One Man's Pursuit Pt. Two

As he opened the doors leading onto the street, he was bombarded with exotic smells, luxuriant colours, and people everywhere talking on their Blackberry’s. The young man had entered a twilight zone, but soon felt right at home with the Urbanites. People in the city seemed to be just like him; lonely and insecure. Although he felt this way, he couldn’t help but be moved by the life of the city. His feet lightly tapped as he walked past street performers, and his pocket change added a nice rhythm to their melodramatic tunes as he threw it into their cases.

Seclusion was one way to live life, but there was something about the city that brought colour to his cheeks and filled his lungs with tasteful air. Life couldn’t be lived hidden under a box, and he was slowly learning that he needed to find some way to make a difference. Philosophizing about everything didn’t mean change would happen. Revolution had to begin within himself.

The sidewalk became more crowded as he headed towards the market, and so he began to walk on the street, blocking bike riders and skateboarders who yelled at him to move. A man was drawing some sort of picture on the sidewalk, and he realized this was why so many people were concentrated in this area. It had to be something controversial because a lot of yelling and chaos was beginning to take place. As he made his way closer, he saw a picture of two bloody hands drawn with chalk. Although he had little Sunday School knowledge, he assumed the picture represented the hands of Jesus. The artist left no inscription underneath his picture, but made his statement without being Pharisee-like. He was amazed that this young artist, who was probably a few years younger than him, was making this bold statement of his faith, but wasn’t condemning anyone who spat on his picture or told him to go die for drawing such a controversial image in a diverse city. The artist walked away, and it was finished.

The young man began to ponder this image in his head and thought about why the artist would have chosen that picture to represent his faith. He began to compare the artist to J.P. Andel, and saw a striking resemblance in how both men chose to live their lives.

He walked onward, noticing the breathtaking sights that demonstrated how people lived their lives each day. He was always curious about what got people going every morning and what gave them a sense that their lives were meaningful. He saw a sign being waved a few blocks away and decided to see if the sign would bring any revelation to his wandering mind.

A well-dressed man held a sign that proclaimed, “The Love of Jesus is for All”. The man held this sign with much dignity and pride, and the young man couldn’t help but smile and take a pamphlet from the young woman accompanying him. He glanced over the paper quickly and hoped it would shed some truth on his situation. He stared at the man for answers, but he only continued to raise his sign higher and shout the words out with fervency. As the young man began to pretend to read the pamphlet in hopes that the old man would put down his sign to share his faith with him, a man in tattered clothes and a dirty face walked past the uptight, well-dressed old man with a hearty smile, mouthing “God bless you”. The old man finally put down his sign, and instead of welcoming the dirty man into his circle, gave him a look of complete disgust and hatred. The young man felt degraded after seeing this act, feeling like a hole had been pierced into his heart. He wanted to slam the sign over the hypocrite's face and teach him a lesson, but he decided to hold his anger and continue to walk. He believed his atheism was more logical at that moment because he could love someone without being told to by some ancient book.

His feet slowly stopped tapping to the rhythm of the trumpet he heard in the background, and he began to mourn for the old man’s loss of sympathy. He eventually made it to the business district in the city, feeling bewildered and out of place. He did not fit in with the men and their pin-stripped suits or the women with their Coach handbags. No one seemed to pay any attention to the man on the corner selling newspapers. With brokenness in his eyes, he languidly asked people if they wanted to purchase a newspaper. No one gave him a second glance. They continued to walk on, texting on their cell phones, having no care whatsoever for the man standing there longing for a little attention.

The young man pulled out the extra change from his pocket and approached the man to purchase a newspaper. The man was so touched by this, and couldn’t stop thanking him. He decided to start a conversation with the man, and suddenly had this burning sensation in his heart after listening to the man’s story. He thought about how other people would treat the man after they heard what brought him to the streets in the first place. What broke his heart was the thought that no one would ever have the love or the time to talk to ask him this question. Their lives were much more important than someone else’s. He slowly started to walk away while shoving the newspaper into his backpack. He never wanted a newspaper in the first place, but he wanted a chance to listen to someone who just wanted another human to talk to. Although the young man took more pride in the way he dressed compared to the newspaper seller, he knew they both had more in common than he would ever have suspected.

After spending much of his life reading books, he believed he understood human beings. He thought they were all the same: selfish, unhappy, and full of pride. His philosophy whispered that to him everyday. Though that was his interpretation from the books he read, he felt it was true after observing people in their natural habitats. People like to think they love others, but he knew human love never sufficed.

He recalled a lecture from one of his first year university professors who taught him that each of us long for a home, that we are all homeless. He believed people knew this deep down, but were unwilling to admit it. Their masks had attached themselves too tightly to the face, causing any sign of genuiness to suffocate.

The young man was disheartened by the acts he had already witnessed and believed it was time for it to end. His search for purpose had been in vain. Purpose could not be found. The only purpose people would ever find in life would be after death. Death had to be the answer. Every great artist, thinker, and writer eventually died. Humans were mortal. He needed a plan. He knew the train schedule like the back of his hand, and decided at approximately 5:23 he would walk along the tracks, hoping to meet the 5:34 train. He set the alarm on his favourite silver watch to 5:23, and sighed one of those relieving sighs that comes when you know the end is near.

He had been in the city for a few hours already and decided he should get something to eat before he met his demise and have his own “Last Supper”. He loved how everywhere he turned there was a Tim Hortons right in front of him. He opened the door of the nearest franchise, and gave a joyous quiver as he breathed in the sweet aroma of roasted coffee beans. He waited in line, tapping his foot to any beats he could hear, and placed his order. He sat near a window, placed his iPod to his ears, and immersed himself in sweet melodies. After finishing his meal, he grabbed his extra-large “triple triple” and walked out the door. An old man in a wheelchair with a tiny dog stood outside the entrance holding a ripped coffee cup and mumbled to himself. People threw change into the cup without glancing at the man once. Their good deed had been done for the day, and there was nothing left for them to do. The young man stood there in utter shame and shock. Hypocrisy had gone too far. Compassion seemed lost in this cruel world. He approached the elderly man and smiled a heart-warming smile. The man asked if he could spare some change. He had none to give. All he had was the silver watch that was his pride and joy. He worked hours and hours to obtain that watch as a teenager. He hoped it would one day lead him to his great destiny. As he stared into those lifeless brown eyes, he knew what his destiny was. He stopped his time-for-death alarm, slowly pulled the watch off his wrist, and placed it into the withered hands of the old man. “I have no change”, he whispered, “but what I have, I give to you”.

The old man shed a tear of delight, thanked him from the bottom of his heart, and repeated, “God bless you”, over and over. The young man’s heart was heavy, and tears burst out of this aching pain. Withered hands dried those tears and the young man fell beside his new kindred spirit. The two were now equals. They were both homeless.

The young man finally found genuine purpose. A glimmer of hope in a smog-filled city. His search was not in vain. Death was not the answer. Philosophy was not the answer. The truth lay in the life of J.P. Andel, the work of the young artist, the smile of the ragged man, and the hands of the homeless cripple.

Instead of riding the 5:34 train to his death, he boarded at 5:24 with the other passengers, arriving at his destination filled with life and love.