Video: "Give Me Your Eyes" by Brandon Heath

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On Saturday, I went home to hang with my family for the weekend, which was always enjoyable; even more so if my sisters were there, which they were. My older sister Charlotte was visiting, and my younger sister Lauren, who still lived at home, didn't have any plans for the weekend. Charlotte lived in Ann Arbor where she worked as a junior design consultant for an interior design company. She had actually helped me to decorate my loft, but we shared similar tastes, so her ideas weren't too crazy for me. Lauren was in her first year at The Art Institute of Michigan, majoring in Photography. Both of them were wildly creative, obviously, while I simply loved books and stories and words. I supposed that I had some creativity within me, but I hadn't done much writing outside of college coursework, except some poetry. I guess I was still looking to find my niche.

While the three of us ranged in age from Charlotte's 24 years to Lauren, who was only 18, we got along exceptionally well. We went shopping and had lunch with my mom, which was an age-old tradition for the four of us. When we were together, it seemed as if we were peers, not mother and daughters, since my mom was only 47. 

My parents were high school sweethearts, so two years seemed like plenty of time to wait to get married once they graduated from high school. At the age of 21, my mom had my oldest brother, Martin, who's now 26. Being 21 myself, going on 22, I couldn't imagine getting married and having a baby at this age. But it worked out well for my parents. Martin was their first baby and they didn't stop until my youngest brother Collin was born. The grand total was six kids in ten years: Martin, Charlotte, myself, Lauren, Sean, and Collin.

I had no idea how my mother survived; she was and still is an awfully patient woman, I'll give her that much. When we were all much younger, people used to ask her if we were Catholic because we had such a big family, and my mother would always cause them to blush by saying something like, "Oh, my husband and I just love each other very much!" Or even more bluntly, "We just really enjoy sex." That usually shut people up and taught them a lesson for sticking their noses in other people's business. I had no plans to have anywhere near six children, but I honored my parents for welcoming all of us since my family was my rock, my team for life. The six of us were always close because of our proximity in age. Even the oldest and youngest had a good friendship. We had all learned patience and cooperation from living in such close quarters, and of course, from the saintly example of my parents' guidance over the years. 

If I were in my parents' situation, I would imagine that I would be eagerly awaiting my youngest child's graduation so I could reclaim my home; but knowing my parents, they would probably build a few more houses on our large chunk of land so that we could all live right next door to them. Not that we would all choose to do so, but our parents made sure we knew we could always come home, no matter how far we had gone or how long we had been away. 

My mom, sisters and I talked about school, work, and relationships, especially since Lauren had started dating a guy that she had met in her digital design class.

"Don't make me a grandmother before I'm fifty," my mother told her dryly. 

"Mom, seriously? Give me some credit," Lauren laughed, knowing there was a teasing tone hidden under my mother's outwardly stoic statement. 

"I want to feel young for another few years," she reasoned, giving us a smirk. "When fifty hits, there's no way I can trick myself into believing I'm still young."

"Mom," Charlotte said with just a hint of sarcasm in her voice, "You're always as young as you feel."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Mom sneered at my sister, but then she cracked up laughing, along with us. 

Thus was our method of relating, a little dry, biting humor but knowing that it was all in fun. When we really needed one another, all teasing was dropped and we had each other's backs. And we all knew it.

When we returned home, Dad and two of my brothers, Collin and Sean, were loading up the van with what looked like thrift store donations as well as some new things, like boxes filled with bottles of shampoo, toothpaste, and some dry food items. 

"What are you doing?" I asked. 

Sean grabbed me and pulled me into a hug because he hadn't been awake yet when I first got home. "Hey, bitch," he said and my father shot a sharp glance at him.

"Don't call your sister that," Dad snapped.

"It's a term of endearment," Sean explained. "See? She doesn't care."

"I beg to differ," I said, pulling myself out of his grasp. "Girls can call each other bitch in a friendly way, but guys can't get away with it the same way." 

"See?" Dad said, lifted his eyebrows at Sean. "I raised you better than that. I don't care what the current fad is." 

"Fad isn't a fad, Dad," Sean teased.

"What?" 

"People don't really use the word fad anymore," Sean explained slowly.

I couldn't tell if Dad was getting irritated or just wasn't buying Sean's crap. "Just use some respect when speaking to your sister." 

"I'm sorry," Sean told me. He gave me an exaggerated puppy dog face, which made me laugh. 

"I asked what you guys are doing," I reminded them.

"There's a new homeless shelter downtown. Mom and I decided to help them out with some of the donations they're requesting. Blankets and sheets, toiletries, you know. It sounds like a cool program. They are going to have volunteers who come in during the day and offer classes on everything from basic finance to web design. It sounds very promising."

"Downtown Troy or Downtown Detroit?" I asked. 

"Detroit," he answered. "Not far from where you live, actually."

This intrigued me. "When will they open? I know someone who could probably benefit from their services."

"You know a homeless person?" Sean asked. 

"Maybe. I'm not sure if he's homeless. He's been hanging out at the library a lot. I just wonder if he needs help," I explained.

"What makes you think he's homeless?" Dad asked. 

"He's dressed in the same grubby, smelly clothes every day, and he just seems, well, unshowered, at least," I offered, lacking for a better description of his odor. "His hair is long and ratty. I just kind of think he has no place else to go."

"That's a possibility," my father agreed. "We're not bringing this stuff into town today. It's getting too late. I'll probably go after work some time this coming week. I'll ask when they're opening and let you know." 

"Cool," I smiled. "Let me know when you're coming. Maybe we could grab dinner or something."

"Sure, that sounds great," he agreed.

That whole conversation brought The Man back to the front of my mind. That was the nickname I adopted for him. Not very original, but my brain was getting tired of referring to him as that guy who hangs out on the third floor of the library and smells like garbage. I thought about my wild reaction when I thought I saw him on the way home from the concert. I couldn't understand my concern for him; after all, he was dirty, smelly and hadn't changed clothes in far too long. I finally decided that the root of my obsession was simply a desire to help him.

Obviously, I couldn't fix everything for him, especially if he was homeless and jobless. But I could protect this private space for him, for a while at least, unless he became a problem. I could feed him. I could certainly direct him to the new homeless shelter when it opened. Those things, I could do. I was glad to have some ideas, but I wished I could do more. 

On Monday morning, I stood in line at the Daily Bagel, waiting to order three cups of coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and two pumpkin spice muffins. I had no idea what The Man would like, but I hoped that at least one of those things would suit his tastes. 

As usual, I set Beth's cup of coffee on her desk. I kept my large jacket on, which I'd worn specifically for the purpose of smuggling breakfast to The Man. Instead of doing the morning check in, I went straight to the top floor to see if he was there yet. Who knew if he would show up at all today? I set the food on a table in the corner and caught no sight of him, so I returned to the first floor, retrieved my cart, and began the daily task of checking in books.

It was another mammoth load of books, typical for a Monday. The library was closed every Sunday, and everyone seemed to use the weekend to finish up all their reading. After the arduous task of checking them all in, as well as inspecting them for damage, and placing them in catalog order on my cart, I returned to the third floor.

I could still smell the food I had left on the corner table. My stomach growled, and then I realized that I had been so focused on getting food for this guy that I had forgotten to eat. I pulled out one of the muffins and set it aside to have with my coffee later.

When I discovered he was there again, in the very same spot he had occupied for all of last week, I picked up the bag and one of the coffees. Fighting my nervousness, I approached him. "Good morning," I said quietly. I simply set the bag and cup down and backed away, like I was feeding a ravenous dog. "I...I thought you might be hungry." Then I hurried back to the cart and immersed myself in call numbers and author's last names. 

When I was almost finished, I sensed him close to me just as he cleared his throat. His warning wasn't quite enough to stall my startled reaction.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Uh, thanks." Then he turned around and went back to his table. 

I stood there, still stunned, not so much because he had taken me by surprise, but because he had spoken to me. A mere three words which told me that he had a deep voice and it was soft as silk. Hard to tell with just three words, but I thought maybe he had an accent as well. I saw his entire face, at least what wasn't covered by stubble. And I saw his eyes again; they were so bright compared to the rest of him, but that spoke to me more than an entire conversation. He was alive inside and not completely cut off from the world. 

The rest of the day felt warm and my spirits were soaring. It brought me joy to do something nice, for sure, but I was even more grateful that I had made a connection. Now, I was more eager to find out more about the new homeless shelter that my father had mentioned and maybe I could offer him more assistance.

Before I left for the day, I went upstairs to make sure there wasn't a mess from the food I'd brought for The Man. I was surprised to find the table neat and tidy, lamp turned off. As I went back to the elevator, I noticed the bag and empty coffee cup discarded neatly in the trash bin. Well good, I thought, at least I know he likes the food I brought.

I bought the same thing for him for most of the week, not forgetting to feed myself again. When I placed the bag and coffee cup on the table on Friday, I asked, "Is there something you'd like better? I could get you some tea instead. Or maybe a quiche." 

He looked back up at me and I was rewarded not only by his pretty green eyes but also by a small smile, which made his eyes even brighter. "You don't have to keep doing this, you know. Although it's very kind of you." 

British. He was British, as far as I could tell by his accent. His deep, fluid voice stood in direct contrast to his appearance. Had I been speaking to him over the phone, I might have imagined him with neatly trimmed hair, a clean face, wearing a business suit and smelling of some Tom Ford cologne. 

"It's all right. I just noticed that you've been here...a lot and I thought I might just bring you something to eat since I stop for coffee every day anyway," I explained. 

"Well, thank you," he said again. "The food is perfect, but please don't go out of your way for  me. I can fend for myself all right." His smile widened a bit and my insides fluttered, but it was strange that I couldn't tell whether it was because I felt good about helping him, or just because his smile was so lovely. He was rather good-looking, or would be if all that hair weren't in the way, facial and otherwise. 

"You're welcome," I said. "My name is Regan. Just let me know if you need help finding anything."

He nodded without reciprocating his name, and then his head fell back into the books. 

Monday and Tuesday of the following week, I brought food for him and he wasn't there. Wednesday, I didn't bring food and he was there. I shelved the few books from that floor and said a polite Hello, getting his cordial nod in return. 

When I arrived at noon on Thursday, Beth pulled me aside. "Hey, I shelved the books this morning and there was some freak sitting in the corner, reading books about Alaska." 

"That's not very nice," I gently corrected her.

"What?"

"Calling him a freak."

"You should go and have a look for yourself," she insisted. 

"Okay," I relented. "I know who you're talking about. He's been here every day for over a week. In fact, I brought him breakfast a few times." 

"What?" She yelled and then slapped her hand over her mouth, lowering her voice to a loud whisper. "Why did you do that? He's clearly homeless and now he's going to be here every day waiting for handouts. Gabby will kill you if she finds out." 

I swallowed and steadied myself, feeling a sliver of humiliation. I knew it appeared that I was being naive or too soft-hearted to realize that he might be taking advantage of me, but I was convinced there was something more, some other way I could help him. I wanted to keep him around until I figured out how. I wasn't going to tell Beth that, though. She was already looking at me like I was certifiably insane.

"I know. I just thought, well, he looks kind of lost." 

"He's not lost!" She hissed in a whisper. "He's loitering. He can't stay up there all day." 

"Why not?" I retorted, placing my hands indignantly on my hips. 

"Because it's not allowed."

"Beth, every single time I've seen him, he's had his nose buried in a book. Since when did we start enforcing time limits on our patrons?" I challenged her. 

"Since he's homeless," she argued. "He's just here for the warmth."

I was truly upset with her, even though I had arrived at the same conclusion. "Homeless people are not excluded from the library. He's been reading our books, all day, every day. Besides, he cleans up after himself and he hasn't caused any trouble. In fact, you didn't even know he was here until today." 

"Fine," she huffed. "But if Gabby finds out you've been allowing him to stay - and bringing him food, for heaven's sake! - I'm going to say I knew nothing of it." 

"Thanks," I said, hugging her briefly. 

"Yeah, yeah," she said, cracking a smile. "Was that who you thought you saw walking down the street the night we went to the concert?"

I shrugged and replied sheepishly. "Yeah." 

"Just don't get too involved," she admonished me. "You're not going to be able to do much for him in the long run." 

I didn't answer her out loud, but in my mind, I was saying, I'm already too involved.

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The song for this chapter is "Give Me Your Eyes," by Brandon Heath. It's a Christian song, but I think it's a good reminder to all of us that we need to stop and notice other people in our lives once in a while, to think about what they're going through and to realize that we all have burdens and challenges in our life. The way that Regan is so concerned for The Man is how I hope to live my life, looking at everyone I encounter and trying to make their day, or even their life, better.

The comments that Regan's mother made when people asked her if she was Catholic (i.e. if that was why she had so many children) were actual things that my friends have said to people. Many of my friends are Catholic (I am as well, but I identify myself as a Christian more than a Catholic), and they have big families. There is no rule that Catholics have to have big families, but many choose to do so based on their own convictions. My neighbor across the street is one of my best friends and she has 8 children. She often got the question about why she had so many children (like it's anyone else's business!!!) and she has said, "My husband and I just really enjoy sex." I always laugh when I think of that because it's a good way to put someone in their place if they have the gall to ask such a personal question, lol.

Hope you're enjoying the story! <3