Charlie was my friend and I miss him.
He was a very odd person, but then again, when you have lived Charlie’s life you’ve earned the right to have a few quirks. Charlie was sixty-two, obviously worn down but too proud to give up. I was called to the local homeless shelter one day and there he was, laying on the ground yelling at everyone to leave him alone. He had blood on his clothes and there was blood on the parking lot. At first he was very uncooperative but after I talked to him for a bit, sitting there on the parking lot next to him, he began to open up. He refused to go to the hospital saying, “Folks that go to the hospital never come back. Especially folks like me.” He would only let me bandage his injuries and help him to the nearby bench.
While I was finishing up the necessary paperwork, Charlie seemed to come out of his shell a little and showed me he was a pretty decent guy. He said he used to be a medic too. He told me he had been a combat medic with the Eighty-Second Airborne in Vietnam when he was twenty two and that that was the best and worst time in his life. Some of his duty took him to places and had him doing things that are apparently still classified, if he is to be believed. He told me he had a hard time with regular civilian life after he completed his enlistments. Things fell apart for him so he drifted around the country for thirty four years, staying here and there for a few months or a few years as it suited him. He had been in Greenville for two years when he decided this was where he wanted to stay. While his chosen way of life had its hardships, he said he lived it by choice and this was the best place for him. He said he would sleep at one of the local shelters when the weather was too hot or too cold to sleep outdoors. He said he got enough food and that he really did not need a lot of companionship like some people. He just liked being alone most of the time. To avoid becoming a complete hermit, he said he tried to stay sharp by studying at the local library, by taking classes at the job training center, and by doing puzzles.
Charlie turned out to be almost friendly- in a stand-offish way. He also seemed surprised that I treated him with respect. Apparently he was not used to that. He was pleased and surprised when I ended our first meeting with a handshake and a sincere “thank you for your service to our country.” I saw him a few more times in my capacity as a paramedic after that but more often, I would see him out on the streets and we would exchange a wave as I drove past.
One particularly cold day this January, I got an extra cup of coffee at my favorite coffee shop and took it to him at his usual haunt. I found him sitting on his bench reading a paperback. He was very grateful. While he sipped the coffee he told me stories of his wanderings and of his time in Vietnam and Cambodia. This casual encounter somehow became a tradition for us. Each Friday I worked, I would bring Charlie a cup. Charlie knew it wasn’t charity and he wouldn’t have taken it if it was. I think he knew it was my way of loosening his tongue so I could hear interesting stories of his life and about the war. When the coffee was gone, Charlie would stand up and thank me and then shuffle away. The trade was over and it was good for both of us.
I couldn’t find him last Friday. After checking all the usual places, I called the shelters, the hospitals, and the detention center, but no one had seen him. It was very unusual for Charlie to miss Coffee Friday. On my last pass of the parking lot and bench, a man that Charlie occasionally hung out with waved me down so I pulled over. He looked pretty down in the dumps about something. “Hi Sarge,” he said. “Charlie said to give you this.” He handed me a paperback and abruptly turned and walked away. I yelled questions at his back and tried to find out what happened to Charlie but he just kept walking. The book was a collection of D.H. Lawrence poems and was in rough shape. He had written his name inside the cover and had dog-eared some of the pages. I flipped to the back cover and saw something unusual.
What the heck is this, some kind of hobo code? Maybe Charlie is playing a game with me? It might be nothing but it might be important. I resolved to figure out what it meant and not to give up on Charlie. I hope you can help. I think he is in trouble and there is more to this situation than meets the eye.
You can check your answers for this puzzle on Geochecker.com.
