I spent a couple of hours roaming the streets, checking on friends, and handing out what I had in my car. That day, I had ice-cold Gatorade and fruit.
Let me just say, cold Gatorade on a hot Texas day can make you extremely popular.
I pulled my car over near a building where two men I knew were sitting in the shade. We visited while they drank their Gatorades and enjoyed the mixed fruit of strawberries, melon, and pineapple, talking about nothing in particular and everything that mattered.
Then I heard mumbling.
Not ordinary mumbling either.
I glanced across the street toward some bushes beside a two-story house and spotted a man walking around, carrying on quite a conversation with himself.
I leaned toward my two friends. “Is he dangerous?”
The man on my left laughed. “No, he’s fine.
He talks to himself. He has people inside his head.”
I watched the man for another second. “So, if I give him something to drink, he’s not going to hurt me?”
The skinny man on my right swallowed his drink and carefully screwed the cap back on. “He’s never hurt anybody before.”
I relaxed.
Then he added, “But there’s always a first.”
Both men burst into laughter and slapped each other on the back.
I spun around. “That is NOT funny! You two are my friends. You’re supposed to protect me.”
They looked at each other. Then, almost in unison, they said, “Friends?
Us?”
More laughter. More carrying on.
Finally, one of them looked at me. “Are we really friends?”
“Yes! Of course we’re friends.”
The thirstier one nodded. “We’d save you. You’re our friend. We’re just kidding.”
I looked across the street again. “I’ll be right back.
I have to go make a new friend.”
They had told me the man’s name, so I grabbed another Ga-torade and one of my Scripture cards and headed across the street. “Larry!” I called.
No response.
“Larry!”
Finally, he twirled around so fast he nearly made me dizzy just watching him.
“Hi, you need something?”
“Yes, Larry. I wanted to give you this Gatorade and share this Bible verse with you.”
He accepted both, studied the Scripture card, looked around suspiciously, and then sat down on the steps of a house that—judging from what happened next— did not belong to him.
Then he looked at me.
“So who told you my name?”
I pointed toward the alley. “Those two guys over there. They—” Nobody was there.
I blinked. “Well, they were right there.”
Larry popped to his feet and moved several steps away from me. “So you talk to people you don’t see?”
“No! Really. Two men were sitting right there.
They had Gatorade. We were talking. They were making fun of me.”
Larry stared at me for a second. Then he laughed. “Sure. Thanks. I gotta be going.”
And just like that, the man who had been talking to people I couldn’t see apparently decided I was the one he needed to get away from. And he disappeared down the street.
I stood there holding the remaining Scripture cards when the front door opened and a woman called through the screen. “Ma’am? Are you lost? Can I help you?”
At this point, I wasn’t entirely sure.
“No, I’m fine. I’ve just been visiting with some of my homeless friends today. I didn’t mean to trespass. One of them came this way, but…” I looked around. Nobody. “I guess he’s gone.”
Then I muttered, mostly to myself, “Or maybe all my friends are invisible today.”
The older woman stepped onto the porch and studied me. “You sure you don’t need some help?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine.” I hurried back across the street toward my car, laughing.
Somewhere between the Gatorade, the Scripture cards, the teasing, and my suddenly disappearing friends, I thought about how grateful I am for the people God has allowed me to know on these streets.
They tease me. They worry me. They make me laugh. And sometimes they even abandon me at the exact moment I need witnesses to prove they exist.
Pam Kumpe
