The River Man

  When it was sweltering, as it always is in July, I often left my parents’ house for some fresh air. I’d take my bike and ride out of the neighborhood, down Glendale Boulevard, to Fletcher Drive. My destination was the river. The city began to open it up to walkers, joggers, and others. Its trail wasn’t maintained, though, with a lot of potholes, dips, and cracked concrete. 

The ride down the trail heading to Lincoln Heights was pleasant. It was cooler in the afternoon. And the river had a smell. Aquatic and vegetal, but never stagnant. In the center of the river, rock formations had built up over the years, allowing plants and trees to grow, transforming them into small islands. Cranes and egrets flew down to these islands. From the city’s run-off came the return of the old ecology. 

One early evening, I was on my normal ride, rolling down the river’s trail, approaching the environs of Frogtown, when I saw movement on one of the little islands in the middle of the river. It wasn’t birds, for the rustling of the thin trees and bamboo shoots was caused by something larger. I slowed down until I stopped and looked at the island. From the grass came a man, skinny, with a shiny bald head, wearing a dirty T-shirt and cut-off jeans. He was working on a plastic tarp when he noticed me, looking up. His smile was wide, revealing gaps where his teeth were missing. He waved at me, and I waved back. 

Little by little, the river man built a house on his island. He set up a frame and covered it with plastic tarps, cardboard, and plywood. Smoke billowed from a handmade stove. Whenever I rode past, he worked on his house or washed in the river. He would wave at me, and I reciprocated. His smile was always there. 

The summer ended, giving way to fall. Then, winter arrived, bringing with it the rains. At first, it was scattered sprinkles. Then, full showers. The rain became monstrous, coming down relentlessly. The river swelled until its waters crested over the banks, flooding Frogtown. 

People lost their homes after the winter rains. They weren’t salvageable, so they sold the land underneath them and moved out of the neighborhood. Developers came in and built luxury condos, pricing out those who remained. 

The river appears cleaner nowadays, with well-maintained trails and newly developed parks. I stopped riding down the river because too many new people were crowding the trails. The river man’s house was washed out, its debris still entangled in the river’s trees. I don’t know what happened to him.