counting backwards

Missed Connection

Friday, I volunteered at one of the September Concerts. My location was Washington Square Park, and the rain was falling so hard that at times it was difficult to discern whether the water blowing out of the fountain was coming from the ground or the sky.

After setting up the tents, myself and the other volunteer went to a nearby deli to grab a few sandwiches. Upon returning, there were a couple of street people hanging out in the backstage tent. One was completely wasted and seated; the other, Chris, was alert, talkative and seemingly jovial.

A group of high school children were set to perform first. As they started to arrive with their instruments, the backstage tents became crowded. We asked Chris and his beleaguered friend to kindly leave so the kids and the sound guys could set up, but the two wouldn’t budge. They demanded to hear the kids play before they would leave. I stood between the two and the kids as one of the teachers talked to the increasingly belligerent men. Eventually, Chris became apologetic and complied with our request; he helped us get his buddy mobile also.

Later, I was working at the information tent at the side of the stage with a guy from the concert’s co-sponsor. He was trying to give me some instruction on setting things up when Chris returned. This time, his eyes were wide as he stared at me from across the table. He told me he was a sociopath, that he was aggressive. I kept eye contact and nodded and folded fliers. On my right, the man from the co-sponsor continued talking to me as if Chris weren’t there.

Chris was practically foaming at the mouth, repeating, “I’m a sociopath.” Incited by the man from the co-sponsor ignoring him, Chris became more aggressive, and I wondered if I was still limber enough to dodge a punch. I kept folding fliers.

“You’re nothing compared to me,” Chris told the man from the co-sponsor. “I’m out here on the street every day. I would destroy you.” The string of threats rolled on, but to his credit, the man from the co-sponsor paid him no mind and continued giving me instruction. I kept folding fliers.

Chris looked back to me—folding, listening. “You, I like,” he said.