Tonight at Sozo Cafe, I met a man who came in from the street. His teeth were rotten, his breath reeked of liquor, his clothes were dirty and his eyes had a pained, but hard look in them. He can't have been older than 40, but wore years of hardship. Short, average build, balding, with a small, round face holding pronounced, Italian features.
"What's goin' on?" I asked, sensing that he was looking for something.
He told me, in drunken speech, that he was going to come back on Friday for open mic night. "Gimme twelve minutes, I'll make this place famous," he said over and over again. "I just gotta express myself, maybe earn a few bucks...that whole starving artist thing, you know?"
"What are you gonna do for open mic?" I asked.
He slowly lowered himself until he was on the same plane as me. He looked at me carefully, his eyes wide and focused all of a sudden. Something big was astir in his heart. He rapped. It flowed smoothly, obviously rehearsed, but with such depth of feeling that I knew it was his own.
I don't remember the words, but I remember the story.
He was just an average kid once, with parents and siblings and a place to lay his head. He had gone to school, played sports, loved life. Eventually, he had married and had a daughter, but they were killed in the street by a drunk driver. After that, he snapped. He got into all the wrong stuff, and had just gotten out of 15 years in prison.
Background story in place, he launched into another rap, "But I've Had My Moments." Story after story of his trials and shortcomings, he repeated this phrase.
It was then that I realized it: this is not just a crazy, drunk man who wants money to buy drugs. This is a human being who needs grace and love and who desires inner peace as much as I do. He is a soul. I looked at him and I loved him. I stopped simply listening to the words, and I looked into his eyes. Then he cried. Ashamed, he ended his rap, wiped his tears and stood up.
Before he left, I asked him what his name was.
"Nobody, from nowhere," he answered. "Just passin' through."
"There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendors."
--C.S. Lewis
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