Ancient Druid. A.M.

I usually come to work around 5 in the morning. I jump in the shower, get dressed in sweats and drive through the still sleeping city I love so much. It takes me 10 minutes to arrive at my office versus the 45 it would take even an hour later. I crank up the music and let my little body and soul wake up with the sun.

This time is always so special to me. There is NO ONE around! Well, except for Bushman. Bushman sees me every morning with my hair still sopping wet, dragging my make up case, work clothes and hair dryer through the dark parking lot. Bushman is our resident homeless dude. He's been here for years. He lives by the river that runs behind our office.



How to describe Bushman..... He's got wild, wild hair, hence the nickname. He has the full on Grizzly Adams beard and a wild, untamed look in his eye at first glance. He always carries a filthy blanket over his shoulder. Bushman used to wait until someone entered our building in the am and would glide right in behind so he could wash up in the restrooms on the first floor. Since people were frightened of him, we upped the ante on our security system and Bushman pretty much stays away now.



I see Bushman almost every morning. I gave him money once. He grunted and accepted it, never once looking me straight in the eye. But I looked at him and saw a gentle giant of a man who somehow either chooses to live life outdoors, probably has mental challenges and lives on the fringe of society. Bushman does not appear to suffer from substance abuse. He seems wounded, shy and feral.



This morning, I jumped out of the shower and realized all my sweats were in the washer. Since it is cold outside and I don't like to put my work clothes on before I dry my hair in the office bathroom, I looked around and saw the black robe my friend loaned me for Halloween. Full on black with a hood, pointed sleeves and floor length, it was perfect to keep me warm while I made the dash from my car to the office. Besides, no one would be around to see me.....



I drove to work in my Druid robe, parked the car and grabbed my stuff to drag into the building. As I rounded the corner, I encountered Bushman sleeping on the picnic table in front. He opened his eyes as I approached and let out a little tiny scream. Not realizing I was wearing a black robe that probably resembled the Grim Reaper, I squeaked out a "Good Morning" in my high pitched voice. Bushman shook his head, mentally collected himself and grunted out a gruff phrase that might have been some sort of Good Morning back. Either that or "What the FUCK are you wearing?"



Not much is known about the Druids. They left no written records about themselves. The only evidence they existed comes from descriptions and stories from the authors of that time. I think about Bushman. No one really thinks about his existence. He is like a ghost passing through. No one even knows his real name. Maybe one day I will find the courage to ask him. Maybe he'll tell me. Maybe not.....

Wonder Woman and The Crotch Rocket

It's not easy being a SuperHero. There are people to save, enemies to fight, the Universe to save. Yeesh! And SOMEONE always wants to touch your magic lasso! Sometimes it should just be enough that you are a Superhero and you spend the day without saving anyone or anything. It should just be enough. Or maybe it should be that every once in awhile, your SuperHero status is reversed and you actually do more harm than good.....



Once I left Molly's around 1 a.m. It was a warm spring night, and I wasn't going out with the others to the Photo Finish, so I elected just to drive the short distance to my house still dressed as Wonder Woman. I was headed down the I-44 and that really curvy overpass when a guy on a Crotch Rocket came flying past He did not negotiate the curve well and slid about 50 feet until his bike came to rest in the middle of the road.



"Oh, shit!" I parked my car and immediately ran over to see if he was okay and offer assistance. Within 15 feet of him, I could literally smell the alcohol wafting from every pore in his body. He was passed out, but groaning. He had a MAJOR case of road rash from the tip of his ankle all the way to his thigh. His jeans were ripped open all the way.  I could see his Tighty Whities.



I stood there, not quite knowing what to do. I wasn't a SuperHero. I just played one five nights a week. I cautiously leaned over his body and peered into this face. "Ummm, hey are you okay?" My 20 yr old squeaky high voice sounded thin and tentative, not bold and deep like Lynda Carter's. Plus,. well, let's just say I wasn't packing the full on Double D's either.....The only thing I had in common with Lynda Carter was long, dark hair and blue eyes.



After what seemed like an eternity, but was really just a few seconds,Crotch Rocket Boy's eyes fluttered open. I was standing over him. He blinked twice and then screamed. "Whoa!" He shot straight up and started scooting away from me. I looked at him, concerned that he was moving when we hadn't established whether he had broken bones.



"Hey, are you okay?" I started to move closer to him. The bike was still running and I could smell the gasoline everywhere. The minute I spoke, he screamed again and grew more frightened. "Whoa, don't come over here." He yelled vehemently. He continued to back away from me by sliding on his rear towards his bike. He finally made it up on all fours and stood up. He placed his hands out when I again tried to approach and screamed again. " No, No, I'm okay. I didn't do anything, I swear!" He slowly backed away from me, taking care to keep facing me and not turn his back. "Whoa, Whoa, Whoa....wow....wow." He kept this mantra up as he picked his bike and tried to get on it. His eyes NEVER left me.



It was then that I realized that poor Crotch Rocket Boy, in an already drunken state, crashed his bike, probably hit his head, passed out and came to in the middle of a deserted overpass with WONDER WOMAN standing over him. Poor guy! And this Wonder Woman was young, naive and not even packing the proper SuperHero, ahem, rack. Al I had to offer was a golden magic lasso and a helping hand.



He somehow managed to get on his bike and drove off, not even looking at the road ahead, but continuing to stare back at me. I stood there in the cold spring night and watched him leave, certain that he would need psychiatric intervention after our encounter. Maybe not. Maybe he tells all his friends that he once met Wonder Woman. "She's not as big as she looks on t.v. and her magic lasso doesn't really work that well."