2009 VERSACE SUNGLASSES

Prologue – Sunglass Man

If I were to ask you to identify the difference between my street and any other street anywhere, anywhere in this country, anywhere in this world, the third world, or any world; if I were to ask you to take a close look, to observe the rampant commonalities, the samenesses, even between a street in the middle of chicago, or an alley in paris, or a dusty path in some undeveloped desert town, and my street, if I were to make you look and think, would your eyes go to the difference, would you sense what creates the exquisite distinct quality that separates my street from that anywhere, anywhere, anytime, at all?

It’s a question that plagues me as I stand in my yard; silent, still, cloaked. I have flowers, and trees; grass grows beneath my feet, dirt … dirt, underneath it all dirt; no difference there. It’s a question that distracts me, the wind, like the wind anywhere, blowing the bottom of my coat, hitting it against my calves. There are neighbors, others, standing in their yards, wind blowing against them as well, couples and children and an old man, all standing on dirt; yes there are others, although I could not give you their names and they, if you asked them, could not help with this question.

I understand there is no self-evident answer, I know that when the rain comes, when the snow falls, when the leaves fall to the ground on my street, the same rain, snow, and leaves, are … this is not the difference; you’d know that, the minute you came into my yard and stood with me, you’d know that nothing in the external, not the structures, nor the personalities, not the weather, nothing external … you’d know that. You’d pick up on it instantaneously.

Still, even so. Even standing next to me in my yard, in my street, understanding that there is no difference, that the sameness of all streets and yards are extant here, knowing all that; could you point your finger and tell me this, this is what is unique.

I am the sunglass man. I am the difference. And. I am toxic.

No matter. As anyone knows, or, should anyone care to spend a minute thinking about it, although in my experience, you rarely do, you with your samenesses, with your, with your pasts, as anyone knows, toxicity is contagious. It spreads. I spread. You might not be able to point your finger. Even standing right next to me, close enough to take my hand, not that you would, close enough to feel my breath as I whisper the answer in your ear, even that close, the answer would elude you. But driving home, or walking in the woods later, with a loved one, or standing in your kitchen, wiping the counters after an accidental spill, perhaps after you dropped your favorite coffee cup onto your favorite plate which then crashed into your favorite vase, which for reasons relating only to fate, happened to be in the sink at that precise moment, at this moment, my aspect would become manifest.

I am the sunglass man. I am the difference. And. I am toxic. I turn, leave my yard, leave the wind and the neighbors and the dirt, I carry myself to where you will not go. I’d like to say that at that precise moment, the birds started chirping again, that children laughed, that the couple across the way in the middle of an awkward silence, that they suddenly found their voice; but all of this was happening anyway. No one notices that I am toxic. Well, not until it is really too late.

(September 23rd, 2009) Thousands of signed medical scrubs carrying personal stories urging Congress to pass healthcare reform were delivered at a rally on Capitol Hill. ~ Washington, DC ~ Photo © 2009 David Sachs / SEIU