EYES TO SEE

I had seen her many times, but I generally looked away. She walked up and down West End, almost obsessively, talking to herself as cars passed. She was obviously homeless, but I never saw her ask for money. She was just there, invisible to most, but always walking.

Day after day, she stumbled down that busy street. I didn’t know anything about her, but in seeing her so regularly, I felt a connection that’s hard to explain. She was a total stranger, and yet I almost knew her.

I remember feeling one day that I needed to help her. I ignored the thought. With the rush of traffic, I couldn’t stop to talk with her, and I never saw her in other areas. These were convenient excuses.

A few weeks later, I took my typical route to campus, but it was later in the day than I usually arrived. I stopped at a crosswalk by the Mellow Mushroom Pizzeria, and there she was crossing at Grand Avenue. She reached the corner without grace, nearly running into me. Her body was skin and bones. She was starving to death. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at my face. Then, she said: “You have beautiful eyes.” I thanked her and asked her name. She replied, “Julie.”

I reached into my wallet and gave her $20. She accepted, but received the bill as a valueless scrap of paper. Julie was distant. She looked at me, through me really, and then continued toward the West End path she knew so well. I never saw her again. She likely died that night. I doubt the busy commuters even noticed her absence, but Julie also had beautiful eyes, and I will never forget them.