“He’s funny” is all she could say about him as she smiled. He was a middle-aged homeless man wearing a long white jacket with brown stripes and matching dress pants tucked into black rain boots. His right hand was weighed down by large, bulbous rings on all 5 fingers, while his left hand was bare.He had 4 long dreads sprouting from the top of his head, with the rest of his hair shaved short. She was a middle-aged fiery Hispanic woman dressed in a long black leather jacket with a bright pink purse. Her hair was short, wavy, and highlighted with streaks of golden blonde. This man had been at my bus stop on the corner of Venice and La Brea, where we waited alongside a diverse group of people that only LA could devise. The morning rain had subsided, revealing a breezy and cloudless afternoon, chilling thin-skinned Angelenos. He was clearly drunk and toted a tall beer can wrapped in a brown napkin. He staggered along the sidewalk and asked anyone he could if he could buy a cigarette from them for whatever small change was in his pocket. When a woman finally gave him a cigarette free of charge and straight from her mouth to stop him from following her and her daughter, a toothless grin bigger than I could have imagined lit up his weathered face. He reached to the sky and praised the heavens before he promptly broke the cigarette in half and stored a piece in his jacket. The other half he lit with his yellow lighter and then hobbled over to a phone booth to make a boisterous call before the bus arrived.
Once on the bus, I had already dismissed him from my mind as I crowded to the back with the rest of the daily commuters on their way home. This man also got on the bus and pushed to the back. On the bus, he had two very different interactions from two very different women. He raised his voice to get people out of the way because two teenagers were sitting on the steps drinking a mixture of fruit juice and vodka from clear plastic cups. They were brother and sister and the dark featured girl was clearly the leader. She was quick to snap at anyone who crossed her path, and gave off an expectation of entitlement to her realm on the Metro Rapid 733. When this eccentric homeless man tried to get through, but paused before ascending the stairs, she let out a string of expletives to express that she had used her time and energy to get up from the stairs to let him pass, so why was he f@*king waiting around. He moved back to find a seat, as she stood with her brother and downed her drink. The two intoxicated teenagers got off the bus a few stops early so they could stop by the girl’s weed dealer.
This should have been the homeless man’s stop as well, but he was not paying attention and was stuck on the bus for another several blocks, leading him to his second interaction. He moved his way forward to the backdoor to wait for the next stop, placing him a few feet away from me. My instincts told me to avoid eye contact, put on an icy front, and do not by any means respond to anything he said to me. Across the aisle sat the woman in a leather jacket. She wore pink-tinted sunglasses and bright red lipstick. She had another approach to this man. Her seat overlooked the doorway and when the man looked into her eyes and murmured something about missing his stop, she laughed. And not just a chuckle, but a beautifully smooth laugh that warmed the air around so many strangers in transit. This made him smile that toothless grin once again and he knew he had found a friend. She laughed more when he tried to request a stop and pulled the wire so hard she jovially said he would break it. Then he noticed the large ring on her finger and his attention was completely focused on that ring. As he reached over the railing to touch it, I felt my nerves rise up again as I expected him to grab her hand and ask for the ring. But this woman remained calm, acknowledged her ring, but then diverted attention to the many rings this man had. A lion’s head, a big diamond, a silver band… the two admired his collection and he gently stroked each one, roaring with laughter when he revealed another ring below an exceptionally large ring. The man would occasionally glance around to see if anyone else would give him smile. I will admit that I softened my face, but could not find the courage to grin. However when the woman glanced my way, smiling and laughing, I gave her a toothy smile out of awe for her simple kindness that made this man’s day. When he told her that he had a long walk back to his original stop, she suggested that he simply cross the street and take the bus back to his destination. The man was shocked at this revolutionary idea and left the bus happily murmuring to himself. When he left, the woman looked over at me, smiled, and just said “He’s funny”.
I knew I couldn’t help my feelings toward him, but seeing this woman show this mean such a simple, yet strong showing of kindness and compassion made me want to emulate her way of showing solidarity with humanity through laughter. This man had exhibited no signs of aggression. He was drunk, was having a rough period in his life, didn;t seem to have had good health or dental care for quite a while, but he was still a human being looking for a little light and reassurance from his fellow humans. I had such an urge to talk to this woman, but my stop came too quickly. I wondered where she was coming from? What does she do? What wise words can she impart on me? But just as quickly as this scene had happened, it was over and I was walking to my apartment. How much enjoyment and happiness do we owe addicts and drunks, whose only happiness comes from the small rush they feel from a beer or a cigarette? Can we be this open with the people so much of society simply ignores as part of the landscape of this city? Humanitarians do not only exist in the non-profit world in a refugee camp overseas. They are right here on the bus with us.
I think this woman’s laughter and kindness that she showed this man was such a powerful statement of compassion and solidarity. Solidarity should not exist only as a term used in global health and international efforts of social justice. It should be used to describe a way of life and a perspective on the world even in daily living. If we are not partners and advocates for the people in our own neighborhood, how can we truly be called partners and advocates for global health equity and a larger movement for pragmatic solidarity?
Spiritual Heart & Traveling Soul 