Brother Mine

I was returning from my lunch-time walk to the park and back when I saw a man ahead of me on the sidewalk; he was on the same side of the street, but about a block north of me.  I could see that he was pushing some type of cart, but couldn’t make-out exactly what it was…and given that he was wearing a t-shirt and pants of that sturdy brown color used by a certain parcel delivery company, I allowed that he might have been pushing a hand-truck or dolly loaded with packages…except that there was no matching sturdy brown truck nearby.  As I continued up the street and heading directly toward the man, I noticed that he kept walking back and forth on the sidewalk, first up the street I was on, and then back and forth on the street that ran perpendicular to the one I was on, the one that I would have to cross very soon as I made my way back to work.

While I was waiting for the various cars to pass in front of me and allow my clear and safe passage to the other side of the road, I was better able to see what the man was pushing ahead of him.  It was a shopping cart, and not one that was over-loaded with belongings, not one that would reveal the more transient nature of his life, but one that contained a solitary “something” or other…just a single thing…and not many.

I made it to the other side of the street and continued on my northward march up the sidewalk, quickly gaining on the man and paying special attention to the fact that he had stopped and was looking back at me…or in my direction, anyway.  As he stood there in his short-sleeved t-shirt in the 31 degree weather, evidently being warmed by something he carried within himself…maybe something flowing in his veins already at this almost early hour of the morning, I wondered what the question was going to be.  He was already working on it, too, slowly loosening his lips and mouth, making empty motions and aligning the thoughts of words, the mental sounds of them, maybe, in preparation for my impending arrival at his side.

I was expecting to be asked about the change I had in my pocket and was a little surprised when the man said, “Excuse me, Brother…dhhhooo you know…you know where there’s a restaurant around here…here?”

In the several seconds that it took the man to prepare his words and manage to offer them to me, I noticed that his one hand didn’t stray from his shopping cart…the rickety four-wheeled device that he was using to carry his unceremoniously-opened 18-pack of Bud-lite…and nothing else.  In those seconds, I also looked more directly at the man’s face and noticed that maybe I could have been his brother…after all, we were both men…and we must have each had a mother…so maybe….

Cars and assorted traffic passed behind and beside us as we questioned the day and wondered things in our separate minds in those fast and fleeting moments…as the man still stood there in his short-sleeved shirt with his long black hair tied loosely in a pony tail.  His golden-brown face was flat and thickly fleshed and had deep lines extending from the outside corners of his eyes and mouth; his nose was also mostly golden brown, but reddish, too, and bulbous, and heavily veined with red and blue road-map capillaries that spoke of years of opened beers and other kinds of things.  His black-brown eyes were glassy as they passed and twitched at mine with his stumbling words and wondering words and with his outstretched arm, and then,  “Izzzzz it that pa-hink…is it that p-hink building over there?”

I did happen to know where there was a restaurant nearby, so I told the man no, that pink building was a set of old apartments…you need to go back down the sidewalk and turn right at the street in front of us and head that way for a couple blocks…the restaurant is called “Rico-something-or-other.”

“Oh…ok…thank you, Bhrother.”

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8 responses

  1. I love this – a very humane exchange, thank you.

    January 12, 2012 at 7:31 am

    • Thank you, Helen…and you’re welcome. 🙂

      January 12, 2012 at 8:00 am

  2. So very sad! I have seen the damage alcoholism, or any addiction, does to good and decent people. It always upsets me to see the loss of humanity in one consumed by an addiction. I lost both my parents to alcoholism. It is such a wasteful way to live one’s life. And who knows what kind of blessing someone like him could be to others in the world?

    January 12, 2012 at 3:41 pm

    • That is an excellent point, Steven…what would his life be like, and what would the lives around him be like if he weren’t in the condition he is? What kind of blessing could he be? Thank you, Sir. 🙂

      January 12, 2012 at 7:40 pm

  3. I found your story very moving. You have a nice insight here and expressed it well. Your line “maybe I could have been his brother” instantly reminded me of a verse from the Patrick Kavanagh poem Memory of My Father.

    “That man I saw in Gardiner Street
    Stumble on the kerb was one,
    He stared at me half-eyed,
    I might have been his son.”

    Have a very nice weekend.

    January 14, 2012 at 10:48 am

    • Thank you, Aware of the Void, such nice words! And thank you for the addition from Kavanagh…most appropriate. 🙂

      January 14, 2012 at 8:47 pm

  4. This also struck me as being sad. And like Steven commented, if not for the alcohol, who could he influence for the good? In the book of John, chapter 10, vs 10, Jesus said, “The thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy…” Satan loves to destroy lives and families, steal what we could have been… maybe this man crossed your path for a reason? Have a good day. I like your peace sign.

    January 14, 2012 at 10:48 am

    • Yes, Joigrl, there is some sadness here, and if definitely begs the question that Steven offered…and how will we ever know? I hope you’re having a good day, too. I think you’re the first person to ever comment on the peace-sign. Thank you. 🙂

      January 14, 2012 at 8:41 pm

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