I was sitting next to an Indian woman reading a red leather bound book who was chewing on her own tongue and occasionally clucking as if what she were reading was so obviously true everyone on the planet should read it. She adjusted her orangey-gold sari and refocused on the words on the page.
We didn’t say anything to each other as we sat on the bench outside the large stone blocks that made up Lowell City Hall and the Library.
“Don’t you have a job?” Che asked me outside the library.
The lady looked up, he shook his head at her and pointed at me.
I shrugged, “Not exactly.”
“Then what ‘exactly’ do you do?”
I paused, “I guess I watch.”
I scratched my head, “I watch and I think.”
I looked at Che’s face. He was confused. I licked my lips, “Sometimes, I talk, but mostly I watch and think.
“How do you afford to live in Lowell?” he asked.
I told him the truth, “I think ‘afford’ is a bit of a stretch, I get a bit of assistance and I live in subsidized housing.”
“And that’s what you do all day? You watch? You think? That’s it?”
“No,” I said, “I also listen. I listen and read.” I nodded toward the big gray stone face of the Pollard Memorial Library.
Che ran his left hand through his thick dark swoosh of hair, “Do you ever pray?”
I tilted my head to the left, “Pray?”
Che raised an eyebrow, “To God?”
“Which God?” I asked.
“I was just curious if you prayed to any God.”
The lady glanced up from her book and smirked, then looked back down.
“I’m not sure what a God would be. What does it mean? Sure, I’ve gone to church before, but I just don’t feel it. I don’t see the evidence of anything … anything more than this.” I made a face full of consternation and couldn’t find anywhere to empty it.
Che sighed, “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”
The Indian lady smiled, “It’s not really all that complicated.”