I’m almost 50. My priorities are changing. I can feel it.
Today I was driving back from helping clean up a tree that had fallen at my rental home downtown. I was the third wheel helping the gardeners. I marveled at how skilled they were at their job. They took enough tree limbs, branches and vines to cover half of an entire basketball court, and then methodically chainsawed it, raked it, bagged it and stacked it so well that it all fit into the back of their pick-up truck. They put more fallen tree into the back of a pick-up truck than I could have imagined would fit into a cargo ship.
There was something that seemed to peaceful, organic and real about their work. I watched them thinking that maybe I’d enjoy being a gardener. Sometimes my job speaking and writing can seem so self-centered and so self-promotional. But I do it because it’s me. It’s what I do. It brings me fulfillment and it’s a way I try to be a helpful human being. But I needed that tree removed just as much as anyone needs another “talk” or “essay.”
Anyway, on the drive home I pulled into a charging station to recharge my car. I drive an electric. Well, right beside the charging station was a man sleeping on a concrete block. Homeless for sure. I felt bad for him. It looked like an absolutely terrible place to sleep. Hard surface. Hot sun. Roadside fumes. Noise.
I thought about waking him and asking if he was hungry. It takes 30 minutes to charge up, so I thought I could use the wait time to get this man some lunch. All too often I don’t help the homeless person I pass. I’m callous. I look away. Not always. But too often. But today, I just wanted to help him somehow.
He was wearing black sweat pants, and a blue hoodie. He had gray Converses on. They looked new. The sweat pants and the hoodie, tattered and dirty. He had the hoodie pulled up – I suppose it was playing the part of a blanket – but what struck me was his solid white beard, trimmed very close to his face. I liked his beard. Between his fairly new Converse shoes and his trimmed beard, it seemed like life wasn’t kicking out all his teeth. I spoke to wake him. No response.
I guess he’s really drunk and out of it, I thought to myself.
I looked around and saw a Mexican food joint a block away, just beyond the Starbucks. Starbucks seems stupid when you’re thinking about getting something to help another hungry human being. I go there all the damn time, because my life is luxurious every damn day. But my guess was that this man would appreciate a burrito more than a grande, double-shot, carmel machiatto with extra foam and light ice and a twist of cinnamon.
I walk over and get the burrito. I’m vegan but deep downside I believe meat is going to satisfy this guy up more than just rice and beans, so I order a carne asada burrito. I’m remembering right now, that I’ve actually handed a homeless person a vegan burrito in the past, and he took one bite out of it, asked where the meat was and handed it back to me with a “no thanks.” Yeah, this is no time to promote a vegan diet.
I walk back to him. He’s still sleeping. I notice I’m a tiny bit afraid of waking him. What if he jolts awake and screams at me with huge, wide open eyes? What if he immediately grabs my arm and bites my face? What if he’s on drugs and mistakes me for an attacking animal? These are the stupid thoughts I have right before I put my hand on his leg and shake him awake.
His eyes open very slowly. Like they haven’t opened for years. And then as they achieve their goal, they clearly show that they are very unsure as to what’s happening. They are trying to focus on me, to find an answer.
What I notice most is their spectacular blue color. They are the bluest eyes I have ever seen in my 49 years alive. They are like a metallic sky blue on a $50,000 automobile. If this guy was standing next to Paul Newman, no one would notice that Newman’s eyes were blue. I am absolutely amazed at these eyes.
Are you hungry? I ask.
He nods. And then his eyes find the bag of food I’m offering. It’s in one of those flimsy white plastic bags they always give you when you order take out. More plastic to choke the world. Why did I allow them to place one single fucking burrito in the plastic bag when I was only going a block?… I must have been thinking about the homeless guy.
He quickly opens the bag and pulls out the burrito. No time for talk, he gets the first bite in his mouth as fast as possible. And then a sip of the drink I brought him, which is water. His eyes glance at me approvingly, but then he begins coughing, doubling over to expel what comes out as druel. It’s like a gag reflex. But he sits up, looks me right in the eyes and rubs his stomach. And then resumes with another enormous bite.
No words from him yet. Not a one.
Are you okay? I ask.
He swallows. And then tries to speak.
But I can’t make out what he’s saying. Maybe his voice is severely muffled. Like a sock is permanently lodged in his throat. Or like he took a hard punch to the vocal chords. Maybe he is only saying one word. I’m confused. His voice is unexpected.
What’s your name? I ask.
He extends his left arm and using his finger draws something on his forearm. I don’t know what he’s doing, so he draws it again. E – D.
Oh, your name is Ed?
He nods his head. His blue eyes staring directly into mine. And he continues to eat.
I should have been sure by now, but I’m not.
Ed, can you speak?
He shakes his head no and makes a shallow attempt to say it also. But it’s clear. Ed has very little ability to speak. But his eye contact is excellent. And his eyes are so so blue. They are unreal blue.
I felt like sitting there with him. I could have gotten in my car and passed the time on my phone, but I felt like sitting with him. I don’t know why. I do know, but it’s feels like a stupid reason. I’m trying to offer this other person a meal and a little companionship. I didn’t just want to offer food. Seems people need both.
Since Ed is eating and not a talker, I manage the situation with silence and only two other remarks.
There is a beautiful large bush in front of us. Most of the leaves are green, but a few new ones are red. It’s pretty when you really look at it.
Beautiful how this bush has red leaves and green ones don’t you think Ed?
He nods and looks me in the eye.
Then we sit in more silence while he eats.
“Ed, I asked for chips to go with your burrito. They should be in there,” I say.
Ed, finds the chips in the white plastic bag. They would have been missed otherwise because they are enclosed separately in their own white plastic bag. For fucks sake! It’s killing me. Then Ed unties the small plastic bag and finds 2 tortilla chips. TWO. Just two fucking chips. Now I remember the man behind the counter looking at me like I was a freeloader when I said, “And can you throw in some chips with the burrito.”
Ed is eating the last chip and then excitedly points at something flying by.
It’s a radiant yellow butterfly. It looks like a fluttering slice of the sun.
I don’t know what a butterfly symbolizes but I see it and wonder.
When Ed is done eating both chips, he points forward at a Starbucks cup discarded on the ground in front of us. He gets up and retrieves it. He places it, the foil and the napkin into the white plastic bag. He looks at me and smiles. Then he rubs his stomach and smiles more. But he’s going now. He attempts to speak again. This time I know what he’s saying: “Taking trash.”
He grabs the only other bag he’s got, a black duffle bag, offers me his hand and goes.
Ed was really hungry. That was easy to see by the pace he ate at and by the first bite going down wrong. I don’t know why I don’t help homeless people more often. I’m trying to open my heart as wide as I can and I know it has the capacity to be much more open than it is. I know it does. I can feel it. Especially in moments like this.
Facebook Comments