Douglas

Some people are like piles of dirty clothes. Here's the catch, its not a pile of your clothes, or anybody's clothes, but its in the middle of your living room.
Obviously the clothes need to be dealt with, but who's gonna do it? Certainly, nobody wants to deal with a dirty old pile of nobody's clothes. A laundromat will take care of it, but that's not cheap. Who will pay for a laundromat for nobody's clothes?
Beneath the smell and the dirt, really its just clothes, but nobody sees that anymore. Now all anybody can see is a chore. All anybody can see is time out of a busy day for something that's just going to leave them feeling tired.
Lots of times what happens is the clothes just stay right where they are. People will just walk around the clothes or pretend they aren't there anymore. Every once in a while, out of guilt I suppose, someone will look at the clothes and say “Oh I wish someone would do something about this dirty old pile of clothes. It's been here so long.” Then they sigh and walk away feeling as though they've done their part to help.
Other times, a more ambitious person might pick at the pile a little and comment here and there. “Oh it's really not so dirty or old, is it? No.” Maybe they think that a compliment will make the clothes feel better about being so alone. Or maybe the compliment is meant to make them feel better because they know they don't plan to stick around. Its hard to say.
I think a dirty old pile of nobody's clothes is exactly the right way to describe Douglas. He came into this world healthy enough, but a bad car accident damaged his brain when he was thirty five. Now he's forty eight, but he reasons, plays, and talks like a ten year old. He's just a great big gray-haired kid with a poorly trimmed mustache that's usually carrying a little bit of whatever he ate last in it.
Up until last year, Douglas lived in a double wide trailer with his disabled mother. His heart was broken when she had to be moved to a nursing home, but even he knew that it had to be done. So now he lives alone, just him and his little eight year old toy poodle named Noodlehead.
Noodlehead the poodle has a few lumps in his back that cause him to limp a little. He recently had to have a large tumor removed from the inside of his cheek. Toy poodles don't usually live much longer than eight to ten years. Hmm.
Douglas walks Noodlehead faithfully everyday, several times a day. As he walks he stops to talk to anyone who will stop when he starts to talk. He tries everybody. He doesn't want to go home.
Everybody knows that Douglas is “special,” so nobody's mean to him. At the same time, nobody really wants to have more than just a light friendly chat with him either. Can you really blame them? Ten year olds are still somewhat cute when they do or say stupid stuff. Forty eight year olds just aren't.
Nobody really knows what to say to someone like Douglas anyway. Most people in the neighborhood either pretend they don't see him or they wave quickly and pretend they can't stop. The ones that do stop usually regret it. Douglas knows how to make the most out of what was meant to be a short conversation...