On my walk home, I saw a sea of people who do not see. And those we ignore, I saw them too.
A man crumpled, bent in half, mottled swollen fingers fumbling to open a bag of Doritos.
We walk by.
A woman, lips cracked and bleeding, scratching at sores on her bare arms. It is winter and she has no coat.
We walk by.
A girl toting a broken bicycle, rummaging through a dumpster. A rat skitters along the rim.
We walk by.
A man muttering to himself, pulling at his hair, eyes teary and dazed. Another behind him lies on a manhole cover, asleep, soaking up the plumes of smoke for warmth. His Pit Bull lays beside him. His tail thumps once, hopeful, then stills.
We walk by.
A couple crouches together, heads close, smoking. Holes mar their sweats, and the man wears no shoes. His big toe sticks out. It is purple.
We walk by.
A teen, gaunt-cheeked and stumbling, approaches, a feces-stained blanket slung over his shoulder. His voice is meek and young.
“I don’t mean to bother you, but I haven’t eaten in two days. Do you have any food?”
I shove the apple in my hands toward him. 100 calories will not make up for the hollows of his eyes, and I am already walking when he says, “Thank you. You are really beautiful,” and continues on.
Acrid guilt fills my stomach. Guilt for the fear I felt when he approached. Guilt for not giving what else was in my hands: a fully cooked meal. Rice, beans, vegetables, meat.
Why did I not give it away?
I thought about chasing him down and giving it to him. I prayed for God to send him back my way. But I didn’t, and He didn’t.
I walked by.
How is it that I walk past, up the stairs, into the elevator, and through my apartments door and not despair? I feel something in my chest tighten.
Have we become so desensitized to suffering?
Have they become so dehumanized?
There is a distance there, what feels like an ever-expanding and unbreachable space. Where is the bridge, and how do we cross it? How do we reach each other, hold on, and pull each other out?
Or maybe we are all scrabbling at the same walls, trying to get out, trying to understand, to survive. Fearful.
These members of our community were not born wanting this life, just as I was not born deserving the one I have.
It’s not a simple answer, but a broken one.
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