knows. I beat me up more than anyone. I used to put the smackdown on folks. Now look at me" he said.
I stood there waiting for my train and he sat quietly catching his breath, his self.

My train pulled in and I turned back to him as I boarded. I nodded toward him, and he back at me.
And that's how I met Al Bolden.