Not so Rude Awakening

It was approaching one in the morning as I sat with burning eyes struggling to stay open. The vibrations of the rocking subway lulled my friend to sleep, causing her head to rest upon my shoulder. I shuddered from the harsh feeling of loneliness despite the contact of my friend who was sitting next to me. It was the silence of the surrounding strangers trapped in a weary mood that was so eerie. The dimly lit subway added to the lethargic stupor, burdening the passengers with heavy eyelids while deepening my solitary oppression. Continual stops allowed a fluctuation of strangers to come and go, like aimless zombies who paid no heed to me. I was simply an observer of a dead world with no one to converse with.

My thoughts were dwelling deeper and deeper on this subject when the arrival of an obnoxious woman interrupted my realm of contemplation. My friend's head lifted from my shoulder and turned towards the object causing the racket. The hypnotic trance possessing everyone was broken. Without passion and talking in a very dull, robotic rhythm, the woman gave a loud speech that was obviously rehearsed and contained random phrases that were an annoyance to the tired ear. She stood like a confident, outspoken child who enjoys the attention of a crowd while maintaining an expression of genuine pleasure which, of course, contrasted greatly with her solemn audience.

"Hello everybody! Good health to all. My name is Mary Agnes. I was just released from chemo and I have cancer. I can't afford a house. I'm very hungry and I don't have any money. Don't drink and drug free is the way to be. Happy New Year and happy holidays. It's the year of the rat. Stay in school and may God bless. I believe in God. May God bless you all. Please help me."

After concluding her jumbled spiel, she meandered about the subway, repeating several times that she was hungry and needed money. Occasionally she would ask the passengers to help her out, then she would bless them whether they donated or not. My initial spark of frustration was quenched when my ears picked up the innocence in her voice while she spoke sentences lacking rational thought. Sadly, I admit that my gathered knowledge of homeless people has created an automatic shield that protects me from becoming too vulnerable to mercy or humanity. "Don't listen to them," I've been told, "they will only use your money for drink or they will follow you around until you give more. Their so-called tragedy would be worth your attention if they were true stories, but they take advantage of generosity. It ruins the beauty of being a good Samaritan who helps our fellow man, doesn't it?" I pondered this idea momentarily, as Mary Agnes's supplication process was blurred in the background. I've learned to drop my eyes immediately so they don't target you in the group. The more I thought about this conception, the more ridiculous it seemed to me. What had these people of poverty become: a beast too dangerous to look upon? Not worthy of a listening ear?

I lifted my eyes and saw the woman move from one person to the next, but never did she lash out at anyone who rejected her. She simply said, "God bless," and moved on to the next person. I briefly weighed my new feelings against my original ones towards Mary Agnes and soon surrendered to my bleeding heart. Widening my perception of the situation, I realized that her speech was insignificant. The idea that I had the power to lend a hand to someone in need emerged from the cold heart I initially sheltered myself with. More important than her begging was her will to live, even if it meant degrading herself by asking for money.

I couldn't imagine my survival depending upon the hardened hearts of strangers; most of whom possessed selective hearing and stoic masks-very convincing masks. I studied this example of life's fragility and felt my prior irritation transform into pity after I saw that under the false disguise of a criminal stood this struggling human being. My ignorance defined her as a stereotypical homeless person who will stop at nothing to pry open your pocket. The exposure of her human qualities overruled this asinine notion and triggered the need to assist a suffering woman. Without further thought, my hands reached inside my purse to pull out some money, but I was in such a rush to catch the woman before she exited the subway that my hands fumbled and coins spilled everywhere. Nervously collecting the fallen change, I saw within my peripheral vision two worn shoes, horribly impracticable for winter, stop short in front of me. It was, of course, Mary Agnes. She knelt beside me, her face level with mine, smiling with a mouthful of rotten teeth. She discharged a scent of urine and garbage, and a disease infected forehead produced a sizable hole above her right eyebrow. I anticipated her trembling hands to snatch my coins in haste, but she calmly plucked them from the floor and extended an offering hand with sincere eyes. Perplexed by this good intention, I stared while searching for words. She was fully aware of my astonishment which lead her to say, "You've dropped your money," and then she placed the coins in my hand. "God bless," she said and stood up to leave. She didn't beg or wait for any sign of my appreciation; she simply went on her way. I ran up to her and caught her by the arm. "God bless," I said, and emptied the change purse into her hand.


© Mikal Minarich