Strolling in the 'Lou

Robbie and I had a good dinner Friday night at the Scottish Arms and decided to take a  postprandial stroll in the wilder side of the West End.  We were talking of this and that when a slender man carrying a rake and a broom approached.  He moved strangely, splaying his legs out sideways and placing them down oddly, as if he wasn't quite sure where his feet left off and the ground began.  He stopped us and painfully stuttered out "e-e-escuse me, can I ask you something?".  He strained to get words out - almost grunting the last syllables as if he had to physically give his voice a shove.  "Maybe, what's up?" I said in my best urban cool - making eye contact but not being too committed to the conversation lest it be a scam.  "I-I-I n-n-eed s-some mUHNNY....I-I'm home, home-l-less".  He then fell almost to one knee (ain't seen this before, I cynically thought) "if y-y-you would p-please-UH help me".

He stood up and I put my hand in my pocket, nervously fiddling with my phone.  He stumbled backward, hands up, alarm temporarily sweeping away his stutter:  "don't get mad man!", he relaxed when I pulled out my phone.  "Did you think I had a gun?" "P-p-peoples g-g-gets so ah-ah-aHNGHRY" he blurted out. I used my standard panhandler repellent on him:  "I'd be happy to buy you dinner but I can't give you any money" - this turns away almost all comers because they usually are looking for mind candy not food.  "I'll take you to Jack in the Box, or the Chinese place...".  "W-w-well I'd raHHTHER go to Sch, sch, sch-noohks" he whispered out the grocery chains name, it was clearly hard for him to say it.

Rats! he called our bluff.  So instead of strolling down the boulevard discoursing upon Dostoevsky's use of religious imagery or the true quality of Mizzou's run defense, we walked to Schnucks.  With Rik, (that was his name) slowly, painfully walking beside us.  He was about 40, slim, with the thick freckles that characterize the union of African Americans and those of Celtic descent.  His stutter and strange walk came from a car accident 19 years ago - he showed us the scar where his head hit the windshield. He'd been in a coma and it had taken him years to regain his ability to speak and walk.  He was paying an 'associate' $10 a day to crash in his house and did odd jobs to cover the expenses that "The Social" didn't meet.

"Where's your family?"  "Well I got family, but it's not family, if you know what I mean" "What about your Momma?  She must care about you?"  "Oh she does, it's the other ones that don't"  "So why don't you stay with your Momma"  "She don't have room, she only got one bedroom" "Why don't you stay on her couch?"  "You can't sleep on no couch"  "I do".

He was visibly taken aback, not believing someone as apparently undamaged and articulate as I could be reduced to such a state.  "Man you be doing something wrong if you on the couch".  "Of course, and I'm broke too".  He really didn't believe that:  what was a broke man doing taking him to Schnucks?

We got to the grocery store and he picked out some raw hamburger and frozen french fries.  I was ready for the inevitable and he was clearly nervous:  "What else do you want? Dessert?" "C-c-an I have s-s-some (here it comes) d-d-eorDARNT?  Well that wasn't what I expected.  He also wanted some soap and bus pass to get back home.  I bought the groceries while Robbie bought the pass.  I would have bought a beer for him - had he asked.

We walked out of Schnucks, across the parking lot and as we turned to go back to the office, he stopped and said "w-w-ell th-thIHS is wh-where I g-gHO".  We both hugged him, he thanked us and we watched him step jerkily, gingerly down Lindell.  And all I could think of was Hebrews 13:2 -

Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.