from the series LA NIGHTS | tab above |
Los Angeles, 07.01.2021
Day 1
Inside a landmark café in the city of Los Angeles enters a boy; the word boy brings back many feelings when spoken out loud. Boy. You can go back to the first days of school and remember writing the three letters that encompasses an entire life: brothers, sisters, mother, father, grandparents, friends, neighbors. An entire community surrounds this being.
At his early stage of life, hopefully, one is busy with being a kid: playing, attending elementary school, falling in love for the very first time. Boy and Girl, the very reason we exist lies in the romantic notion of these two nouns.
This particular boy is nameless; one of thousands that wander the city, while, the city in question, Los Angeles, now asks what to do with them all. This particular boy is tall, has curly hair, a goatee and is as handsome as the young stars Hollywood sell to us as the new face to watch. He carries a blanket; filthy. He takes three steps into the store and looks around; turns on his heel, opens the door and tosses the blanket outside, before walking to a barista and ordering: " Two glasses of water, please. No ice."
The young girl does not flinch, which makes me think that this has happen before and she is used to it. She treats him as well as any of her other customers, probably feeling a sense of accomplishment, because this might be the only humane interaction he will have all day. This café has a reputation for training their employees extremely well and if dealing with homeless was part of her training program she has not forgotten the lesson.
He does not engage with her in any way; doesn't look at her in the eyes, doesn't talk to her at all. His eyes are distant somewhere. I've seen this gaze before since starting this assignment. Some of the homeless I encountered have mastered it. Models have the same gaze; I will venture a guess that, for the very same reason.
I have an untouched cappuccino in my hand; I ask if he would feel offended If I gave it to him. He does not look at me. He does not answer me. He does not acknowledge my question in any way. I am not such a hopeless romantic that I don't understand where I am; the very next thing I do has to be the right thing not to offend this kid in any way. I look down, avoiding looking at him and turn away. The barista is looking straight at me and tells me softly that, " he just wants his water." confirming with the pronoun "his" that she has served him before. He has a friend in the city, at this café. I make a mental note of this and understand that at some point I ought to sit down and investigate what does that mean: this relationship.
She is casual about the whole thing; pleasant and yet I do not see any indication that she is following any protocol of engagement. She deals with it as if this is the most natural thing in the world; a young good looking boy, homeless, who has enough awareness to toss his filthy blanket outside the store before ordering a couple of glasses of water. His demeanor is the same as the girl by the bridge. You don't care for me, so I don't care for you. I deny you and your attention regardless of your intention.
The interaction had me thinking about the properness of offering him anything, after all, I have never approached anyone in the store and offered to pay for their coffee. My action reminded me of Madonna and the late, unbelievably misguided, Michael Jackson, who visited the country I was born, Brasil, and asked to tour the favelas. As if poor people were an attraction they schedule during their visit, after they had become bored with their other activities.
I wonder if this boy cared enough to give me a second thought. I wonder if I ruined his perfect day. A beautiful barista who treats him as a human being and a clueless writer who treats him as a homeless. The road to hell is paved by good intentions. I wonder if my motive, my reason, my failed attempt at humanity registered with him at all. My guess and hope is that it doesn't. We gave up on him. He gave up on us. Just another day in downtown L.A.
When you visit downtown L.A. try asking for direction to a passerby, your fellow human being, Nine out of ten times they will ignore you completely as if you don't exist. Yesterday, I saw someone in front of a couple asking for directions and they went around that person in a synchronized movement, as if they had agreed that 'we will venture outside our pristine, meticulously manicured expensive building, in the middle of this mess, but we will remain inside our little bubble."
Today, a tall gentleman gave me directions, so I engaged him: " why your fellow Angelinos don't like giving directions?" He smiled. " They get bombarded daily with beggars so they got used to doing this." So I put it into context: " Even for people that are obviously not homeless?" " It is easier to just avoid everyone." he said.
I had to smile at that; my mask prevented him from seeing it. I thought with meus botões, "this must be a new clause added to our social contract."
I am not signing it!
