He was standing on the corner. He had a sign that said, “Hungry Homeless Need Help.” It was written in fat black letters on cardboard. He had on a jacket and scarf, with a black hat pulled low over his forehead. It was cold. Although the persistent rain was still in liquid form, today was one of those days that felt like snow was threatening. It hasn’t stopped raining all day; a typical Northwest drizzlish rain.
I pulled Poppy, my little red geo metro, into the parking lot of the grocery store. I noticed as I pulled in that he met my eyes, despite the sweeping movement of the windshield wipers.
Intentionally, I parked several rows away, toward the store. I was thinking about the man. It didn’t take longer than about two seconds to decide to buy him some groceries while I was inside, and I mentally started thinking of what would be good, healthy, wholesome, filling, and convenient for someone living on the streets. I thought soup (with a pop-lid), some apples, carrots, granola bars, and almonds might all be good options. Then I noticed a man - and a small little girl with long brown hair holding his hand – walk toward the man on the corner. The little girl was carrying a plastic bag with something in it. They had just come from the store. They gave the plastic bag to the man on the corner, and then turned around to go to their car. I could see the corner man put his sign in his backpack and start toward the store.
I parked and got out of my car. The man from the corner was walking. I paced myself so I’d get to corner of the store at the same time he did.
“Are you cold? Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” I asked. I didn’t really take time to think about it, I just offered. I was supposed to be tutoring Sam at that very moment, but Sam hadn’t had any math homework to finish up, so I’d just dropped him off and made a beeline for the grocery store. If I hurried, I’d thought I could get my groceries, head home, frost the brownies I’d made for my young adult group tonight, and maybe catch a nap. I’ve been getting up early and I knew tonight would be late for me. I thought an hour of sleep might not only help me stay awake, but also make tomorrow a little less miserable.
But I’d invited the man from the corner inside for coffee. To my surprise he said, “I am cold. I’d love a cup of coffee. That would be very nice.”
We headed inside and I asked him – in an attempt to make conversation of some kind – “Other than standing in the rain, how are you today?”
“Pretty crappy, actually. I lost my wife yesterday.” He was a step behind me when he said it, and I didn’t quite know how to respond.
“Could you clarify what you mean by “lost” in reference to your wife?” I asked, not sure whether he meant she had died, or left him, or what.
“She left me. I don’t mean she died.” He was quick to clarify, “She just walked away from me. I mean, she wasn’t really my wife, but we’ve been together for three years, and I sort of just think of her as my wife.”
I turned my head to make sure I could see his eyes, “I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.
At the Starbucks counter the gal behind the counter asked me, “What can I get started for you?”
I said, “Whatever this gentleman wants.” He ordered a large coffee. I ordered a tall coffee with room. He added, “Could I get hazelnut in that?”
“Sure,” the barista said. The total came to $4.22 cents. I swiped my debit card. I feel ashamed to admit it, but I was conscious of the fact that my companion was standing to my right, with prime view of the PIN pad as I entered my number. Then I told myself that, even if he memorized my PIN and then stole my debit card somehow, I didn’t have all that much money in that account. He wouldn’t get away with much before I got a replacement card or new PIN.
Our coffees were finished before the transaction had finished.
“Are you going to drink it with me?” He asked. He sounded neither surprised nor expectant.
“I’d like to,” I said, “If you have a couple minutes to drink it with me.”
He smiled – his first that I’d witnessed – “I’ve got nothing but time.” He settled into the closest table while I poured a splash of half-and-half into my coffee.
“I’m Danielle,” I said as I set my purse on the floor next to my foot. He’d taken off his jacket and hung it neatly across the back of his chair.
“Danielle. That’s a nice name.”
I smiled. “I like it.”
“I’m Anthony,” he said, “Sometimes I go by Antonio. But I was named Anthony.”
“Anthony, it’s nice to meet you. I like your name.” I said. Then I took a sip of my coffee. “Where are you from?”
We sat there, Anthony and I, for over an hour. He was talkative, but reserved. He never offered his last name, although I did find out that he was born in the Seattle area, but had lived in various places around the country, including Wisconsin and Florida. Most recently he’d been in Florida, so the cold here in the Pacific Northwest made his arthritis hurt, he said. He had no children, which he said was “a good thing, since I can’t even take care of myself, it would seem.”
I have a friend who has been reminding me regularly of how impacting the words we say are – about ourselves and about others. I have been trying to notice how other people and myself talk, and what we say. “Hang on, Anthony,” I set my coffee cup down and leaned toward him a little, “The words you say have the power of life and death, you know. Don’t say negative things about yourself – what you say has a way of developing into reality.” He continued to meet my eyes with his brown gaze.
I think his eyes were one of the most striking features about him. He took his hat off and I noticed a quarter-sized open wound on his forehead, but I didn’t ask him about it. It looked painful. His hair was neatly trimmed. His face held the remnant of his sunny days in Florida, although his eyes had dark shadows under them, and whenever he spoke, his faint lines on his face deepened into dark creases.
We talked about parenting, traveling, words and their meaning (I asked him what three words described him. He told me a lot of people refer to him as “jackass.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to know what other people say about you,” I said, “I want to know what you think are words that describe you.” He settled on “observant,” “mediator,” and “cautious.”). We also talked about cell phones and televisions and how people today often seem to be disconnected from each other. He mentioned commercials, we talked about how relationships are both the hardest thing to do and deal with, and yet how we wouldn’t probably want it any other way, because it helps us appreciate people and relationships when we know they require work. Our conversation also drifted into talking about the weather, Utopia, and how electronic communication cannot replace face-to-face interaction.
When my coffee was gone – which had gotten quite cold in the interim – I told him, “I’m sorry, but I should go pick up those groceries.” He smiled in what I’d begun to suspect was his gentle-but-resigned smile, “Yeah, it’s a bummer how the cupboards don’t fill themselves, isn’t it?” he commented. I agreed.
I picked up my purse and set it on my lap. “Anthony, how can I be praying for you?” I asked.
He smiled again and winked, “My name is Anthony. I’ll take any prayers you can offer.”
I smiled back, nodding, “OK. I’d be happy to do that. I will be praying for you. It was really great to meet you. Thanks for having coffee with me.” I put out my hand to shake his.
He took it, “I’ll pray for you too, Danielle. It was nice to meet you also,” then he looked down at my hand. “Your hand is cold,” he commented. I nodded, “It’s usually cold.” He looked up at me, “It should be warm. You’ve been holding that warm coffee.” He put his other hand on top of mine, so my right hand was sandwiched between his two warm, big hands. “Here, let me warm it up for you for a second,” he said.
I doubt he realized it, but he did more than just warm my hand. When Anthony held my hand, he warmed my heart too. In that moment, I remembered that not only is Anthony human, loved and valued, and someone I want to show kindness to, I was also reminded of the fact that I am human, loved and valued, and someone that Anthony wanted to show kindness to.
I love teaching. Really, I do. The tears in the hallway when I confront a student on not doing homework, the cussing out in the classroom when I tell a student I expect their work to be typed, so no, I will not accept their handwritten project, the sighs when I hand out an assignment sheet, the whining when I ask how the weekend went, the "I just have ONE question" in the last 30 seconds of class from the students that have their hand up every other minute, the lies about great-aunts dying and needing time off, and the stupid texting under the tables, however, I do not love.
