Street Beggar

I gave money to a street beggar today.

He was standing on a street corner at a traffic light. I pass the corner regularly on my commute home. I often see beggars at that corner, and just as often dismiss them.

This time was very strangely different. The first sign was that I found I could only take my eyes off him with effort and nothing could take my mind off him. I pondered him till I wondered why time had stopped at that light. He just stood. No glance. No movement. Still more time passed.

I gave myself every reason not to give to him. I talked myself out of it a hundred times in that eternity. He'd use it for booze. Another nasty habit. He'd gas up his BMW with it. He didn't deserve it. It was MY money.

Then it was urgent.

Something. What was it? Earnest Hemingway speaking through the mesmerizing narrator from the CD player? Something else? It told me I should. It had to repeat itself. Dazed, I reached for my wallet. Too much trouble. The whole seat belt thing and all. So I leafed through the loose items in the car knowing I'd find nothing. Then the vivid memory of a great man giving generously and often to the street people of Brazil. Now I was leafing through my wallet with hard pain and warm satisfaction - collecting bills - managing to shuffle around the 20.

The light turned and the cars ahead began their move. I was panicked. How were such things done? I started the window down and the car forward as the man started toward me. At once I feared both hurting him and the expected honking of impatient cars behind me. The window was down. He was reaching and blessing and I was accelerating. The exchange took place. Too fast. Too soon. All too soon. That voice! That blessing!

What happened? It felt right. Wow. The missing judgment. The meaning.

I'm going to do it again.