Two Stories

The story about meeting a big fit Mountie in the (straight) hotel bar, going up to his room, kissing some, going to the door & unlocking it, announcing she wasn’t always a woman, and when he said “Not a problem to me,” barring the door again so she could spend the night in his arms, well, that was a story my friend could tell with wit & pride.

But the story about seeing the leftover pizza in the car and then seeing the homeless man sleeping on the grate and offering it to him, about seeing him the next night and going to McDonalds to buy him a sack of double cheeseburgers, about leaving a bag of t-shirts and a bible before she left, well, that story was harder to tell, one saved for special friends, for safe space.

The encounter with the Mountie was a standard story of being affirmed in status, one that touched bodies, but the encounter with the homeless man was a secret, sacred story of being vulnerable and caring, one that touched hearts.  

It’s good for me to know that we can have enough social standing to entertain and warm another through a long cold night far away from home.

It’s better for me to know that we can have enough compassion and wherewithal to open our hearts to those who we can help.

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