I sat down on the bench beside him and turned to face him square on. "Tell me who you are," I said to him. He pulled out his i.d. and smiled big and bright to show me his name and how to spell it. It lacked an "e" where most people would put one in. He seemed to feel glad for the small distinction. His joy in that moment made me laugh with him. And then he said...."I'm lost. I'm just lost." and looked off in the distance at nothing and nowhere to go.
That lost man/boy started speaking words worthy to write down. And I told him I would. "When you have a family, even a bad one, it tells you who you are. It gives you something. So I went back to find my mama. 'So what you want, boy? You want to suck on my titty again??' "I'm sorry," he said, looking back from what he was picturing as he spoke, and realizing my 15 year old daughter was listening. "I don't mean to be.....but that's what she said." No apology necessary. No words to say back. So I kept looking at him. I felt hurt inside of me I could taste.
He went back to the street, he said, and started "using" for different reasons; boredom, pain relief, money, survival. It sounded like a social services pamphlet, that list. "I know it's wrong. I don't want to keep doing it. But right now...." Yeah. I know. No. I don't know. I don't really know at all. "The thing is, when you grow up like I did, you hear things over and over from the street, from the music, and you start to believe them. "Repition is persuasion," he said and turned to look at me....."Repition is persuasion." The irony isn't lost. His gaze tells me to pay attention. Truth sat there between the two of us.
He is black, 19, homeless. Nothing in those words describes me. But in those words, that gaze, there was something I shook hands with. He felt invisible. He didn't matter. And he'd walked into a false truth he'd begun to believe and everything seemed to confirm. "I know that part," I said tentatively. I touched his arm. I was white and I'd driven there in a car, wrapped up in a coat and handing out things I had access to, had more than enough of. I had a place to go that night. And I wasn't really sure how that happened or why it hadn't happened to this young man. But I knew what it felt like to not feel seen, to not feel loved.
It was starting to get dusk and it would soon be time for those standing around waiting to go to the shelter nearby for something to eat for the night, for a place to sleep. "Would you mind....can I......pray with you?" He bowed his head, without delay. "Yes," he answered, and waited for my words. "God. You're here. You see him. Don't let him out of your sight." "Can I have another hug?" he asked. With that, we gathered our things and walked away. As our car drove back by the place we'd sat, I looked for him. I couldn't see him. But God did.
"The angel of the Lord found her by a spring of water in the wilderness...and He said, "Hagar....where have you come from and where are you going?....So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, "You are a God of seeing, (El Roi) " for she said, "Truly here I have seen Him who looks after me." Genesis 16
This gave me chills. I too understand what it feels like to not feel seen or loved. Thank you for making this young man real; giving him humanity.
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