Waves of longing, alternating with regret, rolled off his defeated shoulders as he stood – transfixed – at the picture window. Shirtless and standing in a small puddle from the water dripping off of him, he glimpsed what he thought as an unattainable reality.
An Hour Before…
My husband and I took an overnight trip to a resort where we soaked in the relaxing hot springs. We’ve had the pools to ourselves for over an hour.
We’d exited the pools, wrapped up in our towels, and sat at one of the deserted tables. We watched the river coursing by.
A young man appeared, removed his shirt and shoes, nodded once, and moved into the pools.
Relaxed, Hubby and I continued to just sit quietly.
The young man occasionally gave us a nervous glance. After a while, seeming to reach a decision, he nodded to himself, got out of the water, grabbed his shirt and shoes and moved to a seat next to us.
He was thin. His hair was cut so short it was almost shaved off. His hands worried the shirt in his lap. His eyes, when they finally made contact with mine, were rounded in fear. Fear and confusion oozed off of him.
His face, neck, chest, back, arms and hands were covered in gang tattoos.
Hubby and I sat still, waiting, open to what he would share.
And then he spoke, words tumbling out so fast, as though he wanted to get it all out before we rejected him or left.
We did neither. We sat and we listened.
He continued his story. Tears rolled down his face.
We listened. And we heard.
After he finished his story, he thanked us. He said we were the first people on his difficult journey that didn’t look at him in disgust or fear, or didn’t turn away from him.
This young man decided that there was more to life for him, so he was on the run from the gang he had been in. He was trying to find a way to have a “normal” life. And he was terrified.
Terrified the gang would hunt him down, and kill him. Afraid he could never have a “normal” life with his past and his tattoos. Afraid of rejection, and of failure in a world he didn’t know.
We didn’t say much; asked a question here and there. I don’t think we needed to. He needed to be heard; we listened.
We did commend him, and told him that though it may not be easy, it could be done. He could do it.
When he finished talking, he thanked us again and moved to another chair where he curled up and fell asleep.
Hubby and I returned to our room. We opened the blinds to flood the room with light. Hubby propped his feet up and turned on the TV.
I changed and headed to the outside lounge where I curled up with a book.
A little while later, I realized I’d forgotten my water bottle and headed for the room.
I froze when I saw him standing at the window. There were no negative thoughts or energy coming from him. Just a longing; a yearning for what he thought a normal existence brought…like sitting on a couch, relaxing and watching TV.
He was unaware that I stood behind him, watching and praying he would find the strength to break free.
After a few minutes, he took a step back, let out a heavy sigh, hung his head and dragged himself away from the window, around the corner and out the gate.
We never saw him again.
I think I take my life for granted.
by Jan Toomer
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