Washing in the Rain

I went to the mall after work to have a meal with a friend. It was pouring rain. I parked and walked to the mall entrance, and passed a man.

The man was dressed in old ragged shorts and t-shirt, wearing flip-flops. He was holding a shopping bag in one hand and in the other hand was a bottle of liquid soap. He was using the liquid soap to wash himself, from head to feet, right there in front of the doors, in the pouring rain, with this little bitty bottle of soap.

My thought at that moment was to keep walking, meet my friend on time, and give the guy what bit of privacy he could have. But as I ate my food, sitting in my clean clothes, in my clean skin, in the company of a good friend, my thoughts kept going back to that guy. I did not mention him to my friend, just chewed my food and listened to her talk about her day.

After we finished and I was in my car leaving, I saw him again, walking down the road. The rain had stopped, and he was still soapy. I drove past him, feeling like a fool for not stopping, but what could I have done? I am one old lady. To offer him a ride would have been foolish; I'd be the next headline in this city of daily rape, robbery, and murder. I don't know.

I am thankful that my shitty job affords me the luxury of a roof over my head with running water and electricity.

I am thankful that I know if I were to find myself homeless, my friends would take me in.

I am thankful that I am not that guy, showering in the rain.