Daryl, the homeless man on the subway
The man who understood me and reignited the spark in my soul when it had almost gone out.
During one of my lows, a particular person seemed to be able to notice my distress while I was riding the subway to meet a date. He was maybe 50 or 60, but his childlike demeanor made him seem much younger on the inside; I could feel him radiate optimism and youth. He waved at me and smiled a cheeky and toothy grin. His hair was grey and disheveled, and he smelt of smoke and cigarettes. We were both uncertain of interacting with each other, but I was more scared of him than he was of me; it wasn’t just him I was afraid of or my date, but my emotions. Every single stranger seemed so foreign; every person held so many malicious possibilities that I could not trust my perceptions. It was a few weeks after I had spoken my heart out to hear rejection for the third time; every sensation was so vivid and bright, and I was so sensitive that everything seemed like a blur. My sensory perception magnified by ten times as if I had woken up from a long dream; music seemed to shake my bones, lights felt brighter, sounds seemed heightened, and my memory and knack for details seemed sharper. This experience was quite a new experience, and I was not sure what to make of it, but the particular person seemed to know who I was and what I needed when no one else could provide me the support and direction I needed.
His name was Daryl. He reached his hand out to me and said “Happy New Year!” even though it was February. I took his hand and held it. We looked at each other and it felt like finally, there is someone here for me. There is someone to talk to. I was able to discern that he was homeless and mentally stunted as he spoke of his experiences and stress about how lonely and isolating it was in the vast and cold metropolitan city of Toronto. He showed me his large scar on his left pinky, talked about being beaten and having a broken nose, among other traumatic experiences. I hugged him as he shakily spoke his story. I couldn’t discern everything, but I could feel the rawness of his emotions. I could feel the power of his speech, the fear and anger towards society, and the shock that some girl who was dressed up primly and adequately for a date would talk to a disheveled homeless carrying a large garbage bag. Frankly, I wasn’t that interested in my date, nor did I feel like going at all. I just needed to go on another date for selfish reasons — I needed to prove to myself that I could go on a date to validate myself and up my self-esteem. I also needed to get out of the house and do something new so that I wouldn’t be sulking in my room over things I could not control that caused me pain.
Daryl reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small wad of bills. Some twenties, some fifties, and one hundred. He gave me $10 for no reason at all, but simply because I welcomed him to sit beside me, shook his hand, and looked him in the eye. My dad’s a waiter at an exploitive Chinese restaurant, so he makes around $10 an hour. That’s $10 of walking around, putting on a fake smile, picking up after customers, being called by his name “Come here Sunny!” although that was the last thing he ever felt like on the inside. I didn’t want the $10 because Daryl needed it more than me, and I’m sure that his struggle of obtaining it must have been even harder than my dad’s. But Daryl kept insisting, pushing the bill into my hands. Eventually, I gave up and pocketed the money, although I felt a tremendous amount of guilt at myself for not being able to refuse any further. But if it made him happy, I thought, I guess I would take it.
“GIRL POWER!!!!” He screamed as he gave me a fistbump with his calloused hands. He was also carrying a black bag that had an old soccer ball in it. “It is so lonely and isolating in the city,” he said, “everyone just gives you cold stares.” At that moment, I glanced around the subway car and felt the unwelcoming stare of a teenage girl at Daryl and me. I could see her thoughts: Why is such a beautiful girl talking to some disheveled homeless person carrying a garbage bag? That’s so weird. He’s so filthy. She’s so strange. At that moment, I felt righteous anger not only at the girl but at the ignorance of society. Why do we hold a stigma against people who don’t have the means to support themselves financially? Why do we judge based on appearances, social status, and class? Why don’t we recognized that everyone is human and in need of connection? What separates Daryl and I, other than circumstance? I stared right back at her with a newfound fire in my eyes as Daryl grinned and laughed and gave me hugs. And when the conversation progressed, he became so elated and excited that he wanted to gift me the soccer ball too. I didn’t want anything else from Daryl because he had already given me $10 that I didn’t deserve nor need. But he insisted, said that he was a collector and that it was 2 for 1. So I took the ball. When our interaction ended, he gave me a big hug, and we went our separate ways.
I ended up being late to my date because of my lack of directional sense; I made him wait in line and get bugged by staff by going to the wrong location of the restaurant. He was quite tall, wearing a Tasmanian Devil jacket. I could tell that he was unhappy, so I gave him the soccer ball as an apology and told him my story, as my date told me his life philosophies: “All you need is love,” he said. “As humans, we are constantly fighting an internal battle between our demons and our angels. It is so easy to sin, and yet we have to make sure that we don’t”.
I may never see Daryl again, or the $10, or the soccer ball. But I will always remember warm presence as the light in my life when there felt like there was none.
