Margins

Out on my run early this beautiful morning, as I navigated past the trucks unloading for the farmers' market, I remembered an odd thing that happened earlier this summer.  It was June, a typically dark and wet day, and I was walking to work past that very spot.  I was heading to campus the long way because I was feeling very low, and even being outside in the deluge was better than being in a dark sound booth, and I wanted to put that off as long as possible.

As I crossed the street away from the market, a fellow was walking along the sidewalk across the way, perpendicular to me.  I noticed him and looked away.  I sensed he was still gazing at me, so I glanced back.  He looked me dead in the eye, raised his arm and pointed, and said, "The colors of that rainbow umbrella pale in comparison to the spirit you convey."

He was a round man, middle aged and balding, wearing an expensive neon yellow bicycling jacket and Teva sandals and shorts.  Pretty standard for the Pacific Northwest.  Not the kind of person you'd think at first glace might be a total nutter.

You really can't tell who will turn out to be a nutter, can you?

A few days before I sent my boy off to Thailand we made our annual pilgrimage up to Seattle to pick up a few last items on his gear list, but also to enjoy looking at the people and the merchandise.  We just barely made it on to the last commuter train — always exciting when the automated voice bellows as you runrunrun to hop in: "DOORS CLOSING! DOORS CLOSING!"

Among the many things I'll remember about that day was talking with a homeless woman in the bathroom at Barnes & Noble.  After she meticulously combed her hair, she wiped up the counters, and while she tidied, she told me in a whispery, wondering little voice, "I read a whole book. I didn't think I could read a whole book! It was about Elton John and that boy Ryan White. You remember him, the hemophiliac?" 

 I did remember him. 

"It kinda brought tears to my eyes. Treating a Christian family, a child, that way. Breaks my heart." 

I agreed it was a sad story. Then she gathered up all her possessions and left.

Homeless, yes.  But in that moment, quite profoundly, not a nutter.

In fact, at first I hadn't even realized she was homeless.  She was beautiful.  Her skin was almost purple-black from sun exposure, but unlined.  When she started talking, and it dawned on me that she was finishing her morning ablutions there in a public bathroom, that was when I knew.  A younger Nicole would have been uncomfortable — that thought crossed my mind, but I was so curious about her, I let the thought go. 

These two encounters with strangers are like bookends on Not My Favorite Summer.  Rainbow Umbrella Guy appeared to be a wealthy "normal" person, but then he trespassed into my thoughts, my world, with his unsolicited.... whatever it was.  Maybe he sensed I was dispirited.  Yes, he made me laugh, and I appreciate that he gave me a great story to remember and tell, but, frankly, I don't care what his intentions might have been.  Perhaps it is ungracious of me, but, shoot, whatever spirit I convey, it's none of his damn business.

And then there was this beautiful woman, musing, who was able to move from wonder about her own victory, reading a "whole" book, to compassion for that child, that family, marginalized by disease.  That a woman who is herself marginalized could move to quiet indignation and grief for Ryan White is quite remarkable, a testament to the human spirit, really, and not something I will forget.