Thoughts of Jason
It was late, and the streetlight shone into the empty drive. And I sat on the tiny porch and drank another beer and smoked another cigar. My thoughts were fleeting and quickly replacing one another. So I thought of many things, and I thought of nothing in particular, and then Jason approached me and said, “Hello,” and the thoughts shifted.
Jason was a tortured man. He had been so for as long as I could remember. I had never known him personally, but I had seen some injustices acted upon him. His father was abusive, so I had heard, and the children at our public school had followed suit as if in a coordinated effort to break his spirit. So, I offered him a beer, and he accepted saying, “Thanks,” and little else. So we drank our beer and spoke in the casual fashion of vague, but friendly acquaintances. He spoke simply and short, but leading. . . . He was a man, desperate for companionship, and lonely . . . just like me, but entirely different somehow, although how, I didn’t know.
And minutes went by, and he walked away saying, “Thanks again, for the beer.” I nodded and looked down so as not to witness his passing, and I was guilty of a terrible sin—and I knew it. I had let small talk be small talk and left it at that. I had denied his need for companionship under the guise of being ignorant of his position. But I knew his position all too well, as I had felt those same feelings of solitude—the solitude that lies within all of us. So, he walked away toward another chance encounter, and I could tell how he dreaded the return to his empty apartment. But it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my problem, was it? I can’t befriend them all. I can’t rescue every starving kitten beside the road.
So, I did nothing. I looked down and ignored his passing . . . and he was gone. And a little more humanity drained from me. I sold out my compassion for the bargain basement cost of one beer and a downward glance, but what about Jason? I don’t know. I hear he sells marijuana to other troubled young people. Good for him. A distraction is worth a thousand tears.