Postcard #4

Kitchener, Ontario
September 2008

Unless I'm hanging out with my sister I don't often hear profanity in public the way I did today.

"Fuck you, you fucking cock suckers!"

I was honestly shocked to hear that it wasn't words coming from my sister's mouth. Not only was it not my sister yelling, but it was also not female. My sister's eyes were wide, staring over my shoulder.

Turning around I, too, saw the owner of the trucker's mouth. An old man was shuffling out of the bus station. The two buff security guards were standing there, silent, watching him go. But he didn't get far.

He heard my laughter and turned on me. Dropping his open backpack, spilling its contents on the ground, he charged at me with news paper rolled up in one hand. I was no longer laughing. There was no humour in this situation.

If he was younger than seventy then the streets had aged him. His clothes were new looking, but no longer clean. There was dirt crusted in the corners of his mouth and the closer he got to me the more I could smell his fishy stench. I tried not to heave. I kept a straight face trying not to let him see my weakness, to see I was scared.

"You have no fucking respect. You go to the oil countries! You go to the oil countries and you'll die like these boys did." He shook the newspaper in my face, muttering things I couldn't hear or understand.

"You have no respect for people who have been there and battled like I have. I've done my duty in these oil countries and you, you disrespect me."

He was still in my face, yelling and breathing all over me. But I stood still. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see the security guards coming, but I stopped them. If this man had been in 'the oil countries' fight along side people who had died I was going to give him the respect he wanted and deserved. I was going to let him know I was grateful, even if I did think he was totally crazy.

"No respect, you fucking bitches. You're just like those fuckers. No respect for the people who gave you freedom. I gave you freedom and you take it away from me. Three more boys died for you. Died to give you freedom. The same freedom you took away from me."

I let him shake the paper. He was so close he was stepping on my left foot. The security stood right behind him, waiting for me to tell them to help me out. But I didn't want to disrespect him. I didn't want to offend him.

"Those three boys died for you. Just like I died for you. I died for you and you cock suckers just kick me out! Fuck you, cock sucker."

He just about hit me with the newspaper when the guards grabbed him and ushered him down the street. I was shaking. My sister was already half way down the sidewalk not wanting to get involved. My legs almost gave out on me. I had to sit down. I needed a moment to regain my courage to walk past the gathering of homeless people that were cheering him on. I had no idea what they were going to do, if they would continue what he started.

Finally, I got to my feet and headed down the street. Two ladies with their stomachs folded over the waist band of their pants and a man with no teeth watched me. tThey were laughing, watching me. My stomach was in knots.

"You should have kicked him, girl!" One of the women said, putting her hand on my shoulder.

"You shoulda told him to stop being a cocksucker that he is! Fucking crazy," said the man with no teeth. He offered me a cigarette, but I declined. They patted me on the back and I went on the way feeling a little less terrified.