I
didn't see him when I came out of the bank.
Most of the parking lot at the little strip-mall was deserted.
But once I got into the car
and looked over to my left, there he was stumbling along, then doubled over, gasping for
breath and beating on his chest.
'Holy
crap!', I thought to myself. 'Is he having a heart attack?'
I
watched him for a second, but did not immediately get out of the car
to assist him.
That
probably makes me a bad person. But it is what it is.
He was
unkempt, no shirt on, unclean pants, kind of a cross between Waylon
Jennings, and Sam Elliott, late 50's, early 60's, and he looked like a homeless
person.
But
that's not the main reason I didn't get out of the car right away.
It was
because he was a BIG guy, homeless or not. And I'm a small woman.
And
despite the fact that I may carry the attitude of a giant at times,
if someone really wanted to hurt me physically, they could snap me
like a twig in a heartbeat, so I have to be realistic and keep that
in the back of my mind when I'm approaching big, strange men alone in parking lots.
So I rolled down the window and asked, 'Are you OK?'
He
didn't answer me, only gasped, mumbled, and beat on his chest again; then
dropped to one knee.
I
bolted from the car and got on my knees next to him, asking again,
'Are you OK? Do you need me to call an ambulance? Are you having
a heart attack?'
He
told me no. No heart attack. No ambulance.
He had asthma, and COPD and in this 30 degree heat, he
was weak and couldn't catch his breath and the 'regular' puffer he used wasn't helping
because he needed one with prednisone and couldn’t afford it.
I went back to the car to see if I had my puffer in my purse. It contains
symbicort, and is what I use for my COPD.
No
luck. Puffer was in the other purse at home.
Instead,
I grabbed the only thing I had in my car that would hopefully offer
him some relief. A piss warm, four day old, half bottle of water.
I ran
back over to him and offered him the warm water apologetically, and
explained it was the only thing I had, and was pretty gross, but it
was wet and may sooth his parched throat a bit at least.
He
drank it. Immediately.
Once I
knew for sure he wasn't having a heart attack, I sat with him for a
few minutes, talking quietly, trying to get his breathing regulated
to the point he was no longer gasping.
He
told me his story.
He was
an addict.
Lost
his wife and two kids. To what? Drugs? Liquor? Gambling?
I
didn't ask. It didn't matter.
I told
him we all make mistakes in life.
He
also said he'd recently gotten his '14yr sober' chit, on which I
congratulated him.
He
then told me that before I got there, he had asked some 'young guys'
for a bit of spare change, and they spit on him.
That
made me angry, and I really hope none of those boys ever end up on
hard times, because what they don't yet realize is that addiction can
strip the best person in the world, of everything.
And
then, once he was steady and breathing somewhat normally again, he asked me for money to get some food.
Having
just come out of the bank, all I had on me were $20 bills, and as
much as I wanted to help him, I'm also not naive enough to stick a
$20 bill in a homeless person's hand, and hope it's really going to
go towards food.
So, I
told him I couldn't give him anything right now, but that after I'd
run my errand, I would be driving by again on my way back, and I
would stop in and if he was still there, I'd give him a bit of money.
He
didn't think I was coming back.
I ran
my errand, and while I was doing so, picked up a cold bottle of water
from the cooler.
Then,
I left and went to Wendy's, and bought a cheeseburger, and a Frosty.
It was
30 degrees out there, so I was hoping the Frosty would cool him down
a bit.
Then I
went back.
He was
still sitting there. In the same spot I'd left him.
Not
only was he in disbelief that I'd come back, but that I also had food
for him.
I
crouched down next to him and gave him his water, his Frosty, and
told him there was a burger in the bag, and then I gave him $5.
No,
I know that's not very much, but, I told him it was to, 'Call
someone who can come and help you.'
He may
not have been having a heart attack, but he still needed to get out
of the heat.
He was
very thankful and appreciative, and for some strange reason, asked me
if I was a single mom.
I must
give off that vibe.
Then
he said, 'Ms, I never touch women. Don't touch them at all, but do
you think I could give you a hug?'
Crap.
Dude
was a big guy. It's HOT, and he had no shirt on and was sweaty … but I didn't want to be rude ... we
settled on a handshake.
I then
asked him one last time if he was going to be OK.
He said yes, so
I got back in the car, wished him a good weekend, and went on my way.
I
didn't do anything special. I saw someone who looked to be in
trouble, and stopped to see if I could help. Something I'm sure most
of you would do.
It's
been a few hours now, and I'm still thinking about him.
I hope
he got out of the heat. And I hope he has somewhere to sleep. And I
hope nobody else spit on him today.
Cause
really, under that unkempt, partially clothed, sweaty, gasping man,
was just that, a man.
A
fellow human being.
Someone
who just needed a Frostie, and a kind word.
And a
better puffer.
K.
