tonight
He stands on the southwest corner of 13th Street and University Place. Clothed in all black, his face is tired and pale, his eyes watery, with a glass-like quality to them. He is maybe five-foot-nine or so, taller if he were able to stand up straight. He leans on a cane. I pass him by once and hear his quiet plea: “Spare a little change for a navy veteran?”

As I walk away I feel guilty and enter a café to maybe get him some soup, or a sandwich. Nothing looks good enough and it’s all overpriced. I go back to him.

“Would you like some dinner?”

He turns to me and looks surprised. “I..yes, thank you.” His voice is that of an aged, ill man, he speaks slowly and shakily.

“What would you like? A sandwich, some soup maybe?”

“I..some potatoes, I’d like some hot food.”

“All right, let’s go over there.” I point to a place across the street that I know has a salad bar. As we wait for the light he tells me that he has no place to live and that he has a bone disease, osteoporosis, and it constantly hurts him. We go inside and they don’t have much. He picks out a chicken leg, a bit of sweet potato, and some vegetables. I ask if he’d like some more vegetables. He says that he can’t have too much, his stomach has shrunken. He also gets a meatball and some spaghetti. Says his teeth are real bad now.

I go up to the cash register; on the way, he tells me he already has some milk in his pocket. Waiting on the short line, he shows me his army card, a striped and star-spangled piece of plastic that looks like a mix between a driver’s license and a credit card. He was in the navy. Never fought in any wars, but he did get sent to a place, the name of which I can’t recall – some place most likely in South or Central America. The meal costs $2.88 and I am asked if it is to stay or to go. Automatically, I say, “To go,” because it is what I’m used to, but then, “Wait, do you want to stay here?” He says no. I pay and give him the change, two singles and a dime and two pennies. He thanks me again. Outside he asks, “Are you a student at NYU?”

I tell him that I’m not. He laughs and says, “I’m not, either. Where are you at school?” I say that I’m still in high school. Now he’s really surprised. After a very brief pause, he begins to speak again.

“You know, it’s real hard..I have my bone disease, and no place to live, and I suffer from depression, and I can’t control it..I can’t describe it, there are some things you just can’t help, and it hurts, it hurts so much. You just feel, you feel hurt, and like there’s no hope. And I have no answers. If you asked me questions, I’d have no answers for you. I don’t know how this happened to me.

“I guess I’m being disciplined..I’m a son of God. It says in the Bible that all who suffer are being disciplined, and that God only punishes his sons, so you could say that’s me. But you know, I’m really not that bad off. There are people doing a lot worse than me. I’m not doing that bad. But it hurts...and there are people who just have no idea, who think that I can get out of this. You know, I’ll probably remember you for the rest of my life. Thank you so much for talking to me, for buying me dinner – this makes me happy. Talking to you, it makes me happy. Thank you.”

I smile and he continues.

“I used to think that maybe I’d live to seventy, eighty. I’m not so sure of that any more. Next month I turn fifty-two and I don’t know how much longer I’ll last. But I’m not doing too bad. Who knows, maybe before the end, my life will have changed. I just have to keep going. I’m not in the same place, and I just go wherever I can.”

I tell him happy birthday in advance and say that my birthday is coming up soon, too. He asks if that means I’m a Sagitarrius, or Capricorn – I tell him I’m a Scorpio, and he laughs and says he never cared much for signs anyway.

It’s time for him to leave, for me to head back home and for him to find a stoop to sit down on and eat. Again, he thanks me for the meal and begins to walk away. I want to say that maybe I’ll see him sometime soon, but all that comes out is “Good –” and I never finish my sentence. I don’t know if I meant to finish it off with “luck” or “night” but whatever it was meant to be, he ignores the fact that I never said it and waves goodbye. For a brief five or ten minutes I crossed paths with a complete stranger and helped him out. It’s over, and I walk on. We go in opposite directions.