Homeless (Musing)

Yesterday, a homeless black man approached me on my way to Starbucks. Everyday there’s someone with their hands out trying to get some of what you don’t have to give. His hands were outstretched and no words came from his mouth. I don’t have any change I lied through my teeth. He pointed to Commerce Bank. They have change over there he said, but I wasn’t about to turn back to get change- not with the thirst of Starbucks on my lips. I will give you something when I get back and I kept on walking. For some reason, I thought he would be gone by the time I got back but he was still there, standing in front of the church (I didn’t realize until that moment that I had blatantly lied in front of a church). Coffee in hand, his eyes met mine as I walked towards him. I fumbled in my pockets looking for some coins but I really didn’t have any change. Slowing down, I looked at him intently and asked why he was homeless. The question was more accusatory than my actual need to garner information. He looked pretty healthy to me and I saw no reason why he couldn’t hold down a job no matter how menial the work. He explained to me that his house had burnt down a few days ago and he was in a shelter, but he might as well be homeless because shelters were like being in hell. I nodded at him as he spoke and I detecting an accent. I’m from Haiti he said and I said a few words in Creole to him. He smiled. We exchanged some more words and he was genuinely excited to speak to me. The kinship of speaking a common language with this homeless man on the sidewalks of New York in the middle of rush hour made me realize the disservice I had paid him. His name was Julien. I gave him a few measly bucks and as I left, he stretched out his filthy hands to me and I shook it. The least I could do was show him the respect of being a human being.

Jean-Pierre, Dean
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6-27-06….8pm