Louis

My friends and I were walking downtown in Nashville one night when I was a student at Trevecca. We used to love to go downtown and just walk around Broadway and do touristy things and raise hell.

Except, we weren't allowed to drink and could be expelled for it-and believe it or not, they had people downtown watching for it-so we had to raise hell sober.

On this night, there were about 5 of us that had made the trek up and down Broadway, smashing ourselves between tourists, elbowing drunks that got in our way, rolling our eyes at drunken bridal parties staggering down the row wearing bedazzled crowns, sashes, and drinking from penis-shaped straws. We finally reached the end where Bridgestone Arena is, which is far less crowded than Broadway proper.

I remember it being really cold that night. I remember passing a man who stood, bundled against the wind with a sign at his feet. We were all laughing and having a good time, but something pulled me back to the man. My friends circled like vultures wondering what in the world I was doing. I walked back to where this incredibly large man was standing with his head hanging down. I told him my name and asked if I could shake his hand. He was tentative. He probably worried what people would think of the intentions of a large, homeless black man talking to a tiny white woman on a side street off Broadway. I say tiny, I was 5'4" and still, this man towered over me.

I asked him where he was from. "Memphis, ma'am."

What's your name? "Louis, ma'am."

 I asked him to look at me in the eyes. It was like gazing into the Universe and being unable to speak or tear my eyes away.

Finally, I said, "Louis, my friends and I have just left Broadway and are headed home. I'd love to buy you a gift card for a meal." He shook his head. "No, ma'am. You done done what nobody else done all night.” “You looked at me like a human being."

I asked him where he would be sleeping tonight. "I know a place."

Many in the unhoused community are very protective of where they sleep because it can be dangerous for other unhoused people to find out and try to overtake their space, or for the police to find out and remove them from their space.

Louis started to cry. I asked him why he was crying. "You remind me so much of my daughter. She passed a couple months ago and I never got to say goodbye."

I stood like my feet were buried in concrete and I was unable to move a muscle. It hit me solidly in the gut and knocked the wind from me.

Then he just began to talk as if we were old friends. "I came here from Memphis to find my daughter. She lived here with her children. I wrote her letters her whole life, but her mama either took them or she didn't want them. She was 33. I sent her a card every year for her birthday. Then, a few years ago, I lost track of her, but I knew she was here. I came here a lookin' for her. Just a few days ago, I found out she's dead. She had cancer. Some kinda lady cancer. They tell me she didn't suffer."

I was listening to Louis talk and tears were flooding my vision and streaming down my face. I told him how sorry I was that he couldn't see his daughter before she died, but that I believed beyond a doubt that she knew he loved her.

Then, I asked Louis if I could hug him. I don't like to be touched sometimes, so I always ask others before I touch them. He looked at me like a white-eyed, frightened feral cat-prepared to bolt at the slightest movement. He nodded. I stepped closer to him. I hugged him around his belly, which was no less than 20 shirts layered on top of one another. He smelled like body odor and faintly of booze. As I stood there and we held each other, I felt tears hitting the top of my head. We embraced for less than a minute, and I stepped back.

He held my hand in his big, sand-papery hands and placed a silver cross into my palm. "This was hers. Her name was Evie. You remind me so much of my Evie." I told him that I couldn't accept such a precious gift, but that I was honored that he even wanted to give it to me. He insisted. He said that I was the first person to pass by him who treated him like a human being and he believed that his daughter would want me to have it. I hesitated, but I took the cross. I carry it every day. Every day, it is a reminder of the gift of compassion and the gift of truly seeing one another.

We are often in relationship with people where the power differential is not reciprocal. Sometimes, this is by design. Other times, it is because we live in a cruel, hard world and we can’t see that we are marginalizing our very own precious brothers and sisters. The people we push to the edges are often the ones with the most to offer. You see, Louis didn’t need my gift card for a hamburger nearly as badly as I needed to be reminded of the power of humanity. What Louis needed was for someone to look at him in the eyes and tell him that his life is of value. He needed another human being to hear him—to truly hear his story. He needed to share his pain with someone and say how much he loved his daughter and the regret he feels that he couldn’t see her before it was too late.

But, we are all so caught up in our own “stuff,” we tend to walk right past Louis and never even notice the forgotten soul standing in the cold with a sign at his feet.

But, then occasionally, we have an opportunity to look each other in the eyes and be mesmerized by the vastness of the Universe and love within one another. And hopefully, one day, when you are like Louis, you will have something of value to share with a young college girl walking carelessly down Broadway—as if she hadn't a care in the world—that is, until she sees you.