Invisible People

I'm late according to east coast time but several hours early on west coast time. It is still dark outside and it's almost 10:00 back home. It's funky getting used to it. I come home tomorrow so there is no a lot of getting used to. A dinner meeting at 7:30 Santa Barbara time meant 9:30 to my body and I never eat that late. We finished up at a respectable 9:30 through after midnight where I live. I slept walked back to the hotel and collapsed on the bed immediately falling asleep.

I had a strange dream of a beautiful woman mowing the lawn wearing leopard skin gloves, rubber boots and nothing else. Of course I had been up since 3:30 a.m. east coast time so hallucinated as my mind was deprived of rest.

I woke up at 3:00 which is 6:00 on Tybee Island but had only had three hours sleep so ... I went back to sleep. It was one of those wake up every thirty minute sleeps. My mind knew it was time to get started but my body refused to cooperate. I'd fall into these deep sleeps only to jar awake thinking the things that I should be doing.

Now I up watching the sun not rise over the Pacific Ocean. I'm used to the sun bubbling out of the Atlantic Ocean and my days beginning bright and full of promise. West Coast days are slow in starting. Light creeps to the beach.

It is also cooler. It's twenty-five degrees warmer at home and well ... these people would die in our humidity. So it blows my mind that they are in the water which looks like giant blue ice cube to me.

On the beach all of the women look the same. They are blond, beautiful and play beach volleyball. All of the guys wear bathing suits and long sleeve dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up and only the bottom three buttons fastened. They don't wear flip flops. They wear sandals.

It is is a wealthy people's place. Santa Barbara is a rich people's land. A glass of the house wine in a beach bar is $9! Guys in bathing suits and long sleeve shirts order glass after glass and boat drink specials that are $12 each! No one seems to be concerned about money.

This makes the ragged people who sleep on the beach at night stand out more. Dirty, unkempt, pulling bags of possessions ... they are invisible to the fun hustle and beauty of the people on the boardwalk and beach.

Slipping coffee, I walk the half-a-block from where I'm staying to the beach. The beautiful people are not up yet. But the ragged people are. They sit and stare at the sea. They rearrange their stuff. They reek of a sadness that moves in slow motion.

So it's time to get started though my body remains confused over timing. I walk up to a young man with an old man's beard and dirty long hair. His tee shirt is filthy. Long pants have been cut off at the knees. Toenails haven't been cut in years and curl. His suit case is a garbage bag.

"Hey man," I say. "How's it going?"

He looks confused and stars at me without saying anything. I'm wearing a "Samuel Adams Band" tee shirt that is clean and fresh. Boat shorts with a belt.I-phone clipped to my side.

He sizes me and nods.

"Why man," I continue, "just want to let you know there's food in the park tonight and there will be these doctors there. Why don't you come? Those toenails could use some help."