Joseph

He was without a house. He didn't even have the shirt on his back. His pants were soiled and he stank. He was boney, toothless, and lonely. She saw him as she drove by on her way to see her goddaughter who had been missing her terribly. Spotting him half lying with his head to the ground. He looks so dirty and unwell, broken and so vulnerable. She knew that was why the woman in the yellow skirt and the man in the blue suit seemed to not even see him as they rushed by in a whole other Universe. He was invisible. It seemed. But he wasn't because she saw him clearly, in all her preciousness; and she wasn't an angel. She was nowhere near being an angel. She too was broken in her own way. She too was lonely. Quietly weeping so that she didn't bother anyone with her blues. And no one saw; she was a pro.

Within five seconds of seeing the broken man without a house, she asked Source what she should do, and she intuitively knew that It was with her and wanted her to help this man. She was in agreement. Help.

Within seconds she made a quick left turn to go back and before her eyes was Ralph's supermarket, sitting on the asphalt like an oasis. Divine guidance. This was meant to be. She bought him wipes, paper towels, soups, granola bars, fruit, candy, water, and apple juice. She rushed out of the store, back to her car, concerned he may have moved, and she would lose him. But she saw that he was crossing the street. Standing by her car, squinting at the scene, she watched him almost get hit by a cruel--no doubt--and impatient driver. He cursed the car, "Don't you see me! I'm right here!" 

She whispered to herself; I see you.

She respectfully reached him with a "Sir?" Telling him all that she had gotten him before packing the groceries onto his shopping cart. The man asked if she could see him. She could, she answered. He began to weep. "It's so hard." It's so hard; she knew. 

Her Goddaughter had just said those very words the previous day. She has Fragile X, a unique chromosome humxn being. She is a beautiful and interesting young womxn with a mostly child's mind. Lately she has been depressed and frustrated over not being able to articulate her feelings, opinions, needs, and wants; and not being able to comprehend what people are saying is also a factor of frustration for her. It is as if some part of my godchild had just realized a new depth of her precious specialness.

 "It's so hard."

She asked the weeping man if he needed a hug. He buried his head in his hands and cried, "I think I do. I think I do." She took the broken man without a house into her arms and held him. It somehow never occurred to her to recoil from his filth. She did not care. Plus, she had always remembered what her grandma had told her when she was eight years old, after being asked to clean the toilet. "But Grandma, it's dirty." "Eggy, you can always wash your hands whenever you get them dirty." For some reason she had remembered that and took it with her for all her subsequent life.

What is your name?
Joseph.

My name is Erika. I love you, Joseph.
I love you, too, Erika.

And that was that.