Smudge

A woman walked into Starbucks.

We were both buried in our homework for the first time in hours and neither of us saw her enter. Her hair was matted and unruly. Some pieces shot straight into the sky while others clumped together down the back of her dirty white sweatshirt. She walked aimlessly about the cafe standing for small periods of time while staring at groups of people. Her face contorted as she muttered. We couldn’t understand and didn’t know how to answer. I was caught off guard.

Sometimes the shock of someone else’s struggle can throw us for a loop. She wandered aimlessly. I think her brain did not function at the same capacity that yours and mine do.

In a panic I wondered if I should offer her a cup of coffee, but she began talking to another group. She held out a crumpled business card and I saw one of the girls dial a number into a cell phone. It took a lot of force to turn around and not stare at the odd exchange. She put the phone to her ear. I didn’t hear what she said, but I saw her hand the phone back and walk away. Earlier as she walked around the room I smiled at her, hoping that she would ask for something again so that I wouldn’t be one of those hypocrites who talks about helping others and then does nothing. She may have been tripping or she may have been brain damaged. I still did not have the courage to offer. She crossed in front of a young teenager with down syndrome, who was hanging off of the counter while smiling at everyone.

Sometimes we do the right thing and sometimes we miss Jesus in the faces of the least of these. I wonder if that is why we have an unnerving longing or angst at the sight of insanity and homelessness. Not all people are on the streets because they’re lazy and don’t want to get jobs. Some can’t function properly. Whose fault is it?

Her loneliness was obvious. We talk about being the “social outcast” in junior high. Isn’t it ironic to see those who are truly forgotten, and often forgotten on purpose. Maybe all she needed was that attempted phone call, but I’ll never know. When I finally got the courage to chase after her she was gone. It’s the story of my life.

No one would kick the smiley boy with the droopy face for not being a “productive member of society.” Where should we draw the line? How many should we get to know before we even attempt a decision?