A warm embrace

He was just sitting there. Between City Hall and the Library. Half on a giant concrete planter, the latter half on a makeshift ottoman of old blankets, clothes, bags and a shopping trolley.

I watched as one teenager pulled a pair of gloves over his arthritic fingers. That’s when I really stopped and looked at him. I was running to pay my electric bill before they closed in 10mins but when I saw him try again and again to open a water bottle, I asked him if I could help. His top layer of protection–an old wool trench coat, covered by an ugly gray packing blanket–was spattered with what looked like stew.

His eyes looked barely human–dark as midnight, with no expectation of dawn. He couldn’t talk, but nodded in approval. He nursed the water bottle like an infant–his lips solidly around it, refusing to let so much as a drop go the way of the stew stains he wore. And I didn’t know what to do. He nodded in approval and placed the water by his side. I put the cap back on it loosely and headed down the street to pay my bill.

I couldn’t quit seeing his eyes, equal parts fear and resignation. By the time I was done paying my bills, I knew the blanket in my trunk had his name written on it. I ran across the street to where the car was parked. I knew he had to have something to give him some more warmth–that old packing blanket wasn’t enough. Forgetting to look to see the cars coming I ran back across.</p

I saw those eyes again, and I wondered what kind of monster I might look like to a man laying helpless on a tree planter. I told him I brought him another blanket and he nodded gracefully. “My feet” he muttered. I folded a corner underneath him to the makeshift pallet. I spread the top out only to realise how little good it would do. I folded it under as best I could while he shifted his weight to help tuck himself in. Suddenly I was struck by the fact that in attempting to warm this man, I had no option but to embrace him. Not a handshake or a pat on the back, but a full-on, “only for loved ones” embrace.

And I thought I was going to lose it and breakdown crying.

I don’t know what kind of shape he’s in. I felt powerless, impotent–all the things you feel when you just don’t know what to do but you’d swear there’s got to be more. There were people there to help him, I knew that–but it wasn’t just their task–it felt like my task. And I can’t quit thinking about him.