Later, we sat down at the dinner table, Emma yapping away about a dead bug she found on the porch that Zeus ate. She was being extra loud and extra messy with her spaghetti. I sat at the head of the table, and Tristan sat at the other end. Every now and then I would catch him staring my way, but most of the time he was smiling out of the corner of his mouth at Emma.
“And Zeus went CHOMP! Like it was the best thing ever! Now he has bug guts in his teeth!”
“Did you eat the bugs too?” Tristan asked.
“Ew! No! That’s gross!”
“I hear they are a great source of protein.”
“I don’t care, Tick! That’s gross!” She made a gagging face, making us all laugh. “Ooo ah! Oo ah ah!” she said, transitioning into her gorilla speech. For weeks now, she’d been exploring her gorilla roots after watching Tarzan. I wasn’t sure how to explain it to Tristan, but within seconds, I understood that I wouldn’t have to.
“Oo?” Tristan responded. “Ah? Ahhh! Ahhh!” He smirked.
I wondered if he knew he made my heart skip a few beats that day.
“All right, Jane of the jungle, I think it’s time for you to go pick out some pajamas for tonight. It’s getting past your bedtime.”
“But!” she started to complain.
“No buts.” I smirked, nodding her out of the room.
“Okay, but can I watch Hotel Transylvania in my room?”
“Only if you promise to fall asleep.”
“Promise!” She hurried off, and as she left, Tristan stood up from his chair. I stood with him.
He nodded once. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t have to go. I have wine…”
He hesitated.
“There’s beer, too.”
That pulled him in. I kept myself from telling him that the only reason I’d bought beer was in hopes that one night he would stay for dinner. After I put Emma to bed, Tristan and I took our drinks outside and sat on the front porch with Zeus sleeping beside us. Every now and then one of the feathers would get picked up by a gust of wind and blow past us. He didn’t talk a lot, but I was growing used to that fact. Being quiet with him was kind of nice.
“I was thinking of ways I can pay you back for helping me with my lawn work.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“I know, but…well, I can help you with your house. With the interior,” I offered. I went on to tell him that I’d gone to school for interior design, and that it only made sense for me to help him out. His house always seemed so dark, and I loved the idea of adding a bit more life to it.
“No.”
“Just think about it,” I said.
“No.”
“Are you always so hardheaded?”
“No.” He paused and smiled a bit. “Yes.”
“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?”