"Hello, William!?"

#91 - “Do you have a cellphone?”

Welcome to Before I Forget . .  

- I’m glad you are here.  

part 1,

“Hello, William!?” 

I’ve been out this way to the marshes numerous times over the years. It is a fine spot for open space and birding.  

The marshes and lagoons line the shore and lowlands between the hills until the elevation gain is too much.  

I live near Suisun Bay where the now combined waters of the Sacramento and San Joaquin Rivers enter the Carquinez Strait on its way to San Francisco Bay and beyond. 

It is two miles, as the crow flies, from my house. Was I should say. The road to the marsh runs through oil company tank farm property and after 9/11, was closed for security reasons. Now, it is a six-mile drive around. 

It is barely above sea level most of the time. A decent rain will flood the only road. During the king tides of the new and full moon, especially in winter, the water rises, and the marsh becomes a lake. You can’t see the roadway in or out. Be mindful of the tides, conditions change fast. 

A railroad parallels the road. Amtrak has a line going east/west that tracks along the southern edge of the delta to the valley. The railbed is built up to accommodate the tides.  

As often as it passes each way, there are very few passengers on board. Perhaps we should throw more money at Amtrak instead of letting a private enterprise run it like a business. 

Shipping and associated industries, oil related, line the shores nearby. 

The Benicia Bridges, north and southbound, rise above the ship traffic and span the 7400’ across the Strait. 

Underneath the last northbound freeway exit before the bridge is where William calls home. Not quite underneath, ten or so yards just east of the overpass and just east of the city limits. I looked it up. 

He’s under county jurisdiction and apparently, he is no bother to them.  

I see William every week or so. He’s still in the same spot. Almost five months now.  

His “home” isn’t much more than a fifteen-foot by five-foot plot of dirt between the road pullout’s asphalt and the marsh. Above the highest tides. 

There are no other “campers” in the vicinity. 

He has two small one-man tents; one I think for what belongings he has and sleeping and one which is a clear plastic rig he has set up. He can sit in it out of the rain and cold wind as he was when I last saw him. His room with a view. 

His trash is now under a tarp and the place looks almost tidy. 

I’ve only seen him standing up once. Usually, he’s just sitting there outside the tents, staring at the ground or off someplace only he can see. 

He has no bicycle, or parts lying around. No shopping carts pushed off into the weeds. No dog to care for, though it would provide the warmth and touch of a companion.  

William can get what he needs, or it is dropped off to him. He gets water and food from passersby. 

His neighborhood includes the roadside marsh, and traffic from the freeway entrance/exit, and the railroad tracks a few yards off the other side of the road. 

What a riotous sound it is that comes from the train as it thunders through. The ground shakes. 

Excluding the traffic and trains, it is quiet, which is most of the time. 

I’ve wondered if William has a cellphone? I didn’t see one previously. A connection to the outside world for help, email, the internet, Uber, pizza? A friend? How would he charge it?  

It would tell me something about him. 

On the two occasions I talked to him, it was clear he wasn’t looking for conversation.  

I thought it best not to press it. Gotta be careful.  

But the phone thing bugged me enough to give it another go even with my reservations.

I wrapped up a couple of sourdough bread and peanut butter sandwiches and headed for the marsh. 

Walking up to his “home” I could see it wasn’t as tidy as it had appeared at passerby distance. William looked entirely grubby. A scrubby beard. Clothes worn through the winter now threadbare. He was a mess. 

“Hello, William!? How are you?” - I couldn’t tell if he remembered me. He mumbled “hello”, I think. He speaks so soft.  

“Are you hungry?”- I set down the sandwiches and a couple bottles of water.  I couldn’t tell yes or no. 

“Are you, okay?” - I had to ask again as I couldn’t hear his reply - a mumble and a half nod. 

“Do you need anything?” - I got a shake of the head. 

“Do you have a cellphone?” - Nothing. 

I asked again, “Do you have a cellphone to call someone if you need help?” 

Looking at me he said, in a friendly but direct way, “I don’t have a cellphone. I know there are pay phones in town if I need to call someone for help.” 

I can’t say for sure that there is a pay phone within a couple of miles. They are disappearing. The nearest convenience store is a mile away.  

But he talked to me, if only briefly. I tried to read into every word.  

He has his wits about him. At least he has some money, and someone he might call if needed. 

I hoped “someone” was nearby family.  

He returned to staring at the ground. I had more to ask, but knew it was time to move on. 

“Okay, William. Take care of yourself.”  

He nodded. I left. 

And "There, but for the grace of God, go I." 

What is it about William I find fascinating? 

I think it is because he seems at peace. 

Perhaps he is not where he is by the Rota Fortunae, but by his own choosing. Perhaps he is another soul much like Siddhartha, on his soul-searching way. 

Siddhartha sits by the river; absorbed in the river’s moods. William sits at the marsh’s edge; transfixed by the tide’s ebb and flow.  

Maybe like Siddhartha, William can think, and wait, and fast. Conquering time and desires that disrupt the soul. 

One day I’ll drive by, and he’ll be gone.  

part 1,

Thank you for reading Before I Forget . . !  

Please leave a Comment. I much appreciate it! 

For my newer Subscribers - an earlier post from Aug 18, 2023 - 

More posts for your perusal are in my archive. Check them out! 

Image by Me  

See you next time, my friends.  : )