Conversations with Edwin L. Hill
I had seen Edwin before at the Chevron gas station at the corner of Venice and Lincoln Blvd. He didn't talk to me last time. I pump gas at this station every two weeks or so. Today he approached me as I struggled to fill gas at the pump. I was annoyed at first and tried to reach into my purse to find some money and get rid of him. It was money that he needed but not that he wanted. He just wanted to chat.
He leaned and touched my car and greeted me politely. I didn't know what to do but I greeted him back. He started by telling me that he was at the hospital this week because he was sleeping downtown and somebody set him on fire. He showed me his bandages on his ankle and other places. "You were down in Skid Row?" I asked him. "Yeah, I know I shouldn't be there." The hospital put some Neosporin on his burns and sent him away.
He told me a dozen stories. "You know, I have some intellect. I dropped out of the University of Florida on my second year to help my wife get her GED. I was Magna Cum Laude." He said it without boasting. "I dropped out and helped her out and you know what she did?" He shook his head. "It is grotesque." I raised my eyebrows demonstrating curiosity. "I caught her having sex with a German shepherd--bestiality." I didn't even blink.
Edwin Len Hill used to be a handsome man. Even now at 50, underneath the filthy clothes and ragged hair you can see two soulful blue eyes. Even with half his teeth, he had a beautiful smile and full lips. He spoke eloquently. He smelled of a couple of beers but standing one foot away from him, I didn't feel intimidated or grossed out. He had a broken nose and he was covered in smudges. He is blonde, trim and stands 6'2" tall. "I know I am ugly and I am old", he told me at some point. "I certainly don't think so", I replied.
The next conversation brought us to another place. "There is something wrong with me. I have bipolar disorder." This was my opportunity to bond with the homeless man so I told him that my mother also has bipolar disorder and it is very common. He told me that he doesn't want to take any drugs and I revealed to him that there is newer medication out there now that isn't as bad as what he knows from the seventies and eighties. "Really?" Yes. Really but I doubt a free clinic can give proper psychiatric treatment to the homeless. I didn't tell him that.
He revealed that a family member molested him when he was a child. He has been around. Alabama, Florida, North Carolina. I didn't ask him how he got to Los Angeles. "I have been on the street for 18 years." He did some hard time before that. "Armed robbery. It was the seventies and I was a dumb punk..." Edwin tried to pronounce my name a few times. It doesn't register easy. He repeats his name often, as if he doesn't want to forget.
I asked where he hangs out and he said that he walks 25 miles every day. "If I go down that way they will beat me up." He pointed south on Lincoln. "Then head down there." I pointed to the beach as if I know better. "Don't get in trouble." Edwin doesn't want to carry a knife. "I will just get into more trouble. I could kill someone." I am sure the cops would love to hear his self-defense story.
"My family is very successful. They have money. I am the executor of [some family member's] will but I need to get out to South Carolina somehow. "And how do you think you're gonna do that?" I asked. He pauses for a short bit. He told me a joke about space and time travel. By now I think that he may really be crazy. "No, really I want to fly but I have to get my shit together and get an ID card." He is crazy. "Do you need an ID card to take the Greyhound?" "No, but I don't want to be in a bus for 4 days." Who would, really?
At this point, twenty minutes had passed and I told Edwin that I have to go to work. I am not lying either. "Where do you work?" he asked. "USC", I replied while reaching into my purse. I stared at him and then handed him twenty bucks. "Edwin, you need to promise me that you will get some water and food with this." He didn't lie to me. "I will try, but I can't promise." He likes his beer. He talked to me for another few minutes. He thanked me for the money, but kept his dignity. "Edwin, are you going to let me go to work now?" He smiled and we said goodbye. I got into my car after I told him to stay out of trouble once again. He closed my car door and tried to lock it in a gesture of care. For a crazy homeless man, he sure has it together. I drove away in a daze.
He tried to pronounce my name once again as I was leaving. I wondered if any of his stories checked out. He was dignified even while he told stories that were unpleasant. He repeats himself as if trying to digest what has happened to him. Even if he just imagined all this happened to him, it sure is a lot to have to survive. Fictional memory can be painful too. When I get home at night, I Google "Edwin Hill homeless". To my surprise, he surfaces at some San Diego newspaper on an article from 2000 about the homeless and Thanksgiving. Surely, he has told the bestiality story before. I would too if it happened to me.
Edwin and I will probably meet again at the corner of Lincoln and Venice. Maybe he will tell me the same story all over again. After all, how is he any different than all the other people I have casual conversation with?