Today is Blog Action Day, and the focus this year is Poverty. There are many forms of poverty. May we all become aware – and be willing to do something – about all of them.

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It was 5 o’clock. Time to go home for the day. Unlike most days, though, today the very thought made his stomach churn.

After considering the options, he finally resigned himself to the fact that his usual route was really the only realistic way to reach the closest transit connection. After all, the west lobby was being renovated, so that direction was out. The building’s east doors opened onto a construction area, which made navigating the roughly planked walkways out there, especially today, somewhat treacherous. And going out the south entrance was just ridiculous; it added far too much extra walking distance in what the forecast had said was already shaping up to be a cold, unpleasant evening.

So it was out the north doors, as usual. And, most likely, right where yesterday’s unexpected encounter had occurred. The one that had caused – and was still causing – so much internal turmoil. He felt a knotting in his gut where lunch was sitting like a cold, hard fist. The sullen cloud deck more than promised snow later than night, while at the same time turning everything into shades of sepia and gray.

As he walked he kept his head down, trying without much success to hurry. Hoping he wouldn’t have to confront that awful sight again. The powerful, biting wind, as if mocking his thoughts, blew almost directly into his face; hindering his progress and making his steps seem almost hesitant. It was like sticky mud, forcing him to concentrate on the mechanics of simply walking: raise leg, lean forward precipitously against the wind, place foot firmly, repeat with other leg. All while tightly clutching his overcoat against incursion by the icy breath of winter.

It would have been almost hilarious if it hadn’t been so bitterly cold. Besides; nobody else on the sidewalk thought it was funny either. They, like him, slogged laboriously against the wind on their respective ways home, too. No; come to think of it, it wasn’t funny at all.

Along the way, his errant thoughts circled rapidly like moths around the proverbial candle flame, dangerously skirting the intense light and heat of scrutiny. Scrutiny was the Enemy. Because then – well, then he might have to actually examine – or even act upon – those treacherous thoughts. Best to keep them at bay as long as possible.

His stomach churned even more, making him wish he’d called a taxi after all. At least then, the risk of a second encounter would have been safely neutralized. A thought spread across his brain, like an egg dropped on pavement: Like the sound of a tree falling unseen in the woods, does turning away from an unpleasant truth mean it doesn’t exist?

Reality imposed itself, a long wooden splinter in his thoughts. Taking a taxi was simply not a practical solution. They were far too expensive these days, even if used only once. Besides, he felt it in his very bones: another encounter would come, sooner or later. Best to face up to it. Or so he told himself as he battled the obstinate wind.

He approached that fateful corner a few blocks away from the office. He even tried to pretend he didn’t know exactly where it was, so that he might ‘accidentally’ miss it. Tried, but ultimately failed, that is; a feeble excuse at best. As he reached what he knew was the place, he turned to look once again upon that which, exactly twenty-four hours previously, had so turned his world upside down.

There on the sidewalk, bundled against the heartless cold in miserable rags, was Steve.

-

All at once, and just as it had the previous day, his mind once again journeyed back in time.

Steve.

It was unmistakably the same Steve who, as best friends back in college, stayed up with him all night helping him study to pass those Chemistry finals. The same Steve who was Best Man at his and Linda’s wedding. And the very same Steve who, a few years later, suddenly abandoned his family, his friends and his practice, and dropped completely from sight.

But by then, of course, he hadn’t cared. The last few years they’d known each other had grown increasingly difficult. Steve’s personality had changed, transforming him from a formerly close and trusted friend into a total stranger. Somehow – he never understood quite how or why – he had allowed Steve’s growing bitterness and despondency to open a chasm between them, one that became more and more difficult to cross. Eventually they parted ways, their friendship irrevocably damaged.

Nothing to do but move on, he’d told himself. And so he did. Until yesterday.

As he’d passed this very same corner late yesterday afternoon, random chance or a momentary impulse – he was never sure which – caused his head to turn to the right instead of the left. Whatever the reason, it had been just enough. His eyes had first glanced, then locked like laser beams onto the forsaken and grizzled face of the disheveled homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk. The shock of recognition struck him with the force of a hammer blow: it was Steve.

He jolted to a sudden standstill, feet acting of their own accord. For nearly a minute, he could do nothing but stare in shock while other pedestrians silently flowed around him. The entire time, Steve never once opened his eyes. Was he alive? Was he dead? Should he speak? Would there be recognition? He couldn’t – no, wouldn’t make a move.

Finally, and without a word, he had turned and continued on his way, confused thoughts in suddenly tangled knots. As he made his way to the station, the emotional impact of that chance encounter stayed with him, refusing to be easily sloughed away.

His anguish grew worse with every passing minute. That evening, he barely managed to pick at his supper, studiously avoiding the subject though it was obvious Linda knew something was bothering him. At bedtime, sleep abandoned him. Sometime around 2 a.m. he gave up and went into the den to read – or try to, anyway – leaving his side of the bed rumpled and tossed and sweaty.

The next morning – this morning – he’d left the house early, before she awoke. It just seemed easier that way. There was simply no way to sort out his feelings; he didn’t know himself what was going on inside his head. And so he’d gone on to work, dreading the moment if – no, when – he’d see Steve again.

But when he reached the spot, there was no one there. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him, almost as if it somehow absolved him of any need to think about it further. It was short-lived, however, because then he noticed evidence that Steve was only temporarily missing. Likely, he thought sourly to himself, he’ll be back this afternoon.

That knowledge had settled over his thoughts like a heavy, suffocating blanket for the rest of the day.

-

Suddenly, his meandering thoughts abruptly snapped back to the present. He found himself standing at the corner where he’d seen him yesterday. Very deliberately, he looked again. Sure enough, Steve was back.

- discontinuity –

Quite without warning, he began to experience a very strange feeling. It was as if his awareness became somehow separated from his body; hovering just over his own shoulder and watching, passively, as the scene unfolded before him…

He saw himself lock eyes with Steve. He waited for a few moments, and then the slow light of recognition grew until his no doubt cloudy memories made the connection. He watched himself standing, staring dispassionately as the associations and memories finally clicked into place.

And then he watched himself slowly turn away and continue home. Home to a safe, warm place with a cheery fire and a good hot meal. Home to Linda. Home.

Then time flowed, fast-forward, to the next morning. He watched himself passing Steve’s spot, but not bothering to look. He continued to watch as his life unfolded, day after day, as if that chance encounter had never happened. He never told Linda about it, or any of their friends who had also known them both. He lived his life, eventually even forgetting he’d ever seen Steve again. His mind safely buried the incident under a smooth and soothing layer of impermeable clay.

- discontinuity –

He was back in the present, still standing where his feet had planted themselves. Briefly overcome by a sudden bout of déjà vu, he swayed for a moment as it passed. His eyes, of their own accord, refocused on the huddled, shivering man on the sidewalk.

Instead of turning away, though, he went over and crouched down on the pavement next to the man, then reached out and gently touched his arm.

“Steve,” he said, and stopped. Complex emotions he hadn’t known were there choked his voice a bit. “What are you doing here?”

Steve slowly straightened up and looked into his eyes. Momentary fright changed to puzzlement, then gradually hinted at recognition. The reply, though, remained hesitant, almost a question: “I… know you…?”

Taking Steve’s hand, he held it firmly while shaking it slowly and deliberately. “C’mon, Buddy; let’s get you home,” he said. They stood together and slowly made their way to the transit station.

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