His eyes were like the Caribbean Sea.

Last night I was on my way to the parking lot.  I had just finished a meeting at Morton’s steakhouse in the “City”.    As normal, the homeless were scattered throughout the streets.  Some walked up to me with their cups.  The others were in wheelchairs, standing against a wall, hidden in a corner, or sitting on the sidewalk.  Their existence is eminent.  There used to be stronger laws for loitering.   What do you do when the homeless have nowhere to go?  They have only had cardboards and salvaged blankets.

As I was passing some of the eateries, I was thinking how the owners overprice their food.  A young man asked if I could help him get something to eat.  My first instinct, was to say, “I’m sorry, I can’t.”  I’ve given money many times, given my leftover food but of late, I donate to the professionals who know how to help the people.   He simply said, “Ok, I understand.”  I saw he was getting ready to cross the street.  He was bothering anybody.  I went back, carefully.  People were around.  I asked, “Are you really hungry?”  He replied, “Yes.”    I am aware.  I know I was taking a chance.   I asked him, “Can I buy you something to eat at Burger King?”  He was grateful, he said yes.  We walked down to Burger King.  

That’s when he started talking, introduced himself and told me he broke his leg.  That’s when I noticed he had a cast.  He had broken it twice, and he can’t get the operation to have it repaired.  We had a nice conversation on the way to the restaurant.

I told the lady at the counter I was buying his food.  She was cool about it.  He was courteous about what he could order too.  He wanted a Whopper, but she asked if he wanted the meal.  He didn’t do anything until I gave her permission.  After the exchange, I handed the receipt to him and told him take care of himself.  There is always the worry, that they really didn’t want to eat.  I turned back, he put his things at a table, went back and got his food.  That was it. 

I will never see this young man again.  I cry inside.  His features remind me of my sons.  He kept scratching his head, he needed a bath.  Ironically, he told me how he got on the streets in the first place.  His dad kicked him out when he was 16. He had been traveling ever since.  He gets work, but he does not have a desire to plant his feet down in anyone place.  When he does get his money, he said he helps the other homeless.  He said he was married once, they got divorced. 

I learned a lot about him in those few minutes.  He answered my questions, of why someone so young, and handsome would live in the streets.  His eyes were captivating.  They were like the Caribbean Sea.  Goodbye my friend.  Inside I cry, the next homeless I noticed was a young girl no more than 13 making her bed on the streets.  I worry, because she was talking to a much older man.