Ever Buddha

© Kevin Callahan

Buddha was a street kid from the Lower East Side. Keith found him on the corner of 2nd and B. He — Buddha — was sitting on top of a dented garbage can at the curb. Keith watched Buddha, said Buddha was cheerful, jolly, patient, just hanging out. People passed by, kids ran by, without a glance, so Keith decided to take him home. He already had several Buddhas, and he was coming to our place for spaghetti, so he thought why not, bring Buddha to us. We thought, huh, a jolly little man. Keith told us he could be more than that, much more, if we let him. Okay.

Buddha is porcelain, hollow, a foot high, a pound, maybe a little more. Seated, legs bent at the knees and crossed. Roundish body, pale skin, bare shoulders and chest and belly. Baby-blue veil — blanket? shroud? — around the knees. Red and gold ornaments painted on the blue, a gold border. Red, red lips. He's cheerful, jolly.

First, Buddha sat on the kitchen counter. He quickly took on the patina of bacon and fried eggs. Uncertain if these foods were against his beliefs, and wanting to be respectful, we moved him, but first we gave him a scrubbing. The least we could do.

But, too bad. The blue and gold and red and flesh paints were thinly applied and now Buddha’s belly is rubbed bare and most of the gold is distressed if not gone altogether. He doesn’t seem to mind. Still cheerful, he greets us from his spot among our books. It was tough deciding which shelf would be best for Buddha. We finally moved the Beats to the bathroom bookstand, and now he’s snuggled in, ever jolly. Ever watchful, ever patient.

Keith comes over once in a while and makes a beeline for Buddha. He rubs Buddha’s belly and says he’s glad we’re taking such good care of him. He’s noticed the worn paint, has told us he’s glad we’re into Buddha. Keith thinks we spend a lot of time rubbing away. Buddha doesn’t say anything, and neither do we.

Even though I cared enough to keep him from getting covered with bacon and eggs, I admit I was pretty indifferent to Buddha when he came into our lives. Religion was in my rear-view mirror, back behind that hairpin curve. Once on the straightaway I never looked back. Did Buddha see through that? That in saying I wasn’t looking back I really was looking back? He seems knowing, in his patience. Like Keith said, Buddha’s cheerful, jolly, just good old Buddha. That’s how I think about him. Good old Buddha. Ever waiting Buddha.

After a year with Buddha I can’t say how I’ll end up feeling about him. Beliefs-wise, my rear-view mirror is still my go-to, which I know isn’t helpful and will get me nowhere and is sort of hypocritical — I just changed my email signature to Ever Onward! — but I admit I find Buddha more and more intriguing. What’s behind that smile? Why so jolly? How does he maintain that patience? Is he as wise as he seems? What is he watching for? Waiting for? He doesn’t say.