Food for thought

I rushed in the rain to my appointment, worried that I might be late and keep the bank clerk waiting. The thought of moving into my new apartment in a few hours kept me excited and awake until the early hours. Not even the time to eat breakfast, though my stomach growled as I ran.

Luckily I made it on time, and did what I had to do in the bureaucratic process of obtaining a credit card. A few days before, for a class dealing with philosophical dicussions on law, I had just re-read Kafka's "Before the Law". Suddenly, and ironically, I felt as foolish, or perhaps as wise, as the man from the country struggling to affect the invisible yet overbearing goliath of regulations and rules. Sadly for me, I am defeated, and must obey and wait, and wait, and wait until my door opens, and until I am beckoned in.

I walked towards the metro station, and in the distance the neon-lights of Tim Hortons beckoned me in. The smell of fresh coffee and bagels baking in the oven was welcoming, and I ordered something to go. With my breakfast and cup of cocoa, I stepped into the rain again, and quickly dove towards the nearby metro station.

I ran down the escalaotor, but just in that moment, in the corner of my eye something caught my attention. On the stairs next to the escalator was a vagrant, lying there like a heap of discarded clothes, the steps as his bed. The escalator took me further downward, but my curiosity wanted to go up. I looked at my bagel, and felt the warmth of my hot cocao, and felt the sweet smell entice my nostrils. The image of the man's unkempt hair, soiled garments, and unshaven face lingered. A gust blew, as tires gradually screetched unbearably to a halt.

I lept off of the escalator and clambered up the stairs. I leaned in close to the man, and whispered, "Bonjour... Bonjour...", while tapping him lightly on his shoulder. There was no response, save for the light heaving of his chest with each soft breath. Without thinking, I put the cocao next to the man, and placed the still warm bagel on it. And I ran down the stairs, as quickly as I came, and never looked back.

I could go hungry for a meal, and not eat. But how many meals has the man not eaten, and how hungry must he be? A free gift, the kind that makes hairs on your neck stand straight because for a little moment in this often destitute world there is a gift that warms humanity.

The gift of charity.