D. H. Hanni

&More--Nov/Dec 2014

Another Hot Meal

D. H. Hanni

The last thing I want is pity. It kills me to stand here on the corner of Fifth and Main in downtown wearing a thin T-shirt, a shabby hoodie failing to keep the icy wind at bay, and khakis so large I use a discarded women's belt to keep them up. It's one of those fancy-looking ones with rhinestones or some kind of sparkly stone on it. Fashionable, but I'm glad it's thin, like me, so I can hide it under my shirt.

I claim a slim crevice between two high rise apartment buildings, nearly invisible to the world. Yet in front of me I hold my paper cup stained with mud, coffee, and who knows what else. I jiggle it seeking change, but I can't say anything to folks.

Believe it or not, I get regulars. From the same people I see walk by me every day. Mostly business men in their suits, who drop in what coins they have in their pockets. Women never drop anything in. They avoid eye contact as they scoot away from me.

One man in particular always catches my eye. What makes him stand out is that he looks me in the face and smiles. No pity, no wariness, no nervousness. I must evoke something from him when he approaches. Perhaps it's compassion, but it's been so long since I've really been a part of the bustle of the real world that I'm uncertain.

He lives in one of the high rise apartments and drops change into my cup every evening on his way home. There's nothing special about him. Average height, average build, yet each day when he comes by, I nod and give him a low “Thank you, mister.”

Today the heavens are dumping fat rain drops so I tuck myself further in between the buildings, my hoodie covering my filthy hair. Even though I could use the shower, the drops hurt, like pebbles being thrown at me. As I'm hiding my cup in a pocket, people are less inclined to reach for their spare change on a day like today, when a voice says to me, “You need something to eat?”

I raise my eyes off the ground and am face-to-face with him. I haven't seen him all week I just realized. In one hand he's clutching an umbrella, trying to shelter us both from the storm. In the other hand he's holding out something wrapped in foil. It smells like marinated pork, beans, and cheese.

“Take it. You look like you could use something warm.” A quick smile as he hands me the food.

I'm too stunned for words. Through the foil I can feel the heat. It's almost too hot and my hands experience a burning sensation. Before I can thank him, he's disappeared.

I turn my back to the street, hunching over my food. I unwrap the foil as if it's the most precious gift I've ever received. The sweltering heat intensifies, becoming uncomfortable but I don't mind. I chomp into the pork burrito not caring to take my time with the first few bites. I probably look like a chipmunk, my mouth is so full. All I taste is warmth both from the spices of cayenne and chili powder and temperature.

I've learned the hard way to pace myself when I'm this fortunate. So I wait a few minutes before savoring the next bite. The pork is juicy, tender, and melts in my mouth as it melds with the Monterey jack cheese. I notice the starchy black beans. The salsa, green tomatillo, I believe, has a kick of lime and jalapeno.

It's been a long time since I've been this happy. A hot meal was the first thing I learned to appreciate when I became homeless and I was appreciating the hell out of this burrito. I don't eat the whole burrito. Instead I re-wrap the remaining half and tuck it away so it doesn't get wet.

The next day for lunch, I finish it. At the conclusion of the meal, without much thought, I lick the foil clean, lapping up all the meat juices and any remaining sauce. I neatly fold the foil into a small square, then stash it away as a reminder to thank the man.

The rain has stopped and the temperature has risen by the time I see him. Having had little positive interaction with people since I became a part of the streets, I am nervous to approach him. All day I've been rehearsing what I'm going to say, muttering the imagined conversation, and constantly changing my wording until I get it just right.

Round the corner he comes. I straighten up. Cautious, I advance stopping a few steps before reaching him. “Uhhh, mister. Could you...Just wanted to say, I, thank you.” I feel sweat on my body, embarrassed by my musky, earthy smell.

The man sticks out his hand, which makes me uncomfortable. Instead of shaking it, I cast my eyes down. “I can't sir. Don't want to get you dirty.” I stare at the enormous hole in my left shoe. Dirty toes stick out in contrast to the other man's shiny leather shoes.

“Call me Gabriel. I'm not afraid. I'd like to shake your hand and look you in the face when I apologize.”

That grabs my attention. I lift my head up and meet his welcoming gaze. “Apologize for what?”

“For not giving you something to eat earlier. Every day for the past few months I've walked by you. I drop in my change thinking in some small way I've done my good deed for the day, but I've realized I can and should do more. What's your name?”

“James.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Are you for real?” I shake his hand, my grip as weak as my knees. He pats me on the shoulder. I want to warn him about all the critters my clothing has.

“Yes. I've been talking with some of my co-workers, researching organizations which could provide aid and wanted to discuss those with you, if you don't mind.”

This had to be some kind of joke. People like him don't exist in the world, yet all our brief interactions have suggested he may just be a guardian angel sent to me. “Why are you doing this?” I'm still cautious and not quite believing our conversation.

Gabriel plays with his keys. “Because I want to help. Because I can help. I've never done anything like this before, be of assistance to another person, so maybe I'm going about this all wrong.” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “Would you like help? Perhaps I should have asked first. I mean I just assumed someone in your position could use it.”

Help. That word I hate to ponder, or to use. “Listen, sir, I appreciate the meal, I really do but I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me.”

“I don't see this as me feeling sorry for you, James. I don't know you; don't know what circumstances led to you being on the streets. For all I know you could be a drunk or a drug addict, although you've never reeked of booze. Or maybe something happened, which wasn't your fault, and life just fell apart. I just know I'm at a place in my life where I feel it's important to lend a hand to others in any way I can. Change in your cup or even the meal I picked up for you yesterday doesn't seem enough.” Gabriel says all of this in an impassioned, firm voice.

I hold out my dirty hands, palm side up, in front of me. “I don't know what to say to you, mister. Gabriel, I mean. I've spent so many years on the street that it's hard to see any other life. I've gone to the shelters, the missions. Gotten food and warm shelter for as long as they'll have me before hitting the streets again. In the past it's always been temporary. I've got no skills anyone wants anymore so how is it supposed to be different this time around?

“I'm glad you asked.” He pulls out a pamphlet from his jacket. “This is a program designed to help those who've been out of work. You can brush up skills or acquire more useful skills. They also offer housing to those that need it. I thought of you. If you're interested, I could take you to the place either tonight or tomorrow.”

I flipped through the brochure not believing here was a real opportunity for me to change my life. “There's has to be a catch,” I say, looking at him.

“The one catch is I don't want to ever see you hiding in that spot. You deserve better, but only if you think so. So what'll it be?” Gabriel looks at me expectantly.

Reviewing the pamphlet again, the smiling faces of those helped, the hope and promise that it is offering. Is this an opportunity to regain my dignity? Improve my life? All at the expense of swallowing my pride? Unable to find my tongue as my throat is tight with emotion, I acquiesce. "Yes."

“Glad to hear, now let's get inside somewhere and I'll buy you another hot meal.”