Open Letter to the Man Who Sleeps in Our Stairwell

You startled me.  When I turned to walk up the parking garage stairway and saw you lying over in the corner, you startled me.  You didn't mean to, I know.  It's just that I'm not used to seeing anything over in that corner of the Washington Park Garage, let alone a body.  

I took a few steps forward and my hand took hold of the stair rail as if to begin my ascent.  But I couldn't.  I had to pause for a moment to get a good look at you.  You were lying on your stomach, using your bag as a pillow.  My body took a chill when I thought of yours pressed against the cold, cold concrete.  Your coat was decorated with black scuff marks, dirt, and stains.  It wasn't a proper winter coat.

As one would do for a cranky toddler, I began to rummage through my purse looking for something, anything, to give you.  I cupped the contents of the bottom of my purse for anything packaged, edible.  I sifted through the lip gloss, pens, and grocery store receipts.  I was only able to produce some loose and very dirty Snow Caps candies.

I failed you.

I began to walk up the stairs feeling defeated.  As I reached the ground floor, Washington Park Events photographs were streaming across the television up on the wall.  They showed pictures of green grass, happy folks, and sun.  I thought about the warmth and happiness being depicted on the ground floor and what must be bitter cold and sadness happening on the lower level.

When I got into work, I decided that I would bring you a cup of hot cocoa.  It would warm you from the inside out.  I thought about your belly on that cold concrete again.  I rummaged through the boxes of K-cups of coffee and tea.  No hot cocoa.  I slung open drawers hoping to find just one, I just needed one K-cup of cocoa.  I was even going to sprinkle some marshmallows in there for you.  You looked like you would be the kind of person who would put marshmallows in your hot cocoa.

I pushed past the boxes of artificial sweeteners and coffee supplies.  I must have looked mad; insane.  A co-worker came up behind me and asked what I was doing.  I told her that I was looking for cocoa.  She told me that we were out of it.  I looked at her, despair written on my face. I really hoped she would reach into the back of the cabinet, and say "Except for this one!" and hand me the cocoa.  But she didn't. 

I failed you.

I leaned against the kitchen window and stared down into the parking garage.  I wondered if you were awake and thinking how nice it would be to have a cup of hot cocoa right now.  I decided that, after work, I would just walk to the 1215 Wine Bar & Coffee Lab and buy you a big cup of hot cocoa.  The fancy kind, rich with chocolate.  That's what I would do.  I pictured your smile as you wrapped your gloved fingers around the disposable cup and drank in it's goodness.

After work, I jaywalked in a diagonal fashion across the street to the parking garage.  I had no time to waste.  You had been waiting on me all day.  Oh, you were probably frozen to the bone by now!  I had to tell you that I just needed you to stay put while I walked a few blocks to get your cocoa.  You were going to love this cocoa.  I zig-zagged in between people walking up and down the stairs just to get to you faster. 

I turned the corner, expecting to see you lying on your stomach, using your bag as a pillow.  But you were gone.

I failed you.