Can You See Me Now?

I entered the D train to head into Manhattan for some dancing and fun.  As I checked the subway map, I accidentally bumped into the person behind me.  I didn't see him there, so I apologized.  He nodded a polite smile at me.  When I sat down, I  realized he was standing in the same spot while holding a cardboard sign.  He wore a grey tshirt with the American flag on it and what appeared to be a heavy bag on his back.  He cleared his throat as if it had been dry for years except for the bitter tears that sometimes trickled in by accident.  Looking at the passengers on the train, he apologized for interrupting and intruding on his fellow citizens' time.  He continued to speak, though I could hardly hear him through the headphones tucked neatly into my freshly showered ears.  I watched his lips and body move.  He expressed himself humbly with intent on asking for the generosity of strangers.  

As he spoke, I watched the various subway riders in the car. There were about 25 people, excluding me, looking down at their phones, books or feet.  It felt as though the severity of his case was too heavy for people to lift their eyes to gaze upon him, but  I looked.  

His face appeared kind and sunken.  The stubble on his face were sparse and spaced apart like the luck he had seen in his life.  The tight curls of his dark hair clung closely to his scalp like the way a child clusters close to his family.  His smile seemed genuine though forced through hours, days, weeks or years of hardship.  

I felt moved to want to hear what he had to say, so I removed one of my ear buds and lowered the volume of the bubbly music I chose for this subway ride.  I caught one line out of his short plea.  He said, " I've been walking for miles today trying to get some money to buy food and thought I might have better luck on the train." He then thanked us and scanned the train for some activity of generosity.  A woman in the middle of the car wrestled in her bright red Prada bag for something.  

With hope in his eyes, he continued to do what he had been doing all day and walked with a slight limp over to his benefactor. His shifty gait made me look at his legs and then his feet.  On his feet he wore grey sneakers which looked like they were once white, but that was only once upon a time, a long time ago and in a land far far away.  By the time his hobbled walk led him to her, she pulled out a can of soda which he quickly put in his pocket and then put his hands together, as if in prayer, and thanked her.  He took one more scan around the train and exited the car at the next station.  

And although I made eye contact with him but only twice within a few minutes, this man reminded me of all the times when I would ignore folks asking for money and avert my eyes.  

I got off the train and I felt sad. My heart ached for the rest of that evening recognizing the privilege I have to own my own home, have a good and stable job, and have people I can turn to regularly for support.  I thought about him all night while I was dancing.  I felt helpless thinking about him as he was probably limping along in his journey like many folks do who aren't privileged enough to even be seen.  

So, I make this ask.  Please join me in making eye contact with folks who ask for money and food.  Even for a brief second, people need to be seen.