They walk by me as though I had no importance.
It’s like all they see is a sack of bones, a sack of meat and blood vessels and tissue. They see hair and they see cloth, but they… they don’t see my eyes. They’re too scared, they don’t care, they’re heartless.
If they did see into my eyes, they’d see my hunger. They’d see the pain behind my black eyes, they’d see the despair hiding behind them, they’d see the hope of death that masked itself as numbness.
Every day I don’t know if I’ll make it. There’s too much cold or too much heat, there’s too much hunger or too much thirst. I feel dirty, worthless, not only because of my sanitary health, but because that’s how they look at me.
I watch. That’s all I can do, really, because my voice is long lost and my legs can barely move unless it’s absolutely necessary. I love people watching. I’ve watched some of the best and worst walk by me: I’ve seen children tug and wail at their parents, asking them to please give the poor man at the corner of the street a little bit of love. I’ve watched teens ignore me, I’ve watched adults look at me with disgust and walk a little faster in case I’m going to rob them. But neither, child, teen, adult or elder have looked me in the eye.
They’re all afraid.
The worst part is that they don’t know who I am. They have no idea what my name is, they don’t know how old I am, where I was born, what happened that made me end up on the side of the street. They don’t care.
I have a name. I have an age, a birthplace, a mother and a story.
Today, the wind has picked up considerably. It’s the middle of winter, and I’m so cold that I really believe this is it. I’ll finally die.
But today’s not my day. One second I have my eyes closed tightly, and the next, there’s a warm hand on my shoulder.
I open my crusty eyes, and there’s one of the girls that pass by me every morning. She must be sixteen or seventeen, much too young, and I realize that she’s looking me in the eyes. She’s not beautiful, she must be a bit overweight and her face is childish and round. But her eyes are a dark brown and her smile is genuine, and I know, looking into them, I see the sympathy that will keep the world spinning.
“I see you everyday.” she tells me, and her voice is odd, not manly or girly but odd-looking for her face. I raise an eyebrow, urging her to go on. “I see you every single day on my way to school.” She states again, looking as though she might blush if her dark skin allowed it. “But I never do anything about it. I apologize. That’s cruel of me.”
I watch her, interested in what she’s saying.
“I can’t imagine what it’s like to be hungry. There hasn’t been one day in my life where I’ve experienced hunger, obviously.” She laughs at herself, and I see there are tears in her eyes. I don’t see what’s funny, so I don’t laugh. “And I don’t know what it’s like for people to look down on you, or to be homeless, or to have people not look you in the eye.”
It’s amazing she touched my sore spot. I see her with new appreciation.
“I’d like to say awful things about them, but the truth is I’m just like they are. It took me two years to work up the courage to say something to you. I see you every day, starving, and I do nothing about it. I’m sorry, I’m a horrible person.” And she really does look sorry; her eyes are filled with tears, her smile is sad, and I want to hug her. She doesn’t look like she should cry over a bum like me.
“You gave me money once.” I say, hoarsely, but she shakes her head profusely.
“But does money make you happy, other than for basic necessities?” she sighs, and I find myself answering a silent no. “So I brought you three things.”
I don’t want charity. I tell her this.
“It’s not charity. It’s called a gift.” She brings out her backpack, and she shows it to me. I’m curious. She pulls out, just like she said, three things. A winter coat, a Tupperware, and a book. She sees my speculative face and giggles.
“The coat is for when it’s too cold; you’ll find socks, mittens and a hat in there as well. They’re new, see? I picked them out, and they’re the best quality I could find. They’ll keep you warm, and I hope nobody steals them or you lose them. I hope they save you one day.” She smiles and hands me the coat, and indeed, I find what she described. “The Tupperware has the healthiest salad that you could ever lay your eyes on: it’s got everything. And I promise it’s good, but if you don’t like it, there’s also a chocolate-chip cookie hidden in one of the coat pockets.”
And the book? I ask her.
“It’s for when you’re bored. It’s my favorite, so I guess you could call this a hand-me-down.” She hands it to me nervously. It’s tattered and it smells like dust. I already love it. “It’s Harry Potter. I don’t know if you’ve read it, but it’s very good. It’s about magic. I have a million books at home: about God, faith, love, philosophy, adventure and humor. But, if I’m honest, magic is so much better. You can get anywhere if you believe in the impossible.”
She starts standing up. I panic; where’s she going? We’ve just started talking.
She gives me a hug. It’s sudden, it’s long, and it warms my heart in such a way I begin to cry. She pulls back, and I see she’s crying too.
“I’m leaving this town. I’m switching schools, so I’m moving. I refused to leave without having spoken to you once.” She sniffles, wiping at her nose with her sleeve. “I’m such a coward.”
“You aren’t. You’ve given me the best gift I could ask for.”
She smiles, and I smile back.
“Which of the three was it?”
“None, but the book is precious. You looked me in the eyes and thought of me; that’s all I wanted.”
She cries some more.
“What’s your name?”
“Ben.”
A few days later, when I’m speaking to my father about the young girl, he tells me just one thing: “Give me her name, son, and I’ll make sure happiness walks with her wherever she goes. That is my gift to her for looking you in the eye, and recognizing you as one of my children.”
She recognized me, the first one in over two thousand years. She’s the only one that understood that I was not born again as celestial, but as the most broken man no one will look twice at.
Her prize was that she realized I’m here to save the world once more.