In the middle of the second block, a man stepped out of the shadows and blocked my path. He informed me that he needed a hand-out and that the neighborhood was rough. He asked for an unusual amount, $17. Fight-or-flight, the natural reaction that I expected, did not arrive. Rather, I looked the man deep into his eyes, and I saw desperation mixed with sincerity. Perhaps, I am an easy mark; perhaps, I felt compassion; so instead of running away, I chose another tack – I asked the man to join me for dinner. He was taken off-guard by my invitation. I was just as surprised at the words that came out of my mouth. He reminded me that this was a rough neighborhood, told me that he had just been released from prison, having done time for murder, and then he offered to walk me to the restaurant.
The restaurant was less than two blocks from my initial encounter with the panhandler. In that short distance I was reminded repeatedly that this was a rough neighborhood and that the man needed $17. As we approached the restaurant door, I encouraged the man to have dinner with me. Reluctantly, he accepted. We walked in together, and the hostess welcomed us and took us to a booth to be seated. As we settled into the booth, the man’s tough exterior soon melted into gratitude. We ordered drinks – coffee for him, iced tea for me. A waiter handed us menus. A conversation began. I introduced myself and learned that Moses was my new companion. Moses ordered two drumsticks and lima beans. I ordered chicken wings, a cinnamon waffle, fried green tomatoes, and cornbread muffins to share.
While we waited for our meal, I learned more about Moses. We shared that we both had kids. He has a 26-year old daughter in the military. I have a 30-year old son. Moses told me that he had just served a 10-year sentence for killing the man, who had raped his then 14-year old daughter. I sympathized with his action, thinking that I might have reacted in the same way. I felt no fear being with this man; instead, I was glad that I had a dining partner. I told him of my military service and my current occupation. He asked me my age. We learned that there was only a year difference in our ages. I told him about my grandsons. He told me more about his daughter, sad that she was about to deploy to Iran or Afghanistan – he was not sure which. Moses told me stories from his imprisonment. For six years he worked in fields harvesting corn, potatoes, and watermelons. He said it felt like slavery, only more modern. His guards always had guns. Moses went on to say that for the last four years of his sentence, he got smarter in the prison library and did not have to work in the fields.
Our food arrived, and Moses ate like a man that had not eaten well in several days. He was concerned that if he ate too much, he would make himself sick. I said I understood, and told him that he could take any leftovers with him. He smiled. During the meal, Moses commented that it had been a long time since anyone had looked him in the eye and listened. I did listen. In that too short half hour, I realized that my simple gesture was more than an easy escape. It was a connection with another human being. When the meal was over, I paid the tab. Moses reminded me of the rough neighborhood between the restaurant and my hotel, and he offered to walk with me back to the hotel. Together we dodged puddles and tire-splashes. At my hotel we shook hands; I gave Moses $17 for his trouble, wishing him the best. He smiled, looked deep into my eyes and said, “Mr. David, I hope we cross paths, again, in this lifetime. Thank you.”
While I am not sure about the pairing of chicken and waffles, I am sure about the pairing of two people and the simple act of breaking bread together. Moses, wherever you may be, I also hope that our paths may cross, again, in this lifetime.
