Sometimes a Little Sand on the Face is the Least of One's Concerns
This next photo-driven post was actually created for my Flickr photo stream, but I decided that there was no reason that it couldn't serve as a Slight Clutter blog entry as well.
 "Swallowed by the Ocean" by Slight Clutter
When I first arrived in Galveston yesterday, I noticed a homeless man, fully clothed, walking thigh deep in the warm Gulf waters. He seemed to be wrapped up in a one-sided conversation with some sad and impotent angels that hovered cruely about him.
Like most of my trips to Galveston, I had gone armed with my camera, ready to steal a hairline of the city's soul with my lens. I knew that this sun-drunken man splashing in the heavy surf before me was all color, was all life, and would make a rich subject for my daily photo diary. I briefly considered taking his photo while he was still head-long in his soliloque, but ultimately opted for restraint. I would wait for his movement shore-bound before approaching him. This movement happened about 20 minutes later.
Drenched and tired from his baptism by salt water, he took his respite in the sand right along the seawall, away from the surfers and left-over spring break revelers. I asked him if he would mind if I took his photo, and with the most childlike smile, he happily obliged me.
 "Sit Down with Me" by Slight Clutter
He then asked if I would sit with him for a while because he needed someone to talk to, someone besides the angels who had circled him dumbfounded just moments earlier. I sat.
The first thing this weathered man did was shake my hand and tell me that he didn't have any place to live, food to eat, water to drink, or people to keep him company. He then asked if I could take him home with me in the least obnoxious, most innocent, and most heart-wrenching manner possible. I told him that I could not, but I sat there and did my best to warm his world with smiles.
He moved me. He made me sad. He reminded me to be thankful. He taught me.
 "Can You See Me?" by Slight Clutter
Now for my shame.
I can't remember this man's name. One of the first things that we did upon meeting was exchange names with a firm handshake, a handshake that indicated to me that there was still a proud man inside the scortched, dirtied, and worn outer layer. We did the whole repeating-name thing that is taught in every networking seminar out there. I told him my name was Katya, and he said, "Katya," to confirm. He told me his name was...(*my shame*)... and I repeated...(*my shame*)...to confirm. I should've remembered. He deserved to linger, with name, in my mind. Instead, he lingers nameless... something that he was so trying to surmount.
Not a good feeling at all.
9:47:59 AM 
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