He walks around town, pushing a wheel chair piled high with his belongings. His beard is scraggly and he always smells of alcohol. Most of the time, he sleeps on the wheel chair, wrapped in a green sleeping bag. At the different benches around the Garden of Eden, he rests, nodding off beneath the sunlight. People pass by him and some give money to him out of guilt or compassion or to feel better about themselves.
The man spends that money on alcohol. I often wonder what brought him to this point in his life, and I think of Sam, my brother.
We got a phone call this morning that Sam became violently drunk, pushed his friend to the floor, and left the house. Neighbors found Sam out front, splayed on the ground, and a head wound with his blood staining the concrete. So he’s in the hospital in the city somewhere. Eva is with him. She text me an hour ago.
His friend kicked him out of the house. Sam has let his alcohol and his poor choices bring him to this point. You wonder what brings a man to drink and what makes him get to a point that, one day, he will be someone sitting on a bench, nodding off into a drunken slumber, and getting by on scraps until the elements or crime claim his life.
How do you get through the alcohol to a heart lost in its own dark lies?
I’m still praying for him.