Nameless Faces
Alexandera Simone
I was nineteen years old the first time I saw my own true character. I wish I could say I was proud of what I saw, but that would be a lie. At least I can say that my true character changed that day. My overall outlook on people managed to take a 180-degree turn in less than ten minutes. Who would have thought that the first person to change the way I viewed humanity would be a complete stranger?
For about a year, my voyage to and from work each day included a subway ride followed by a ten-minute walk through the heart of downtown Toronto. As with most large cities, the homeless population of Toronto often congregated on downtown corners, asking pedestrians for their spare change. Like most busy citizens, I learned to ignore the nameless faces who begged me for money each day. When it came to homeless beggars, my limited life experience had led me to one assumption — you are on the streets because you choose to be, probably due to drugs or alcohol.
I remember noting how particularly cold the weather had been that season. It was mid-December, and the temperature was a chilly minus 20-degrees Celsius. I walked with my head down, desperately wishing that my office was closer to the subway stop. I passed the usual mobs of homeless beggars, ignored all of them, and continued walking. As I crossed the intersection of Queen and Yonge streets, I saw him sitting against a building, wrapped in several layers of thin cloth, holding a white cup in front of him. I heard his shaky, pathetic voice target me as I sped past him.
“Spare some change?” he asked. “I would really appreciate it.”
I didn’t even bother looking up at his nameless face. I briefly pictured him walking into the closest liquor store and stocking up on whiskey with whatever money he managed to conjure up that day. Or, maybe he needed another hit of cocaine. Clearly, if he had ever been married, his wife would have literally kicked him to the curb when he couldn’t get his habit under control. See, like most teenagers, it took me only moments to pass judgment on his life.
“I have no money on me,” I said quickly.
Looking back now, I feel as though fate had set out that day to teach me a lesson. And it succeeded. Just a few feet past him, I managed to find the only ice patch on the sidewalk. As I slipped, I tried to position myself so the impact would occur on my hip and thigh, but unfortunately my aim was about as good as my judgment of character, and I managed to land square on my right knee. The pain seared through me as I lay on the ground for several moments wondering if I had fractured my kneecap. As I tried to come to grips with the notion of actually getting up, I heard a familiar, gruff voice only inches above me.
“Are you all right?” he asked.