When I confronted him about it he furrowed his brow at me angrily and tried to back away and retreat, so I grabbed his arm firmly at the bicep. Like most homeless men I've know, he was haggard and dirty, smelling strongly of dirt and beer and sweat. He glared at me as though furious, but I could see through his snarl that he was, in fact, terrified, assuming that I was a dangerous man because was so big, or possibly just because I was so audacious. Who, without danger to back it up, would have the audacity to grab another grown man by the arm and restrain him? Then he did something sad, he gave up. Like so many homeless men whose lives are slideshows of fear, moving silently from one frame to another, freezing in each scene, he just abandoned himself to my stronger will. His arm went limp, his snarl faded and his eyes fell to my chest.
"What did you say to me? Just now?" I asked, stooping my head a little in the hopes of engaging his eyes.
He looked up for an instant, but then cowed and dropped his eyes to the ground. "I didn't say anything," he mumbled.
"Just now? As I walked by? Why did you ask me that?"
At that he looked up with some conviction and hope. "Ask you what?"
"You tell me."
"I didn't ask you nothing," he said. "It was someone else."
"There was no one else. It was just you and me and you said it very clearly."
"I told you I didn't ask you shit," he snapped, and he tried to pull his arm away. "You must be hearing things."
"'How do we love the world?' That's what you said. I heard you. Why did you ask me that?" Saying the words sent chills racing up and down my spine. How many times had I heard the question? In how many places? In how many voices? My heart was pounding through my chest and I could feel the beat of it in my throat and head. I began to gasp for breath, anxiety welling up to overwhelm me.
"You're nuts," he said, pulling easily away from my failing grasp and hurrying away.
Hello, friends. How do we love the world?
Later. Love.
P.S. - Sasquatch or a rabbit? You decide.
