Broken & Beautiful

10:32 PM. It’s raining. I’ve never really minded the rain…but it’s late, I’m exhausted, and this isn’t what I’d consider to be a good way to end a day dedicated to resting. It's an effort in itself just to put one foot in front of the other. Why are we out here again? We turn up onto the next street. Wasn’t summer supposed to start right about now? Thankfully, my boyfriend talked me into packing a coat - which I’m wearing. Unfortunately, it’s just soaking all the water right up.  I have no umbrella and it's getting colder as the water seeps through to my skin. This is my first Citywalk - we just walk and "observe". I have my teammates walking next to me - one other girl and a guy. There's not much conversation going around. None of us are big on talking much. I suppose it’s still too early on in the trip. No matter. It works out since we’re supposed to be observing the city - but what am I really looking for?

It’s strange how everything looks different at night. I haven’t really been in this area before – or maybe I had, I can’t be sure. Either way, I wouldn’t be out here at this time of night. Not on my own. It doesn’t seem as though there’d be any good reason for me to come out here anyway since almost everything around me is closed. In fact, I’d say a good portion of the spots appear unoccupied – boarded up or deserted. Wouldn’t blame anyone…the place looks pretty run down. I step over a puddle. Graffiti, garbage, and dirty signs hang just about everywhere. I walk past a window displaying several shrunken skulls – some places, I wouldn’t want to walk into anyway. The only exception may have been the McDonald’s up ahead, but I’d feel pretty stupid walking in there with absolutely nothing in our pockets. Why, you ask? It’d just feel like we didn’t belong. Not now, at least.

There aren’t too many people out in the rain at this time. I glance around. The neon lights cast their shadows and colours upon the faces of passer-bys, causing their features to appear oddly distorted. It’s as though a new sub-species of human beings are emerging into the darkness. I’m sure my mind’s just playing tricks on me. From ahead, a man slowly but eagerly saunters up to us. His face is twisted - a creature of the night. We make eye-contact for a second, and he’s got us. He cracks open his dry, crusted lips, “Excuse me”. He pauses and looks at our trio, his tongue flickering past his lips a few times, as if trying spare a bit of moisture to the cracked and dry fissures. Our group is a bit of an eclectic mix - two small Asian girls walking alongside a tall Caucasian man…in the rain…in the middle of the night…in a dark, run-down part of town. We have no apparent luggage, and don’t seem to be walking with any particular purpose or direction. I manage to hold a steady gaze in his general direction, but can’t seem to bring myself to make eye contact. So he turns to the tallest, bright yellow jacket-wearing member of our group, Jordan. He asks, “Are you Jewish?”. “No,” comes the reply”.

“Well, my name is Neil…”.

For a moment, his eyes shift wildly between us but he steadies them to focus on Jordan again. His lips continue to move but I'm distracted from the words he's saying. My eyes wander from his dirty, matted, grey hair to the dirty orange lanyard he’s wearing around his neck. He says he’s got a home – a wife and kids. Well, from the looks of it, he probably wouldn’t even be able to tell us where he lived, not in his present state. The sweater he’s wearing is tattered, but looks handmade. A gift from a loved one, perhaps. So maybe – just maybe what he’s saying could have at some point been true. Or he could have picked it up from a shelter, a clothing drive, a dumpster - just about anywhere. A dirty, leathery hand reaches out from under a ripped sleeve. His hands are worn and look rather weak. Another hand reaches out to shake it. His skin looks dull and grey under the dim lights streaming out from the small restaurant next to us.

He says he needs a couple dollars. He promises us he won’t use it on drugs - he’s already promised his family. Liar. I try to read his face. His face – it's twisted. Ugly, even. I suddenly realize I’ve been avoiding looking straight at it for a while. But it’s just as I thought. His mouth is crusted with a white foam and dried blood. Been vomiting blood and bile, perhaps. It happens, especially when you’ve been drinking too much rubbing alcohol or mouth wash. That, or he got a good beating at a shelter…or from a dealer, maybe. Most likely some combination of all of the above. My thoughts are interrupted as his gaze suddenly sharpens and his features twist with anger. I feel my senses heighten and my body tenses slightly. I wonder if he noticed. We don’t carry anything on us during this trip, and he’s forced to walk away empty handed. Well, he looked as good as dead anyway. I hear a small sigh…from me? Perhaps.

But that face would not leave my mind - bloody lips, wild eyes, and all. For whatever reason, I quickly turn back one more time, just in case. But he’s already gone. That night, and in some other number of nights that followed, I had trouble sleeping. Where was he going next? What doors would be open to him? And which doors would he - could he dare enter? Who would he come across next? Would he eventually find a place to rest? To care for his wounds? His health? Who could and would give this man whatever it is that he needs? I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had seen, and what it had taken for me to have even been brave enough to look it straight in the face. I wondered why it was so difficult to look brokenness head on. As the days passed, I realized I’d been gathering the courage and learning to look into a mirror at myself. At my own brokenness. My own ugliness. My own hardened heart and lack of compassion. Yet, as the healing process began in me and I was shown the areas of hope in others, I continued to see Neil’s face – twisted, broken, and beautiful.