Page 37 of The Air He Breathes (Elements 1)

“Can I ask you a question?” I wondered out loud. He turned my way and nodded.

“Why do you give food to that homeless man?”

He narrowed his eyes and placed his thumb between his teeth. “One day when I was running barefoot, I stopped near that bridge and fell apart. Memories were attacking me and I remember just becoming short of breath. An overwhelming panic attack. The man walked over to me, and um, he patted me on the back and stayed with me until I caught my breath. He asked if I was okay, and I said yes. Then he told me that I shouldn’t worry too much about falling apart because the dark days only stayed dark until the sun came up. And then as I started to walk away, he offered me his shoes. I didn’t take them of course but…he had nothing. He lived under a damn bridge with a tattered blanket and a pair of broken down shoes. But he still offered them to my feet.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Most people probably see a dirty druggie under that bridge, you know? A problem to society. But I saw someone who was willing to give his all to help a stranger stand.”

“I just… That’s so beautiful.”

“He’s a beautiful man. It turned out he fought in a war and when he came back, he suffered from PTSD, and his loved ones couldn’t understand why he changed so much. He got a job, but lost it due to his panic attacks. He lost everything because he volunteered to fight for all of us. It’s bullshit, you know? You’re a hero until you take off your uniform. After that, you’re just damaged goods to society.”

My heart was breaking.

I’d walked by the man under the bridge millions of times, and never stopped to find out his story. I’d thought the things Tristan mentioned about the man—how he was a drug addict, how he was something I preferred to look away from.

It was amazing how our minds crafted stories for strangers who probably needed love more than our close-minded judgments.

It was so easy to judge from the outside looking in, and I couldn’t help but think that Emma was learning from me. I needed to be careful of how I treated others in passing, because my daughter was always studying my every move.

I bit my lip. “Can I ask you another question?”

“I don’t know. Is this going to become a regular thing? Because I hate questions.”

“This will be the last one for tonight, I swear. What is it you listen to? With those headphones?”

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Nothing?”

“The batteries died months ago and I haven’t found the nerve to change them yet.”

“But what were you listening to?”

His thumb landed between his teeth and he bit it gently. “Jamie and Charlie. A few years ago, they recorded themselves singing, and I just held onto the tape.”

“Why haven’t you changed the batteries yet?”

His voice lowered. “I think hearing them again will kill me. And I’m already pretty much dead.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“I know, but still, I am sorry. But I can’t help but think…if I had a chance to hear Steven’s voice one more time, I would take it.”

“Tell me about him,” he whispered, which surprised me. He didn’t seem the type to care, but any opportunity I could find to talk about Steven, I took. I didn’t want to forget him any time soon.

That night we stayed on that porch remembering. He told me all about Jamie and her silly humor, and I invited him into my heart to meet my Steven. There were stretches that passed where we didn’t speak, and that seemed perfect too. Tristan was broken in all the same places I was shattered, yet even more so because he lost his wife and son. No parent should ever have to lose their child; it seemed like such a hideous kind of hell.

“So, I have to ask. The wand on your pointer finger…what book is that?”

&nbs

p; “Harry Potter,” he answered matter-of-factly.

“Oh. I’ve never read those books.”