On meeting Miller

I was on my way to get some chap stick and orange juice when I came upon a man who had been severely burned, asking for donations off the walkway. He wore a face of contorted misshapenness. His hands congealed flesh without fingers; more like hooves. I stopped to talk with the man to understand what his story was.

He had a cardboard display that showed he was trying to get to a conference in Vancouver, British Columbia by October 3rd. He said he tries to go every year to these conferences where he can meet other burn victims and talk with doctors and counselors. He showed me some pictures of the friends he made from his last trip to California. When I asked him what had happened to him he said his cousin was taking out the gas in his house and there was an explosion. His cousin died in the accident. He said he now has screws in his spine and knee's and when I couldn't grapple with how mere burns could cause one to need screws in their bones he gave me a look that said it all. I felt completely insensitive to his position, I quickly withdrew this line of inquiry. He was going to get emotional over the recollection had I pushed here. I meandered into a segue, 'you don't have to go into it'.

'So these are some of your friends you met during a convention?'

I knew I only had a ten dollar bill on me, but while I was feeling what I've heard referred to as a sense of empathy or 'good will toward man' for his circumstance, I wasn't feeling that philanthropic. A contribution of five dollars compared to ten wasn't going to make or break his trip out to B.C. Wanting to help, I told him I would come back.

Looking through the chap stick selections in the grocery aisle I couldn't help but notice the air of meaningless vanity lingering in my decision between the 'medicated' or 'cherry' daily; flashes of the face I had just witnessed still fresh. Yet, my mind couldn't pass up the dark humor underlying the situation. He's been like this for close to twenty years. The incident happened in 1987. Because I feel the first tinge of bitter cold approaching, I hurry to protect my lips.

I talked with him some more when I came back. It was an attempt on my part to familiarize myself to a random stranger on the streets, something I initially do not do for obvious health hazard reason's, but this one was different; he wore his evidence on his very skin. I almost felt drawn to him, that it would be wrong if I didn't talk with him, like walking by someone you know without acknowledging their presence. There came a time in the conversation where I even felt ease to share a smile with him. For the majority of the exchange I was projecting some ludicrous feeling of being sorry, but what I started to realize was that this man did not want that from me; it would be pointless. I noticed he was smiling and I was grimacing. I began to relax and look at him as a person who could really use someone looking at him as such and not as some monstrosity.

I was going to the grocery to get some chap stick.