Sweet Man in Starbucks
I do not know your name, what your voice sounds like or how tall you may be. It has been over two weeks and I still think of you. The first and last time I saw you were one of the same. When I saw you, I did not look away. I wanted to look further and I did. I looked deeper because your eyes were closed as your head rested back on the overstuffed leather chair. I noticed your long body and your sweet soft feminine cheekbones. The cheekbones combined with the weathered skin gave you a glow most men do not have. Cheekbones almost out of place for the life you wore on your body. You carried dirt and days on your soul and yet you did not have any filth. Soft feminine cheekbones for someone that has felt so much in life. Physically. Emotionally. Painfully. Numbingly. This was obvious.
Although you almost passed for a paying customer or a weary traveler until I looked closer. A different shoe on either foot. Athletic shoes, one was a woman’s shoe the other wider and with more tread made for long unsteady walks. You were wrapped in a few scarves, one that sparkled. The sparkles made me smile. Most of your clothes had a feminine feel. Borrowed. Given. Stolen. Whatever needed to keep yourself warm. To lessen the harsh elements of homelessness.
Years ago, I would take walks with my first born in his stroller. We lived in Santa Monica at the time. When we walked he would often babble. Always curious. He began pointing to the many homeless. We would see them sleeping on a bench or under a tree. His little hand would point and say “Babeee”. Initially I wondered if I should correct him and yet my intuition knew better. BABY. To my sweet child a human sleeping peacefully, was a baby. For me it was more. The homeless we were walking by was someone’s baby. Stating the obvious, everyone was a baby in the beginning. Precious. Sacred. Loved. Or absolute should be. My perspective changed on every single other human being in that moment.
In this moment at the Starbucks I looked at you. Looked away. Then back again. I looked back for every time I may have looked away when faced with another in your place. Your hands in your lap covered in matching gloves. Different from the rest of your clothing ensemble. I know without the gloves your nails they may have been dirty, your hands probably weathered like your face. I am glad I looked back that morning. I don’t need a picture looking back because I see you so clearly. My assumption is that you have seen too much in your life. Too much of what we do not want our babies to see even as they grow up and on.
I do not know if you had days without a shower. I do not know if you had an odor of damp air and struggles from being on the street. I did not care. I want you to know I never looked down on you. I did not want to assume you needed money or a job. What I did assume was that there were many possibilities. Maybe this was the life you had chosen after a broken heart over your childhood or youth. Maybe this was a life you had chosen because you felt failed by another or a system. Maybe you were safer on the streets than in four walls with your memories.
I came back to me, and my heart which felt selfish in the moment. For I could linger from afar in these walls and observe. Watching you comforted me and my own emotions to see you resting your head back in the chair. Knowing you were inside and the fog was at bay in this coastal town. I wondered if this was good deep sleep and I still go back to the mismatch shoes the sparkle scarf wondering how you are.
To confess I looked away and then look back again over and over. I was grateful that you were in that warm coffee shop. Grateful that you were in the seaside town we were celebrating in and you were wanting shelter. Grateful that this Starbucks wasn’t willing to kick someone out just for being there. Like many I have seen many homeless over the years. I remember my long talks with one gentleman when I worked in San Francisco. His home at times was in front and to the side of the tall office building I worked downtown. Never knowing whether to believe the stories he told me or not. To this day I do not care if it was truth, I do not remember what we spoke about, I just remember him and time.
Yet, this was different. 10, 15 maybe 20 minutes two weeks ago in a coffee shop. You, gentle soul have stayed in my head and my heart. I have my blurry version or assumptions about your past. If I knew your true story my memories would remain the same. My hope and love for you would remain the same. For the truth, you are human. You are someone’s baby. You needed rest in a warm place to be and I am honored that your image stays within me. I am grateful that you are on this earth. You are forever in my heart and I will pray you continue to find a soft place to land. You are somebody’s baby.
Originally written December 2017
