I knew Joe for one hour
A man stands outside of a downtown Chicago restaurant, tightly bundled in mismatched clothing; a grimy threadbare gray sweater, engorged by the multi-layers of T-shirts underneath it, and covered by a shabby, oversized black coat, torn at the seams and doused in filth. The logo on the arm, once a proud exclamation of fashion prowess, is now dimmed and peeling away. His tarnished, shaking hands occasionally brush under the nostrils of an inky face pockmarked by a bitter wind carried by days of repeated aversion and nights of blithe disregard.
Despite a revolving phrase, indistinguishable in words or tone from the last, and mouthed with automated hopelessness to those who pass by him, he is neither perceived or acknowledged. The world has endowed him with an alchemy to make his base, shriveling figure invisible.
It is a gift the woman who passes by him desires above all else and, ironically, it is only this frame of mind that reveals the man to her one frozen, January afternoon.
THE WOMAN: I can't do this anymore. Sod it!
Her reasons make sense.
Shortly after the woman embarked upon an insurmountable journey, her mother disowned her. She was being verbally attacked on a daily basis by everyone from Pat Robertson to perfect strangers. Her best friend declared that the entire endeavor was relentlessly self-serving, doomed to ignominious failure and worthy of little but contempt.
Despite promises that the cure for her problem lay with an intensive few months of rigidly applied guilt followed by an exorcism, her only realistic option was to make the journey and so spend her days either as the entertaining focal point of a two cent daytime television sideshow or rejected completely as an abomination to society.
Yet the cost to her family, a career and of the nurturing shoulder of a once, dearest friend has been so very high and she needs to think of a way out.
For today, her plan only goes as far as some hedonistic, horribly fattening food as part of a stolen, long lunch hour. The icy wind surges down Randolph Street and handily tears through her layers of wool, fur, nylon and skin. She is certain there is no one who lies at the bottom of a deeper and more numbing chasm.
It is in front of the restaurant that her irredeemable self-pity is courteously interrupted.
THE MAN: Excuse me Miss, can you spare a couple a'dollars?
THE WOMAN: Sorry, I don't have any cash on me.
THE MAN: Have a good one Miss.
She has just placed a mitten on the inviting yellow bars of the entrance, when something about the man becomes immediately perceptible. For one diminutive moment, he looked directly at her. Like so many others before him, he saw through her disguised face exaggerated with amateurishly applied color and in complete discord with her build, the size of her hands and who she obviously used to be.
But he said nothing.
There was no "Holy shit! It's a dude!" or "You faggot!" There were no quotes from Leviticus, no best intentioned counsel for her to "find Jesus!" There was no sniggering, no pointing and no gibes about her appearance of any kind. In fact, was she wrong or did he just call her 'Miss'?
There could be no greater compliment.
She turns back towards the man with a response compelled by years of rigidly indoctrinated, polite British upbringing.
THE WOMAN: I could buy you some lunch though.
THE MAN: Would you? I'd be so grateful.
The woman pauses self consciously.
THE WOMAN: Umm, well, what would you like?
THE MAN: What they have Miss?
THE WOMAN: Blimey, I don't know, a cheeseburger, a chicken sandwich, what do you fancy?
THE MAN: A cheeseburger, I guess. Is that too much?
THE WOMAN: I'm not sure really. I try not to have lunch here very often.
THE MAN: Oh.
THE WOMAN: Look, why don't you come inside and we can look at the menu? Then, just pick out what you want.
The man steps back, his brown eyes are as wide as a puppy's at the threat of a rolled up newspaper.
THE MAN: No Miss, you jus' find me something if that's OK. I can wait here for you. I don't think they'll let me in there.
THE WOMAN: It's all right. I'll stay with you until you've ordered.
THE MAN: You sure?
As they go through the door, the woman should be blushing quite profusely. She should feel like a complete banana. However, for the first time since her journey began, the opinions of others can go to hell. This man who smells like a urine soaked oil drum, and seems as out of place in the restaurant as a politician does with personal integrity, is all that matters to her.
THE WOMAN: Bloody long line.
THE MAN: Uh Miss? I really don' mind waitin' outside.
THE WOMAN: You're fine.
THE MAN: The manager's starin' at me, Miss.
THE WOMAN: He's staring at both of us.
The manager approaches with the energy and determination of any acne-ridden twenty something, with a long career in the fast-food industry in front of him. Although from the moment they entered, he had been cautiously eyeing each of them in turn, his mission now is to expel the woman's lunch partner from the restaurant.
MANAGER: Excuse me, sir, unless you're buying....
THE WOMAN: Yes, hello. He is buying something. He's with me.
THE MAN: I can wait outside.
THE WOMAN: He's a friend of mine and we're going to eat together.
MANAGER: Oh? He's been loitering outside this restaurant all morning, harassing my customers.
THE WOMAN: You know he's standing right here.
MANAGER: I'm sorry?
THE WOMAN: Don't pretend that he isn't right in front of you, Sir. If you've got a problem with where he's been all morning, then address him, not me.
THE MAN: I don' wanna be any......
MANAGER: You don't have to raise your voice, Ma'am. I'm just doing my job.
THE WOMAN: I'm not raising my voice, and might I suggest your job would be better served behind the counter instead of in front of it, hobnobbing with your guests? Or do I have to take this up with your corporate office, let me see, Mr. Hickman?
MANAGER: Yes, Daniel Hickman. I'm sorry. Please enjoy your lunch.
The manager retreats, brutally stung by his defenseless prey. However, from that point on, the woman and the man never leave his sight. The woman's enraged history of antagonism towards her is now focused in glares back in the manager's direction and she wonders whether the 45 minutes that follow are not the longest of Daniel Hickman's life.
THE WOMAN: There goes the undefeated champion of at least a decade's worth of arsewipe competitions.
THE MAN: I'm trouble for you Miss. I'm sorry. Maybe this wan't such a good idea.
THE WOMAN: You haven't at all. What's your name?
THE MAN: My name, Miss?
THE WOMAN: Mmm Hmm. Would you rather not tell me?
THE MAN: No, s'OK, Miss. My name's Joe. No one ever asks me that.
THE WOMAN: You mean people like me?
JOE: Sure.
THE WOMAN: We should.
JOE: Why?
THE WOMAN: Because you have one. Mine's Gretchen by the way. It's nice to meet you Joe.
JOE: Thank you, Miss.
GRETCHEN: Are you all right?
JOE: Huh? I jus' never had no-one ask....
GRETCHEN: Hang on, please don't go anywhere. I'll go and get you a napkin.
joe: OK, Miss.
GRETCHEN: Gretchen.
JOE: Gretchen.
GRETCHEN: Picked it myself.
She gently eases her way through the remainder of the line and grabs some napkins from a pristine stack on the counter. The dirty look one of the cashiers gives her could have charred a hole through the Hoover Dam. She shrugs and returns to her place in line with the disconcerting feeling that Joe would be gone.
GRETCHEN: Good you're still here. There you go, Joe
JOE: Thank you, Miss Gretchen.
GRETCHEN: You're welcome.
JOE: Warm in here.
GRETCHEN: I never was very good with excessive heat.
She accepts one of Joe's napkins, tenderly pats her forehead and regards him tentatively.
GRETCHEN: How are you are managing out there?
JOE: Ain't easy.
GRETCHEN: It's been such a miserable winter, and today, wow, I thought I'd become a badly dressed glacier by the time I got here. I shouldn't complain though. Not to you. God, how do you make it? I mean just standing out there all day? Where do you go at night?
JOE: You gotta keep moving. I walk up and down Randolph, you know, keeps me going some. Sometimes I gets enough money together for a coffee. That helps, but you gotta keep moving. I keep telling people that. I known some folks who was fine one night and the next morning I'll go see 'em and they're gone.
GRETCHEN: Gone where?
Joe just shakes his head.
GRETCHEN: Jesus. I'm sorry.
JOE: They're stupid and don' listen to me. They don' try find a shelter or steal somethin' to get arrested. I can't do nothin' about it. I tell 'em every time I see 'em. Like Grey. He died on Monday night and I knew it was gonna happen. I tried to tell a cop but they don' listen to me. I tried not to be upset. You don' need to worry Miss Gretchen. But if you don' mind...
GRETCHEN: What?
JOE: Nothin'.
GRETCHEN: Tell me.
JOE: I mean, I don' wanna asks you. You been so good to me, but would you not take the Lord's name in vain?
GRETCHEN: I did? Oh right. I'm sorry. Habit.
With a blush, Gretchen lowers her head. She remembers cussing once in front of her father. His correction wasn't so gentle and involved a heaped spoonful of chili powder.
GRETCHEN: Joe? Would you mind eating with me? It'll keep us both out of the cold and besides, I think Danny Boy over there needs to sweat for a little while longer.
JOE: I wouldn' wanna keep you, Miss Gretchen.
GRETCHEN: It's just Gretchen, and what are you keeping me from? The rest of the day strapped to my phone begging for a donation to my organization's gala? I can live without it.
JOE: Careful with your job. You might end up standing outside wi' me.
GRETCHEN: Good company.
JOE: You don' mean that.
GRETCHEN: Actually, I do. I'm an outcast in my own way.
JOE: So you're a....
GRETCHEN: Yes.
JOE: I honestly didn' notice 'til you told me, Gretchen.
GRETCHEN: Bollocks. I'm sorry.But you're being much too kind.
JOE: I mean it. You're a classy lady.
GRETCHEN: Never heard it put quite that way before.
For the first time in months, she genuinely smiles. They have finally reached the front of the queue. The assistant is a girl of no more than 19 who looks less than pleased to see them.
GRETCHEN: What would you like, Joe?
JOE: Is a burger, fries, and a Coke OK wi'you?
GRETCHEN: Please get my friend a Number One with a Coke. Large-sized. I'll have ten pieces of near-fried chicken gizzards or whatever they're supposed to be.
ASSISTANT: For here or to go?
GRETCHEN: For here.
ASSISTANT: For here?
GRETCHEN: Yes.
If there's one thing the manager's staff has been trained well in, it's the declared, elongated pause.
GRETCHEN: Problem?
Both the Assistant and Gretchen look over to the manager who is between bagging hamburgers. With no words an entire argument between the three of them is carried out and resolved.
ASSISTANT: No.
JOE: Thank you, Gretchen.
GRETCHEN: No, thank you. There aren't many people who would call me a classy lady.
JOE: Tha's so hard to believe.
GRETCHEN: My best friend said something terrible about me a few days ago.
JOE: Why's she your best friend then?
GRETCHEN: She isn't since you ask. I wrote her a letter in response saying, pretty much, "goodbye."
JOE: Just for callin' you one name?
GRETCHEN: Not just one name, Joe, but a lot of them over the past year, since I told her I was going to transition. It was starting to destroy me, physically and mentally. I'd no choice but to just let her go.
JOE: I'm sorry.
GRETCHEN: Don't worry about it. I'd say that my problems are fairly trivial compared to yours.
JOE: I just want somethin' to eat, a place to live and a job.
GRETCHEN: I just want my friend and my family back. Do you see a place to sit, Joe?
It isn't a huge problem. Like a pair of magicians, they both seem to be able to make people disappear, as easily and rapidly as Trixie within the sword-impaled box. They sit in silence for a moment. Gretchen wolfs down her burger as if she hasn't eaten in a week. Joe is taking his time.
JOE: You eat quickly.
GRETCHEN: Always do when I'm hungry. My dad would be upset. He was definitely one for 'relishing flavors', you know chewing four times before swallowing. Though he'd never approve of this as food.
JOE: I use to be the same way wi' my kids.
GRETCHEN: You have kids?
JOE: Had, Gretchen. Don' know where they are now. I haven't seen 'em since they left home.
GRETCHEN: How long ago was that?
JOE: Before your time. I was livin' in Gary. They laid me off and I couldn't get work. None of us could. Some stayed in town, some split. My wife took the kids to live with her old boyfriend in Cleveland. I jus' let myself go. I lost my home, everything. Never saw my kids again. They were young when this happened I don' think they'd remember me if they saw me again. She probably told 'em I died. Better that way.
GRETCHEN: My mum stopped talking to me a year ago.
JOE: But not loving you I bet. Not deep down. I don' blame my wife for what she did. She had to look after our babies. I sure wasn't doin' anythin' to help. One day you're on the top of your world and the next s'all gone from you. Happens fast.
GRETCHEN: No one can help you, Joe? I mean, you've no friends?
JOE: They all left, one at a time. Some of 'em I lost to age. Some jus' fell away from me. Too worried 'bout my own problems to care about theirs, I guess, or I asked 'em for money too many times. Now I don't have no-one in my life. You gotta be so careful, Gretchen. What you said earlier, don' let that happen again. Your family and your friends, you need 'em. Don't you be stupid wi 'em.
GRETCHEN: I wasn't. It's more complicated than that. They broke my heart, Joe.
JOE: Well next time, you jus' let 'em break it, then you find it in yo' heart to forgive 'em.
GRETCHEN: I hope there is a next time.
JOE: There will be. I can tell. You ain't going to be like Ol' Joe here.
GRETCHEN: I'm not going to end up as a woman either.
Totally perplexed, Joe drops the french fry he is holding.
JOE: You're one now.
GRETCHEN: No, I'm a man in a dress. Lara was right about that. The whole da....the whole wretched idea was just a selfish pipedream and it's hurt too many people. I spent my entire life desperately wanting to be someone else. I never once imagined that the world preferred I stay the way I was. I miss them, Joe.
JOE: I'll go get you a napkin, Gretchen.
GRETCHEN: No, I'm OK. I'm sorry. I cry at the bloody Geico lizard these days. But I just...I just want it to stop. I'm supposed to spend this year living full time as a female. Bloody lonely year. Then they'll let me have an operation I can't afford. My neck's killing me just from spending every day looking up at the bill. I feel like an idiot even thinking about it now.
JOE: We both got cash flow issues then.
GRETCHEN: Yeah. It's only been four months but I've lost almost everything. Even my job's going downhill. They've been supportive but I don't how long it'll last. My boss keeps hauling me into the office and lecturing me on 'appropriate office attire'. Hell, I can't even put on hose without completely destroying the point of the bloody things. My colleagues try but they can't get the pronouns right and I end up locking myself in my office totally embarrassed. I keep thinking, staying a guy would've been so much easier. But if I turn back, if I do that, I'll be right back to the way I was, hating my own skin.
JOE: This'll make you better?
GRETCHEN: Dreams usually do.
JOE: Then you gotta keep moving.
GRETCHEN: Is that what you're going to do?
JOE: I'm 63. Nobody's gonna give me a job or a home now.
GRETCHEN: You know if I could...
JOE: You got your own pretty life to lead.
GRETCHEN: No, I mean it. As far as everyone else is concerned, shouldn't we both be under a rug? One stared at, one ignored but equally despised.
JOE: You didn' ignore me and I ain't staring at you.
GRETCHEN: We don't run into each other every day.
JOE: I've seen you. Even if you hadn' brought me in here, I'd still think you looked like the most beautiful woman in the world.
GRETCHEN: And you're a decent and amazing man. Even if you hadn't called me 'Miss'.
JOE: Then we're rich.
GRETCHEN: Richer than Warren Buffett.
JOE: Next time, I'm buyin'. Gretchen?
GRETCHEN: Joe?
JOE: You ain't alone.
They clasp each other's hands. Gretchen brings Joe's to her lips and kisses them.
GRETCHEN: We should do this more often.
JOE: You know where to find me.
For the last twenty minutes they had together, Gretchen and Joe were old friends, repudiated by the world but without a care in it.
The following day, and for months afterwards, Gretchen returned to the same restaurant at the same time but Joe was gone. She asked if anyone knew what happened to him. She even called the police and was promptly rebuffed.
But she kept moving and, one year later, she got her surgery thanks to the unexpected kindness of a local philanthropist. Although some of her friendships were lost for good, she made others and reached an accord with her family.
Today, no one points and no one stares. She walks in and out of restaurants without a complaint, and if there is any old Joe out front who needs it, she will make sure to buy some lunch. The logic being if you bring them out of the cold for a while they will always do the same for you.
I only knew Joe for an hour but I learned enough for a lifetime. A decent man, hit by a semi full of economics and bad luck obliterating everything except the last shred of dignity that keeps someone from just standing still and going into a final sleep. He kept moving and so shall I. He has forgiven and so shall I. He set the example of courage and dignity and it is one I shall follow.
