At The Corner Of 6 Down, 18 Across

He used to ask, but has recently stopped saying anything at all. Instead, he watches his crossword puzzle, sits and stares at it, no pen in hand, as though all of the answers will fill themselves in knowing that they’re being watched. I wonder sometimes if he’s actually thinking about the puzzle, thinking about the answers to insignificant questions, chuckling at the clever way in which each word overlaps with another. I wonder what he hopes to get out of it all.

Perhaps today this puzzle is his own. He’s created his own questions and answers, his own clever way to make the words perfectly crisscross with one another. The pattern is both complicated and simple all at once. The questions are obscure and the answers subjective, but the puzzle still seems to fit, still seems to make perfect sense.

26 down holds the key to happiness. 12 across is his favorite meal. 47 down is the name of his first crush. 33 across is what he dreamed of being when he grew up, and 29 down is the reason he never did it. He’s crawled into the box where 6 down, the name of his childhood pet, and 18 across, the color of his mother’s eyes, intersect. He’s made it his home. I imagine the letters and cards he’s received in the past, the pile of postcards from his friends around the world addressed to him at 6 Down, 18 Across, Anywhere USA. I wonder if he’s ever left the country, the state, the city. I wonder if he’s ever left this street corner where he sits staring so intently at the paper before him. Maybe the answer to 39 across is the place he’s always longed to visit.

I watch him smile as he stares at his own creation. No New York society member will be able to solve this puzzle. No LA executive, or Washington politician knows any of the answers. He’s managed to outwit them all, stumped even the most articulate socialite. His eyes gleam with a kind of pride no shiny quarter or warm meal could compare to. Which is why he can now ignore the people passing by. He no longer needs to stand like a beggar, hands outreached, voice soft and sad as he pleads for just a little spare change, anything you can spare. Please.

At the corner of 6 down, 18 across, your money is useless. There, you are no better than him and he is no better than you. There, he isn’t standing on the corner looking scruffy and hungry. There, he looks just like you, standing in his yard behind the crisscross of his white picket fence, tending to the yellow roses, his favorite kind of flower, which just happens to be the answer to 42 down.