It was 9 a.m., and I arrived at the light rail station, on my way to brunch with a friend. I ducked beneath the awning, seeking refuge from the sun on a warm summer day, leaving space between me and my fellow travelers. As I was adjusting to my new surroundings, a stranger rounded the corner from the sun-facing benches and approached.
“Which direction do I go to get downtown?”
Thinking for a moment, “You can get their going either direction.”
“I’m not from here. I’m lost,” he said with a restrained laugh. “Can I get there on the H Line?”
“Yeah–that’ll take you there.” Directly there, I realized. I wished I’d suggested that in the first place.
“This track?”
“Yeah–headed that way.” I pointed south.
Throughout, I kept an eye on my backpack. It was on the ground, now halfway between me and someone on my other side.
“It sucks feeling weak,” the man said after a few moments, barely audible. I moved closer to hear. “I have stage 3 cancer.”
~~~
He was in the area visiting a close friend. “I haven’t told anyone,” he said. “I didn’t even tell my friend. I haven’t told my family, either. I know they’re going to ‘react’.”
I noticed a tear on the corner of his eye.
“When did you get the diagnosis?” I asked.
“One week ago.”
“How are you doing with it?”
“I’m not afraid to die, but I’m worried about my family.”
The tear that I thought might have been a product of the environment became multiple tears, rolling down his cheek.
He’d moved west to Colorado, away from much of his family. He lost his brothers to violence in his hometown and moved to get away from that. He has a son back home.
As we talked, the next train approached. It was mine, and we parted ways.
~~~
A few moments more thought revealed that that was the most important conversation I’d have that day. That my brunch buddy would be happy to wait a little longer for me to continue the conversation and see the stranger off to his next destination. A hand shake, a hand on his shoulder, a hug–held back behind a dam of insecurities. Deep insights, reassuring words–lost in my toolbox if they’re in there at all. I feel my response left a lot to be desired.
But I listened. And I made space for him to express feelings that he wasn’t yet ready to express with those closest to him. I think that was what he needed. When our inner seas are in turmoil, on the verge of threatening the harmony of our outer lives, the ear of a stranger can be a safe harbor. I’m grateful he chose me to open up to.
Thank you, stranger, for reading.