Last week I wrote about my newfound relationship with Pete, a homeless man and recovering alcoholic. I first "met" him about six weeks ago in Brea, California, where I work, off and on but our formal introduction occurred a week ago today. Oh, I already knew his name, but he didn't know mine. So, I introduced myself and looked forward to our future conversations.
So far there have been none.
To say that I am disappointed is somewhat of an understatement. I had so many things to ask him, so many questions for my very first homeless friend. And I wanted to write about it all.
I have been to the very same Starbucks that Pete hangs out at nearly every day for the past week, but he has not been there. At first, I thought it was because there were power-washer people there, doing their thing. But now I realize that is not the sole reason. To be honest, I think it’s me. I think I scared him off.
When I told my husband my thoughts, he scoffed, saying that he doubted a homeless person would change his behavior based on something I said or did. I'm sure this would be accurate for most people, but me? Doubtful. You see, if something is going to happen, it is going to happen to me. Lest you think I'm being dramatic, that is not the case. I cannot tell you the number of situations in my life where someone has said, "This has NEVER happened" right after it happened to me.
Like the two times I was trapped in an elevator: once in Florida and once in Indiana. Or the time I got stuck on a client's hotel balcony and had to be rescued by the manager who I would be working with for the next week. There are many more, I promise you, but my memory is failing. I guess I need to start writing them down. At one point I even contemplated writing a book entitled, "It Could Only Happen to Me." I may still do that. I could fill pages and pages.
Anyway, after not seeing Pete in nearly a week, I talked to the “in the know” barista about him, the same one who had given me the rundown on Pete weeks ago. I asked him where Pete had been, and he said that he doesn't always hang out there every day. Obviously, I was finding that out. Usually every other day or so, he said. Then he said that after he leaves there, he does his recycling and makes his rounds at other places. Okay, I thought, letting all the information sink in. All of this sounds logical.
I listened intently for any clues that may tell me why I hadn't seen him in a week, hoping against hope that I was not the reason why he had up and disappeared. After all, I had been praying he would get a home and a job, get off the streets. I mean, that could've happened.
Then the moment of truth.
"He is the nicest guy," the barista said. "If he thinks he is being a burden, he won’t show up for a while."
Aha! There it was. I WAS the reason he was keeping his distance. I just knew it. I had spoken to him about praying for him, about writing about him. I was always trying to buy him stuff. I forced a banana and water on him. And offered to buy him shoes or anything else he needed. All of this transpired the last time I had seen him, in one single conversation.
I had become with Pete what I was in so many other areas of my life: just a tad bit overbearing and eager. But I had also become just a wee bit of a stalker. Perhaps he sensed that. He probably saw me for exactly what I am: a novice in dealing with the homeless. The more experienced are probably much more street-savvy and cool than I am.
I could just kick myself. Seriously, Erin, you can chase away a homeless man. What kind of person does that? Usually the homeless I’ve seen in Colorado and beyond want things: food, money, alcohol, drugs. But, no, not the one that I befriend. He wants nothing. So, another chapter to write in the book of it could only happen to me.
While this story has a bit of humor in it, it is sad at the same time. Probably not to him. He has no idea that he has taken up so much space in anyone’s heart and mind. But I feel a sense of loss. I truly enjoyed seeing Pete and talking to him, trying to do what I felt God was calling me to do. And I only have a little bit of time left before I go back home to Colorado. It's not like I have forever to make an impact, not that I was anyway obviously.
But maybe I did what I was supposed to do. Maybe that is all God had for me in this situation. Maybe I will never know the outcome of my actions or have another chance to talk with Pete. And that’s okay. It has to be.
Maybe, just maybe, I am to take what I learned in this situation out into the great, big world where there are so many others just like Pete.
Be bolder, make a difference more often, maybe even in Colorado.
Maybe.