Two men in puffy green coats passed each other but rarely spoke. Gary Almeter remembers the other one.
He lived in our neighborhood. I noted the green puffy coat because it was just like mine – a Patagonia Men’s Nano Puff jacket. We both had the bright green one – Patagonia called it cilantro – a color which might be ubiquitous in the grasslands of the southern portion of the Andes of which Patagonia is comprised but a color of which there is a dearth in Baltimore in December.
I saw the man in the green puffy coat on Friday December 26, 2014. He was walking his pit bull. We nodded that nod men nod when they wish to say hello with nary any investment. The world is replete with people to whom I merely nod as we pass one another. One of those people was the man in the green puffy coat. We passed each other with some frequency as we both had dogs and walked them. He always crossed the road, though, as his pit bull would eagerly try to sniff my beagle’s butt and my beagle, Beastie, wanted nothing to do with it. Every now and again we would say something innocuous that neighbors innocuously say to one another, “looks like spring is finally here” or “we really needed that rain” or some other observation regarding the immediacy of a season or levels of precipitation.
I nodded to the man in the green puffy coat. Then we drove to Buffalo to celebrate Christmas with my parents. The next day, I got a text from a neighborhood friend telling me that the man in the green puffy coat had died. He had been hit by a car while riding his bicycle. The coming weeks would reveal that a woman hit him, that she had left the scene of the accident, that she was drunk and texting, and that she was a bishop. The story wended its way through local and then national media. It took hold. It was tragic and salacious. There were Facebook campaigns and outrage and calls for justice.
Our imaginations lie. And pictures lie. In my mind the man in the green puffy coat is the picture of doomed precision. When he died, he did so with the grace of an Olympic bicyclist. It was elegant and noble. But I must try to give you a picture of him. He was a taller man but what you noticed was not the height. What you noticed was the silvery hair, salt and pepper hair which many would consider prematurely grey. I think he was about 40. He had a dark cast to his skin the way those of Italian descent sometimes do. You noticed his kind eyes. He walked with the jaunt of someone who was inherently happy. He was stylish in a nonchalant way. The walk, the twinkle in his eye, the square-ness of his jaw, somehow belied happiness. When the man in the green puffy coat walked his pit bull you saw roughness, you saw sweetness, you saw gentleness, you saw goodness; you saw enthusiasm.
Green is my favorite color. So when I saw Patagonia’s color options for the Nano Puff it was a no-brainer for me. It’s remarkable how many people comment on a green puffy coat. If a gray flannel suit connotes compliance and conformity, I like to think a green puffy coat must connote confidence, individuality and maybe a predisposition for mirth. Green puffy coats are the anomaly. People tend to get black or navy blue or gray puffy coats. They are more versatile and stay in style a while longer. In Baltimore, we see a great many purple puffy coats in homage to the Ravens of the National Football League. But green not so much. Not bright green. Lots of folks have olive drab green puffy coats. They are more akin to gray. I really liked knowing there was someone else who liked green on my street. So much so that when I saw the man in the green puffy coat with his green coat I wondered if we could be friends. His obituary said that he was a quiet man. I am not so quiet. But we both liked green.
It seems odd to me to be making such a big deal out of a coat. He might have hated green and received the coat as a gift from someone who didn’t know he hated green. I think it’s my way of connecting. Or maybe working through some guilt. But we all try to connect when we feel vulnerable – like when your plane is delayed and everyone waiting at the gate starts to chit chat.
Life is not safe. Nor is it very reliable. People die because they smoke and some people live to be a hundred despite a life-time of bad habits. Some people have a genetic death sentence but some people just die. A woman dies in an accident that was nobody’s fault. A man dies on a bridge coming home from work when the earthquake hit. We have watched people jump out of buildings after the planes hit. They are gone.
When my son was in pre-school he asked for something he couldn’t have and then protested that it wasn’t fair. I said compassionately that life was not fair. The other parents looked betrayed. How could I tell such a small child that life wasn’t fair? I was scaring him. He would have bad dreams, they protested. But when should he find out? When he can’t have some silly thing he wants or when a bicyclist, younger and healthier than me, dies while riding his bike?
It is not the bad dreams of our children that frighten adults so much as our own. We are not in charge. We can have an impact on the world, but we are not in control. It’s sobering to think that we are not in control.
And the dearth of fairness cuts both ways. If it were fair, I’d probably be dead given some of the risks I have taken and stupid things I have done.
My street is just a little bit smaller because a person died. And a green puffy coat has become my own personal memorial to someone I never got to know. Or maybe I knew who he was all along.
Photo: Ignat Gorazd/Flickr
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