My Kingdom for Some Rope!

Wind tore through Coos Bay on a sunny weekday afternoon. Elmer and I forged our slanted way down the bay beach and back to the Empire Boat ramp.

Ahead of us, 50 yards away, a woman walked her bicycle with one hand toward us. In the other hand, she held a leash tethering a little tan mutt. She wore a full pack and bedroll on her back. Lashed to the bicycle was a crab ring. How she could ride with such a contraption and a leashed dog was beyond comprehension. I only wish I could see it in action. I was already writing the poem in my mind.

I leashed Elmer up, but then he saw the mutt, and reared up, ready for play. The mutt saw Elmer and he reared up as well.

The woman and I stopped just outside reach of the leashes. She was in her 40s, missing most of her teeth, wearing traces of Gothic makeup, a Misfits (punk rock band) hoodie), and a massive smile. She stood a head taller than me and outweighed me by at least 50 pounds.

I’d never seen her before.

“Are you new here?” she said as the dogs danced around each other.

New here?

“No,” I said, “I visit here every morning. I live in Empire.”

It hit me! I was unshaven, windblown, wearing a frayed and patched corduroy coat (stitched by Communist women in Yugoslavia in the 1970s and purchased in a coastal thrift store for 99 cents), mud-stained pants, and ripped sneakers.

She thought I was homeless! Is that my style these days?! What a way to recon for stories!

It’s not the first time a homeless or housed person has mistaken me for a homeless person in my meanderings around Oregon. I kind of dig it when the mistake occurs.

She introduced her dog as Sadie Lou and I introduced Elmer. She remarked how handsome he was.

“Do you live in the encampment?” I said, the one 50 feet away from us, with its revolving cast of miscreants and generally nice outcasts.

“No. I was just here to check on Morgan.”

Morgan is a long-time homeless resident of Empire and I’ve chronicled my experiences with her several times.

“No. I was just here to check on Morgan.”

She said her name was Noble. She said a Crow medicine woman had bestowed the name.

I told her I was Matt and asked if Morgan was still around. I hadn’t seen her in weeks.

“Yes,” said Noble. “She’s living in a tent she borrowed from me.”

The dogs were now running around each other, twirling their owners grasping the leashes. It was merry chaos.

“You have any rope for my crab ring?” said Noble.

I was sure I had some stashed in the Subaru and said so.

A couple minutes later, Noble and Sadie Lou stood next to car as I searched for rope.

Goddammit! No rope! A homeless woman wanted to go crabbing and I failed her!

I offered her a hoodie a student had left behind on a last day of school three decades ago, a toiletry kit, and a chocolate/peppermint energy bar. She accepted the hoodie and kit but demurred on the energy bar. I told her to take it for an emergency. She took the bar and placed it on the ground as she removed her backpack. Sadie Lou started ripping it apart with his teeth.

I dug into my wallet and fished out a one-dollar bill, the only cash on hand, and said it was hers.

“I can’t accept it,” said Noble.

“Why not?” I said.

“It’s bad luck.”

I’d never heard of this particular superstition.

“Do you have one penny?” she said. “Then I can accept it.”

“Yes I do,” I said.

I returned to the car and scrounged up 30 cents covered in grime and husky fur.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Good luck out there,” I said.

I drove home and went immediately to the utility room. The rope was there.

It’s now under the passenger seat of the Subaru.