It was a very cold night in Louisiana. February I think. I was driving alone and had just turned onto a major thoroughfare when I noticed a man sitting outside the Winn Dixie. He was leaning against the side of the building toward the back on a platform. He was next to some type of exhaust vent that was creating a steamy haze with which he attempted to keep warm. In spite of it, my first thought was how utterly cold he must be. He was all alone save his backpack. I wanted to turn around and ask if there was something I could do. Offer him a ride or even money to get something to eat, but common sense prevailed and I drove on.
I walked into the cozy warmth of my home and the delicious aroma of homemade black-eyed peas and sausage met me at the door. All I had to do was cook the rice and cornbread, and dinner for my family would be complete. I proceeded, but could not for the life of me get that man out of my mind. A lady friend that lived down the street was over and I explained to the woman what I had seen. She said 'Whatever you are thinking, Stop! You are not going to take anything to that man.' Well that did it! I don't take kindly to people telling me what I can and cannot do. I never have. So I told my husband I was preparing a meal for a man in the cold and he could escort me or stay. It made no difference to me. 10 minutes later he and I and my two small children were in the car.
We arrived at the Winn Dixie but he was gone! My husband was out of sorts to begin with. This type of 'ridiculousness' was not his style but as I was well known for going the extra mile, he knew better than to argue. And so it was, we continued down the same road we had been on. We hadn't gone more than half a mile when I spotted him. He was walking in the same direction we were driving but the opposite side of the street. My husband whirled the car around and pulled up to the curb. He was fairly livid and demanded I hurry.
I opened the car door. With my mason jar filled to the rim with very warm beans and rice, a clean linen cloth wrapped around a warm piece of cornbread, a spoon and all the courage I could muster, I walked right up to him. There we stood face to face. The first thing that struck me was that he stood not 3 inches taller than me. I stand 5'5". He seemed well built and muscular. His backpack was much larger than I had previously thought and I knew instinctively everything he owned was in it. The second thing I noticed were his eyes. They were dancing. I was mesmerized. I guess I expected a thin, wiry totally unhappy, unkempt person. He was not.
I told him I had seen him at the Winn Dixie and had gone home to prepare him a meal. I told him it wasn't much. Just some black-eyed peas, rice, sausage and some cornbread. He looked at me with the warmest smile and those eyes!! I've never seen such happiness. He said he couldn't remember the last time he had a home cooked meal. I asked him if he had a place to stay and he said he would be staying under the overpass. I told him it was too cold but he said he was used to it and that he would be fine. I don't know what it was about him but I didn't want to leave. I wanted to ask him a hundred questions but the horn blaring brought me back to reality. I smiled. He offered me the linen. I told him to keep it. As I turned to leave I looked back and said 'By the way, my name is Pamela.' He said simply, 'I know.' I will never forget the warm, loving and kind look upon his face as I walked up to my car. I was stupefied.
I got in the car and shut the door. My husband and my children just looked at me. I was speechless. I felt as though my whole life had been leading up to this very moment. I had tears in my eyes as we turned the car around again to make our way home. I looked back to see him one last time. He was gone. Nothing but a big empty field and no more than one minute had passed since I got back in the car but he was gone! Just disappeared.
As we rode home in silence, later that night and for many months and years to come, I would remember. Always replaying vividly the scene in my head, again and again the moments return with such clarity. As cold as it was his breath didn't hit the air like it should have. It was as if it were a warm sunny day. While I shivered, he never even looked cold. He held that piping hot jar of beans as though they were room temperature. And he didn't lean forward from the weight of that enormous backpack. It was almost as though it wasn't even there. His eyes danced. Oh how they danced!! He had a beard and long hair, a beautiful smile and the kindest eyes I've ever seen.
On a cold night in Louisiana, I met a stranger that I have never forgotten. And he knew my name. Listening to the voice that tells us to do right prevailed over the voice that tells us not to bother. Look at what I would have missed!
Pamela A. Langhart makes her home in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Writing since the age of 11, she also enjoys a career in Internet Marketing.
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