Just a typical day for us
t’s a typical night in Chicago, or San Francisco, or Los Angeles, or New York City, or Miami. But really, it doesn’t matter. You strut down the familiar, chalky sidewalk smeared with fleeting footprints. You think to yourself: Damn, it’s pretty cold out. I wish I had brought my scarf. Can't wait to get home. You think to yourself: Damn, it’s so hot. I wish I didn’t have that extra beer at dinner. Can’t wait to get home. You continue walking. You see the bright lights, the tantalizing clubs, the protruding skyscrapers. You've walked by them 100 times. The first time you saw them your eyes widened and your eyebrows raised; you marveled at their size, their glamor, their appeal, their very existence.
It’s a popular part of town. Lots of nightlife. Plenty of bars, restaurants, pubs, and young people. Heavy pedestrian traffic. You keep walking. You see a homeless person, or a homeless family, or an entire homeless community scattered along the partially littered sidewalk, hungry souls waiting like traffic cones on a street.
You start to notice your heart beating a little faster. You put your hand on your chest, feeling the consistent pounding against your ribcage. Thump. You unconsciously grip one of your fists, noting the sticky sweat forming under your clenched palm. Maybe thoughts begin to pop into your head. It’s kinda annoying. Why do they always ask for money? I’m just trying to walk here, ya know?
You look down at your watch. It's getting late. How much do I really need my pair of gloves right now? It’s only November. You wonder: what do they do when it really starts to get cold? But maybe nothing pops into your head. Maybe you don't have these thoughts. Maybe these homeless people simply turn into white noise, blending into the background like an obscure apartment building in the New York City skyline.
Most likely, you concentrate your energy on ignoring these people because they make you feel uncomfortable. You glance back at the bright lights and the skyscrapers, blinded by capital.
t’s only March. How can they possibly stand the heat during the summer? You turn around to look at the row of bars. You wish you had paid in cash so you had something smaller than a 20-dollar bill on you. If I invited them into my home, showered them, fed them, gave them a pair of clothes and a place to sleep, that would be so nice, maybe even life-changing. Pause. Would they steal from me in the middle of the night?
You look ahead at them, squinting. Your heartbeat still increasing the way it does as you approach the end of a first date. Thump thump. You see them holding something. Your eyes first look at their faded cardboard sign: "Four kids. Anything helps." Do they really have four kids? Would anything actually help? You consider giving them your leftovers from dinner. Is that too degrading? You approach, quickly and cautiously. You double tap the back of your jeans, checking to make sure the rectangular shape is still bulging out of the back of your pants. You grab your purse and pull it tighter to your hip, closer to your body. You think back to the 20-dollar bill, but you would never give that much to one person. Maybe some spare change, but really, who carries spare change anymore?
Oh God, you’re about 15 feet away. What if he tries to touch me? What if he mistakes a compassionate look for something more? It's getting dark out. You glance down at your tight jeans. The twilight sky slowly becoming your enemy. Your mind wanders off to the worst-case scenario. You look behind you. Your eyes dart to the other side of the street, scanning the sidewalk for potential alleys, for potential witnesses.
I
I
hat would they even do with the money? Gamble? Cigarettes? Alcohol? Hard drugs? You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead, nervously rubbing the excess sweat on your pants. I should really buy them a meal. It would be so amazing if I sat and ate with them. But you don’t have time for that. You have to meet friends for drinks. You have to get home. You have class tomorrow. You have to be up early for work. A new episode of Game of Thrones is on tonight. It’s recorded but, ya know… spoilers.
You’re a few feet away. You look at them, practically a part of the street. You try not to make eye contact. You make eye contact. Shit. You begin to smell their grimy stench. How could they sleep there? The filth on the ground becomes their natural scent, rubbing into their clothes, staining their skin. If you pay close enough attention, you can see the thick black dirt harboring under their fingernails. You can see the smog on their faces, the desperation in their eyes, the hopelessness in their souls.
Maybe you see them as an equal. Maybe you see someone who is less than equal, even inhumane, like an persistent dog who won't stop barking. They notice you walking and slowly lift their head from their slouched stomach. You make eye contact again but then quickly look away down at your fresh new shoes. Through your peripherals, you see them straighten their spine and lean forward. The moment is here.
“S’cuse me, sir. Do you have some loose change?” “Pardon me, ma'am, could you spare—“
You stop listening and look away. Maybe you look their direction. Perhaps you say, “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything,” lying through your teeth. Because we all know damn well, even if you actually don’t have any loose bills or spare change on you, you have a lot, or at least a lot more than they do. Maybe you’re late to meet your parents. Maybe you’re in college and don’t have a lot of spending money. Maybe you are paying tuition yourself. Maybe you're just in a bad mood.
Most likely you don’t say anything at all, not looking their way, not acknowledging their presence on this earth, leaving them to wait for the next human being to toss them their scraps.