If Only to Find It

 

It seemed to Walter that time had stopped. The search had gone on and on and he still could not find that which he sought.  He had cut his sleep back to four hours a day.  He ate while he worked, and work it was.  The dark circles under his eyes only exacerbated the concern others felt for him.  "You're pushing too hard," they would say.  "You need to take a break," he would hear.  But he would only hear and never listen.  He needed to find it.  He had no choice.

For everyone else, it was a concert, a night out on the town, or a dinner for two.  But not for Walter.  This was life itself.  The hollowness, the emptiness, the perpetual black cloud that hung over him, the darkness in his soul could not be erased by just another hobby or just another distraction.  Walter was empty and he had to act.

It wasn’t that he was particularly brilliant. It wasn’t that he was particularly witty or clever.  He simply asked questions and tried to presume nothing.  He sought to understand the foundation for every answer and not take the answer as gospel, regardless of who spoke it. Most answers were built on presuppositions.  These were what Walter needed to know.  Right or wrong in the search, he needed answers.

Sitting in his car outside the local grocery store, the bizarre actions of a homeless man in a light blue stocking cap caught Walter’s attention. The man walked from the garbage near the north entrance to the garbage can near the south entrance. Back and forth the man traveled, the entire time talking with his hands in an excited fashion and he was saying something. Walter watched the man for nearly ten minutes before he roused the motivation to try to overhear what the man was saying.

Slipping out of his car, he walked to the southern entrance and stopped, pretending to attend to a loose shoelace. He could clearly hear the man but the words made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Grabbing a coupon book from a nearby stand, Walter stood up and thumbed through the booklet, all the while intently focusing on the man’s words. But still they seemed completely irrational. Returning the coupon book to the small stand, Walter returned to his car and continued to watch him.

“What is he doing?” Walter wondered. “Clearly he is communicating and most likely he believes he is communicating something of value. But the question is, with whom does he think he’s communicating?” Reaching for his car keys and slipping them into the ignition, he started the engine and at that same moment, the homeless man suddenly turned and began walking away from the store. Watching him disappear around the corner and down the sidewalk, Walter pulled out of his parking spot and followed him. Pulling ahead of him, he parked at the curb and watched him pass by, still in a robust conversation with someone.

The man walked past and continuing no more than twenty feet, sat in the bushes and continued talking. Sitting cross legged, he placed a rather worn out paper cut directly in front of him. Eventually a number of people walked past and dropped some change in the cup. After the seventh person had contributed to the man’s collection, he stood and walked back toward Walter’s car. Stopping by the passenger window, he knelt down and knocked on the glass. Out of curiosity, Walter leaned over and rolled down the window.

“Here,” the man said, “stick out your hand.”

“No, no, that’s okay,” Walter said, “I don’t want to take your money.”

“But I was collecting it for you,” the man said. “I can tell that you really need something. So here, put out your hand.”

The smell from the man had begun to drift into the car and it was far from pleasant. Assuming his best bet was to comply, Walter stuck out his hand and received a pile of change.

“Okay, thank you,” Walter said. “Have a good day.”

“Oh, I will,” the man said. “But more importantly, you need to remember.” The man then turned and disappeared through a nearby yard. Shoving the coins into his pocket, Walter had no idea how to respond to this unexpected manifestation of philanthropy. Driving home with this bizarre situation on his mind, he parked his car on the side driveway and walked into his house. Opening the fridge, he realized that he had gone to the grocery store but becoming distracted by the homeless man, had forgotten to go in and buy groceries. With a sigh, he returned to his car and returned to the store.

Skimming through the aisles, he grabbed the few items that he needed and got into the checkout line. Finally reaching the checker, the groceries were rung through.

“That’ll be $17.81,” the woman said.

Pulling his cash from his pocket, he only found seventeen dollars. Flashing a rather nervous smile, he cleared his throat and started to speak.

“Is there a problem, sir?” she asked. “Do you need to put something back?”

He almost began to answer but then he remembered the change from the homeless man. Jamming his hand in his pocket again, he fished out the coins and realized that they came to exactly eighty-one cents. “Well would you look at that?” he said. Receiving his receipt, he grabbed the bag and left the store, rather confused.

Lying in bed that evening, he replayed the events of that afternoon. It was then that it occurred to him what the homeless man had said. He told Walter to remember. “You need to remember? What am I supposed to remember?” he thought.

Finally getting up after rolling about for over three hours, he sat at his desk and tried to read the next section in the “Encyclopedia of Religious Thought.” It was with the re-reading of the same paragraph four times that he realized his efforts were futile. Lying back down, he eventually fell asleep. The morning sunshine lulled him from his slumber and swinging his feet over the edge of the bed he took a quick shower and stood in the living room, drying off as he watched the news.

“This just in,” the announcer said, “our own Hayley Marie is on site downtown where a house caught fire during the night. Hayley, what’s going on down there?”

“Thanks John,” she said. “I am here with Miss Felicia Gonzales. Felicia, tell us what happened.”

“My baby and I were sound asleep when we were suddenly awakened by someone pounding on our door. Of course, I was frightened, I mean really, who does that in the middle of the night? Right? So I got up and peeked out the little window and there was a homeless man in a light blue stocking cap standing on my doorstep. He was yelling something about a fire. It was then that I saw a thin layer of smoke in the kitchen. I grabbed my baby and ran outside. I don’t know how he saw the smoke but somehow he knew.”

“Were there any flames outside? Is the homeless man still here?” Hayley asked.

“No,” the girl answered, “that is what is so strange. From the outside, I couldn’t see anything. No smoke, no fire, no sound, nothing. I don’t understand it. But I called the fire department, and they came and put out the fire. I guess a wire on my kitchen stove had shorted out and started the wall on fire. But the homeless guy, I have no idea. He was gone when I came back out with my baby.”

“Well, there you have it, John,” Hayley said. “So whoever you are out there, thank you. It seems that Parksville has a guardian angel.”

Turning off the news, Walter scratched his head in wonder. Sitting on the edge of his bed, and putting on his socks, he paused and looked at the massive library staring down at him. “I guarantee that the homeless guy can’t define phenomenalism or explain the hypostatic union, but it seems to me like he’s doing something right. I don’t get it.”

Finishing his coffee, Walter walked out his front door and drove to work. Climbing out of his car, the homeless man in the light blue stocking cap walked up to him and simply said, “I’m glad you remembered.” Turning, he walked away.