Daily Grind.
S4 Ep 7: The Man Who Woke up the Buddha.
Season 1 Episode 1 • Table of Contents • Family Tree
Previously: A two-part episode about how Sid deals with business partners and betrayers, followed by a 2 a.m scene in which Marcus came upon Sid questioning his Buddhahood.
The morning after Marcus arrived in the midst of the high-level economic pizza party parley, he and Sid went downtown to the General Store for breakfast.
“Nice new chair you got,” Marcus said casually, as if he was used to seeing ornate antique throne-like chairs on the porches of general stores in the middle of winter.
“Yeah, Shorty got it for me for Christmas,” Sid explained. “Said if I was going to confer with my loyal subjects on the porch, we needed to class up the joint.”
“Italian?”
“Spanish,” Sid answered.
“Walnut?”
“Yup.”
“Circa what, like the 17th century?”
“More like the 1960s but a helluva reproduction, don’t you think?”
“Well, it’s not a very good likeness of you,” Marcus said, looking at the image of a Conquistador’s head carved into the headboard.
Sid nodded as he settled himself in the chair and covered himself with the blankets that Shorty, the 6’ plus store owner, had thoughtfully left there for him.
“What do you want?” Marcus asked, but the king just waved his hand in the air as Shorty came out and put Sid’s hot chocolate, hard boiled egg, cinnamon Danish, and a newspaper on a little table next to the chair.
“Hey, Shorty,” Marcus said.
“Hey, good to see you again…”
“Marcus.”
“Right…Marcus,” Shorty said. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll come in.”
Shorty nodded. “How’re you doing today, Sid?”
“Well, I was up at 2 a.m. watching a movie…”
“Couldn’t sleep, huh? Been there done that. What movie?”
“The one in my head,” Sid laughed. “It was gripping! Didn’t get to the ending though.”
“Been there, done that, too.” Shorty had gone through a round of radiation for prostate cancer the year before. “Heater’s cranked all the way up,” he added, gesturing at the large patio propane heater, “but let me know if you need another blanket. And cover up your goddam head, will you? Or else I’ll make you put on the Yankees watch cap Di left for you.”
“OK, OK,” Sid said reaching into his coat pocket for his Red Sox cap.
“Left the money on the counter,” Marcus said as he walked out.
“Put it on my…”
“Shut up, Sid. I already paid,” Marcus insisted as he put down his muffin and coffee and waved Shorty away.
“Yeah, I didn’t think the likeness was too good either,” Sid said, picking up the conversation about the throne-chair as if it had never been dropped. “But I asked Zoey if she knew any Spanish warriors. Figured she’d give me the guy who tilted at windmills. But she said there was a great Conquistador named El Çid, which I realized might explain why the carving looks like that because as soon as she said his name I remembered that the Buddha and I had incarnated as El Çid in some lifetime or other.1 In fact, that’s why I named our brave Portuguese Water Dog Bieça.”
“Zoey told me that El Çid fought for both Christian and Muslim kings. Which is kinda strange but seems Buddha-like.”
“That’s weird,” Marcus said.
I thought it was rather clever, the Buddha thought. Our karma made our dharma that lifetime to be a warrior but, as the Buddha, we didn’t really think it appropriate for us to take sides, so we fought for both. It was a little complicated. But we made it work.
“Karma works in mysterious ways,” Sid explained. “Don’t worry, Junior’s working on signage to attach to the top.”
“Jeez is there anything Junior can’t do?”
“Yeah, get Cindy to go all the way.”
“Be nice,” Marcus laughed. “So what’s the sign going to say?”
“‘Reserved for Mr. Sid.’ With fine print that says, ‘and anyone else who feels like sitting here.’ I’m thinking of having my dates carved.”
“You mean like Born 500 something or other BC? Know when he died?”
I don’t die, the Buddha sighed. Hasn’t anyone been paying attention?
“Figure I’ll just put TBD.”
For the next ten minutes, a stream of people on their way to and from work, school, home, or the gym went in and out of the store, “Hey Sid.” “Greetings Your Highness.” “How’s Di doing?” “Courtney liking college?” “Hey, hear you got a parrot…”
After a couple of minutes went by without anyone coming or going Sid proclaimed: “I hereby decree that the 9 a.m. rush is officially over.”
“Need more hot chocolate?” Marcus asked, getting up to get more coffee.
“Let me try some coffee. Hasn’t tasted good since the radiation. Ask Shorty to put some maple syrup in it.”
When Marcus came out, Sid was leaning forward in his chair talking to a girl on the other side of the railing. She was wrapped up in a worn wool blanket that was falling off her shoulder like she could barely keep it up, a forlorn but determined look on her face, which was partly covered by strands of bedraggled hair.
“They ran out of beds, huh?” Sid was asking.
“We got there too late.”
Sid nodded. “Marcus Becca. Becca Marcus.” He made the introductions as if to himself. “She and Bobby were tenting by the river,” he explained, “but their sleeping bags got stolen. I thought they were staying at the shelter last night. I’ll have to tell Di to convince the church to open an overflow shelter.”
Marcus had hardly ever seen Sid like this. As if he were in a business meeting explaining a serious strategic challenge.
“C’mon up here Becca, you gotta get warm,” Sid said.
“I’ll get you some coffee.” Marcus stood.
Becca smiled shyly, “And a Danish?”
“Sure sure.”
“So where’s Bobby now?” Sid was asking when Marcus returned.
“He’s flying a flag at Dunkin’.”
“Holding a cardboard sign at Dunkin Donuts,” Sid explained to Marcus, knowing his friend wouldn’t have a clue. “What’s it say this morning?” he asked Becca.
“Dunkin’ for dollars.”
“Not bad. Let me know how it goes. Hey, I saw a help-wanted ad in the window of the laundromat.”
“I’m allergic to those solvents,” Becca sighed. “Besides my ID got stolen again.”
“Can’t they lock it up for you at the Drop-in?”
“Yeah I know. I know.”
Sid continued asking her questions as if she were applying for a job. Whether she’d been able to see her son who was with a foster family. Once a week for an hour. How Bobby was doing with his treatment. Pretty good. What pretty good means. Sometimes a little taste kinda to top it off. Becca, don’t let him do that…it’s really dangerous. I know, but he’s pretty careful. Maybe he needs a higher dose of methadone. He’s like at 200 already. He should try switching to Bupe. Gotta be off the meth for a couple of days, it’s brutal…I’m 7 months tomorrow. That’s impressive Becca. Yeah, getting a little easier. I think police can get you a temporary ID. I know, but gotta get my birth certificate first.
Marcus couldn’t believe what he was hearing…not just what Becca was saying but how much Sid knew about what she was saying. Leila had told him some of this—a lot of the parents of “her kids” had similar stories about drug treatments, the ID thing, the stolen tents and phones and sleeping bags. But the details…
And Sid’s tone.
By then Becca was almost sitting on top of the heater. She licked the wrapper the Danish had come in and took a last sip of coffee and said “I gotta get up to the Drop-in Center, see if they got in any more sleeping bags.”
Sid nodded. Marcus reached in his pocket to slip her a $5 but Sid waved him away. He already had a folded bill in his hand which he put in hers as she walked past. She stopped and squeezed his with the other. “Glad you’re not dead yet,” she smiled weakly. “Love ya Sid.”
Love ya Becca, the Buddha said, as a big Buddha blessing poured forth from his heart.
“Love ya Becca,” Sid said simply. “Let me know if you if two get stuck again tonight.”
“You know,” Sid said as she walked away. “If Courtney and Sistah were serious about so-called Economics 101, they’d spend some time here with me on the porch.”
Paid Subscribers get free paperback copies of the first three seasons.
See https://davidblistein.substack.com/p/ep-9-sids-open-secret