GAZE

His Name Was Harris

His name was Harris.

When I initially drove past him, I thought he was dead, but I realized that there was no way, in this fancy Downtown area, would anyone leave a dead man lying in the shade on a corner. Someone would have surely seen him and called for help. But given the recent killings of unarmed black men I could not be sure.

My iPhone read ninety-seven degrees outside, so maybe he was just hot and laid down, maybe he just needed some water. That’s it! He needs some water. As I got off the elevator, my fearful inner voice spoke, “what if he tries to attack you, touch you, or worse?”

"What if he tries to follow you home?" My mind performed laps, but I remembered that there's no place for fear in the midst of love.

As I approached the shaded corner where he laid I could see that he was emaciated, his bones clung to him as a wet t-shirt clings to a dry body, his belt undone, his feet were scarred and had several bruises on them. He had shoes, but those too looked tattered as they sat next to him. He laid flat on his back with his legs sprawled out. Harris, I would later learn of his name on my second trip, had not moved an inch.

“Sir”

“Hey, sir.”

“Sir, I brought you some water, sir.”

He looked at me annoyed that I would wake him from such a peaceful sleep.

“Sir, I brought you some water," I repeated.

He did not move, only opened his eyes to look at me and nodded that he understood. I placed the water down and walked away.  As I walked, I thought of his life and how he had ended up here. Who was he?  

I opened the door to my apartment, and it hit me, he could use some of the beans and rice I made for my husband and I the night before. I think I seasoned them pretty well and eating beans, even just a little, filled me up. We, vegetarians eat a lot of beans. 

After warming up the beans and rice, I scribbled ‘JESUS LOVES YOU” on a note card from my desk and marched back to my new friend.

“Sir, I brought you some food, sir.”

He opened his eyes a bit and rolled his head over to the other side.

“sir, sir.”

He looked in bad shape, and I was not sure what to do. I could stand there and continue to call out to him, but a thought crossed my mind to say a prayer for him. I thanked Jesus for giving Harris the strength to live. I thanked Jesus for his protection over him.

As I completed my prayer, Harris sat upright. His eyes were yellow, and he said that he was so thirsty. I motioned to the water, “look, I brought you some water!”

“It's so hot out here, that may help.”

Harris reached for the water and because he could not pull the cap off with his hands, and protested my help, he used his teeth.  I asked him what his name was and told him mine. He said, “My name is Harris.” I heard Aaron at first and said, “my brother’s name is Aaron!”

 “Not Aaron, H-A-R-R-I-S,” he shouted with a smile.

“I brought you some beans and rice. My husband likes them, and he says that I cook well so maybe you may like them.”

Harris tried to rip the container open. I grabbed his hand and helped him pop the sides off the lid off. He grabbed the fork I placed in the bag. “Ohhh, this is good. You know I’m black and black people love beans and rice.” Harris enjoyed my cooking, maybe more than my husband.

Harris and I spoke a few more minutes, and I told him to take care of himself, shook his hand gently and walked away. Before I made it to the corner, I turned around and waved bye to Harris, he waved back and shouted, “bye A-R-L-I-N-A.” 

Even he missed the "E" in my name. At least he enjoyed my cooking. 

This piece was orginally posted on July 12, 2016

Technology & Children

Photo by John Robert 

The kids, not knowing what to do or why a day with dad ended up in a Starbucks with him scrolling through Instagram as they took in the coffee shop's patrons. He unintentionally, yet intentionally creating space between him and his children. They tap, prod, whine, beg to leave the place filled with a strange bean aroma.

Their mother probably needed a day to herself not knowing that the kids would go without supervision for 45 minutes to 1 hour. The man she created these children with would be there and not there at the same time. 

I wonder does she know her husband spends his mental free time on social sites spying? First, it was a photo of a fancy digital camera, then a woman posing in front of the camera. He smirks. Then, it's the woman who owns the camera smiling with her small gray-haired dog. He scrolls. Another photo of her on the beach, in the water, laughing. He thinks about her and possibly the beach. A moment on the beach with her? No, that would be taking it too far. He, of course, has more "self-control" than that. The man, the father of three, hits the back button to pursue other eye candy.

Do you think we do it on purpose? We zone the entire world out to give into our secret desires. Our desires to look, over consume, obsess? Our friends, family, and children simply casualties of war. The war for our attention fought with a small device in the palm of our hands, and we win and lose the battle each day.

The people closest to us stand by, unaware if we are there or not, if we are researching a thought, completing a quick search, or in the midst of our secrets.

Technology, a tool that connects and disconnects has found its way into a day with dad.

Two girls, one boy, a combination any childless home would take in an instant. He is taking that time, those precious moments for granted. It's not until those things we love are gone that we desire to have them back. But those are dog wishes, prayers unheard, for the universe only moves in one direction, forward.

Photo by Clem Onojeghu

It's what happens when we get what we want. Years without children can dampen the love between two people. But having is not the same thing as not having. We have, and so we desire more or something else altogether.

The plight of being human I guess.

Jesus's Spokesman

On the street corner, a man is doing his most important work, holding a white sign that reads "Jesus" in red letters in one hand and a Bible in the other. Dallas is his battlefield, as Kanye West's catchy song, Flashing Lights plays in the background, a sax player mimics the tune. The man is elderly and rambles to himself. I noticed from afar that his mouth moved as people walked by, but he spoke to no one.

I am curious. I want for the elderly man's story like someone starving for food or love. The exchange could be unique, enthralling, maybe even ethereal, as he has something that these bystanders do not. I wish to know what it is. It could be something forgotten or something as ancient as the pyramids. What would make a man stand at the corner of a busy intersection throwing the character of God at people? 

As I approached, he shooed me away, just as my mother did when my sisters and I spoke too loudly in church. The sacred moment is not to be disturbed. 

I am forced to watch from a distance remembering that my wants, needs, and desires are not more important than this man's purpose. 

Burn, Baby, Burn

There is something enjoyable about watching the building burn.

The newly elected boss is burning down the entire building, and those that have been crucified, ridiculed and left behind wait in a gleeful quietness. They saw it coming.

The marginalized saw the corporate board and bosses set fire to the companies traditions, history, and culture.

The forgotten saw the wood truck pour in and saw leaders begin to unload the massive truck of timber.

They saw the fire setters enter the lobby and start to stack the wood. 

One by one the piles were laid.

One by one the imminent destruction was gaining momentum.

They said nothing because long ago they had been told that this was not their company.

No skin in the game meant no care for the companies end.

They stood by because what is a man or woman to do but watch the company burn in hopes that something else, something better would erect in its place; and if not, at least the top, the leaders didn't have a sanctuary either.

@earlinagreen

Company Men

I observed that there are men of the majority race who seek to retain their souls.
Opting for jobs as bartenders, servers, and coffee makers. 
Opting out of the world where interruptions are competition and sexual innuendos are a part of the workplace banter. 
These men appear happy and at peace with their life choice. 
But what are they missing? Would it have been more fruitful to take part in the dance of their brothers? 
Yes, college is more affordable for the kids of company men; winter vacations in the mountains are occasions to create social envy, 
fast cars, and fancy dinners are the language of their cohorts. 
But is this a benefit? 
Described in the Holy Scriptures, our lives are like fog, we are here today and gone tomorrow. 
Are the trade-offs, missed holidays and cold turkey dinners worth it?
If not, is it pursued out of boredom? 
Oh, What absurdities are done in the name of boredom.

@earlinagreen