Giving and Receiving

He spoke to me as I opened the door to go into the bank. "Excuse me, Miss, but could I talk to you?" "No thank you," I said, abruptly, startled by the ease at which I could dismiss him. Approaching the bank's ATM machine, I watched him walk past and away. Later, on the street, I would see him again, this time going in the opposite direction as me. "Thank you for not helping me," he said or I thought is what I heard.

I stopped and watched him walk away. Something told me he was not asking for money only, but was asking for more. "Hey!" I yelled to him. He stopped. "Come here," I asked of him. He returned and as he did, I noticed he was young, maybe my daughters' ages, maybe younger, and he had a large overgrowth on both sides of his neck. Frighteningly wide. His neck looked developed like a football player's stuck on top of a regular-sized body of a young man. His lips were patchy white.

I asked him what did he want to talk to me about? He said he was raising money to put out a cd of his music. "So you want me to make a donation?" I asked. "Yes," he said, holding a plastic bag. "What is in there?" I asked. And out he pulled sheets of paper with pencil drawings on them. "Did you do these?" I asked. "Yes," he said. I went into my purse, and withdrew $10. "Let me buy one," I said, and he looked at me, a glimmer of light returning to his eyes.

I choose the one you see in the picture. He took the money and thanked me. Soon after we parted I'd wished I had told him that it might be better to get a folding table and to sit there with his drawings and a sign, explaining what he was trying to do. But he was gone. And so was my opportunity.

I walked on to my destination, praying he was still walking up and down the sidewalk by the time I returned, but I have not seen him again. I have his picture, though. I have a piece of him, and I feel better with his creativity in my presence.