Things Change/Things Never Change

A few weeks ago, I went down to Charlottesville for a show; only my sixteenth of the year. Though I was in a state of distress thanks to car troubles and family woes, I tried to do my usual things. I got pizza at Christian's, money at the Wachovia ATM, stuck my head in the door at the Mudhouse to see the same sort of teenagers that were there when I was younger, ordered a pot of cocoa rooibos at the tea bazaar, etc. I sadly peered in the dark windows of the space that was until fairly recently Gravity Lounge. I thought about my friend Bill and I wondered where he went. I wish I could find him and give him a hug.

As I was walking from place to place, I heard a familiar sound; that of a flute. I absently thought to myself, "Oh. The end of summer must be near. That's White Owl."

I carelessly floated through the small crowds of people until I came to the source of the music and there I stood; entranced. Sure enough, it was White Owl.

White Owl is a mystical, ageless old man that signifies the end of things. Or, you know.....a homeless street musician. I first met him in that magical time of discovery I went though as a senior in high school. I had just gotten a car so I would get up early and drive to Charlottesville on Saturdays and spend all day on the mall writing in my notebooks and talking to strangers. I loved talking to the homeless people, crazy as they were. I may have even been jealous of the crust punks; there was something romantic about sleeping in abandoned buildings, hopping trains, and living off the "fruit" of the land. I still think that someday I'd like to try it but unfortunately gentrification and age have gotten the best of me.

I remember meeting White Owl and going back to school on a Monday to tell my homeroom class about him. They all laughed at me, of course. What 17 year old girl would go hang out with homeless people on Saturdays?

Funny; there was never once a thought given toward service. There was never a pat on the back for trying to "work with homeless people". In fact, there was much scolding from my mother when she found out I was associating with homeless people and would sometimes accompany them to the Salvation Army for dinner. I only knew White Owl because I wanted to and no other reason. I asked him his name and ten million questions because I was curious. I'd never known a homeless person before. Not the sort that hopped trains, lived in a tent, and came with an old mutt anyhow.

So there I was....eight years later.....standing in front of this man playing the flute. When he stopped I asked him if he remembered me and he answered, "Yes. I don't remember your name but I definitely remember your face."

I didn't really know what else to say. The absolute worst part was walking back by him again. His eyes followed me and I felt guilty because by now I've been taught to feel guilty; I've been taught to think it's my job to do I-don't-know-what about homelessness and every other cause out there. I've also been taught to not give a shit at the very same time; to walk right past and not wonder but ignore because in Charlottesville there's just one White Owl and a handful of crusties but in DC you can multiply that by every street corner. It's kind of overwhelming so you think, "Oh, God. What can I do?"

White Owl used to be a seasonal hobo. He'd always return at the end of the summer and stick around in the Fall. At least that's when I saw him. I know he used to live in a tent somewhere and he talked about hopping trains and the city of New Orleans. I don't know; maybe he's settled down...? Maybe he's not homeless now or at least less homeless than before. At least, that's what I hope.

Anyhow, the point is that the most bizarre, random shit is constant. White Owl is still there and the Pietasters are still playing shows. There's not much else I can think of that has stayed the same. Marriages end, new ones begin, those eventually end also, people change their minds, then change them again, and nomadisism is alive and well. Regardless of what White Owl is or might possibly stand for, shouldn't I be clinging to the idea of him because there might possibly be sanity in something constant?

I hate how quickly things fall apart for me mentally when drastic change is introduced. I don't like it when people come and go. I feel like I get dragged through the process and I always feel very much alone. I suppose this is nothing new but man, this really makes me weary of things that are "forever" or "the truth". I simply think, "How can that be...? It's mostly just chance, isn't it? I don't want it to be but..."