Ronnie

The other day, as I was waiting for the train, I met a very interesting person. I was walking up the stairs to Track A on at the station, waiting for my train to the city, when I heard this old man laughing and telling some sort of story to this younger couple. I could that something was at least a little off with him though. The couple walked away and the old man, probably around sixty-five, kept talking. His speech was anything but clear and sentences would just drop. I think the only he knew for sure was that he had to get off at a particular station. He made his way over to where I was standing and asked me what time it was. This was his response after that, “8:04? Ok. Woah! Your eyes. You have my sister’s eyes! Those eyes… lemme see again!” So, I looked up again; this crazy old man was completely fixated with my eyes. “Again!” I went to go sit down on one of the benches, and he followed me. The other guy that was sitting on the bench got up and moved after he saw the old man sitting next to him. The old man waved his hand and, “Bah.” He continued to talk to me and was still extremely mesmerized by my eyes. “Those are my sister’s eyes. You’re my sister. I’m your brother. You don’t have to worry; I’ll protect you.” He said this all very quietly. He kept whispering.  “My name’s Ronnie. I gotta be quiet cause they’ll hear me. They’re always listening. What’s your name?” Not wanting to give out my actual name, I sputtered out the first name that came to mind, “Kat.” 
“Kat? Katherine? Katerina? Katerina. You’re nice. I like you.” He seemed pleased. “Alright, you’re my sister. We’re gonna get on the train and everything will be ok because you’ll be my sister. We’re awesome. We’ll be badasses!” Mind you, I’m twenty-two and this man is probably in his mid sixties, there’s no way anyone would believe him. Although, the badass comment intrigued me. He seemed to have been a “badass” in his time from what he was wearing. He had on a white and black flat brimmed hat that someone in my generation can typically be seen wearing, cargo shorts, a tan, gold studded vest, a pink plastic stethoscope, and black flip flops. Along with this man’s interesting dress, he was quite interesting looking himself. He had very old, blue eyes, with a yellow rings around the pupils, a hole on the right side of his nose, was about my height or shorter (which is about 5′ 5″), and surprising, he smelled pretty clean and was in decent shape for a man his age. There must be a place that he lives or someone that takes care of him. He told me that he always hangs out by White Castle and that I should come see him so he could give me a souvenir. Before he got off the train, he made sure to tell me that he loved me, but not the touchy kind of love. He just wants to protect me and be friends. When he saw a picture of my boyfriend, he was like, “Oh, he’s pretty. Is he nice? He is? He’s a good man? Oh, I can speak Turkish too: Merhaba.”
Now, this man did not necessarily seem dangerous, but I do not plan on visiting him by White Castle in the future. Although, I am very curious about him and his back story. I’d like to know what his life was like and how he wound up in this place physically and mentally. Ronnie’s definitely an oddball, but he must’ve had some interesting things happen to him in his lifetime. I’m also curious as to how he knows or if he really does know Turkish.