“I tell you one thang, they shore ‘nuff can make a good cookie! Man, they put a white chocolate chip in it, and drizzle some of that caramel on top, and buddy, you got’chu a good’n then.”
Bede was always amused listening to Larry talk out loud to no one. What made it funnier to Bede was the fact that Larry bore a striking resemblance to an old fashioned sea captain, the kind you saw in period movies or cursing the “pesky kids who foiled his plot to scare away tourists” in episodes of Scooby-Doo. Sometimes he reminded Bede of Popeye, the way he jutted his chin out and strained his neck, muttering through a clenched jaw and squinted eye.
Most people have one or maybe two distinct features that stand out, the things you notice first, things that come to be the source of cruel nicknames in grade school. With Larry it was as if all of his features were pronounced. No matter the time of day or day of the week, Larry’s hair always looked wet, his long curls spiraling in a dozen directions when he removed his toboggan. HIs face was rippled like the surface of the sand in the desert, formed by wind and baked into place by the endless rays of the sun. Both of his eyes bulged out like hazel painted ping pong balls, and each was slightly off center and focused in different directions. He had what people referred to as “the crazy eyes”, the kind folks found both comical and disturbing simultaneously. When Bede was a teenager he worked with an old man who described folks with eyes like this as, “A dude that can look both ways at the same time when crossing the street.” Bede felt a tug of shame as he grinned remembering that expression while looking at Larry. Perhaps his eyes were like that because of some chronic illness or tragic accident, or maybe it was just from years spent living on the street having to constantly be looking in every direction to stay safe without anyone to watch your back.
Bede’s favorite of Larry’s characteristics was his beard, which was permanently perpendicular to his body. Bede thought that it would look like a Pharaoh’s beard if it were trimmed and shaped. The scraggly copper, brown, and gray whiskers grew downward an inch or two but then abruptly jutted outward as if pointing forward or being blown by imperceptible wind. He was curious if the years spent on the streets in the wind and freezing rain had cemented his beard into this position.
The pièce de résistance of his many distinct features was his voice, more like a growl, that was not just deep in its timbre, but seemingly in its origin. Whereas most people speak from their lips and the tip of their tongue, Larry’s words erupted from deep within his chest, exploding from his mouth like steam from a geyser. His was a voice like you would expect from a pirate captain accustomed to barking orders to a crew of dozens over the booming of canons, the crashing of waves and the howling of wind.
His clothing rarely changed, almost as if this was his uniform. In the summer it was the same Batman logo shirt, gray pants and black slide on dress shoes. In the winter it was the same, only topped with a dirty designer jacket, a terra cotta colored toboggan, and gray wool socks, which he always wore on the outside of his pants leg. It might as well have been a uniform because he wore it every day and showed up outside the coffee shop everyday like he was reporting for duty.
Sometimes Bede wondered if Larry was an object of pity or admiration. Both of them were spending this mild fall afternoon outside of this coffee shop, enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of a fall Friday evening. Each of them wearing a designer jacket, though Larry’s was weathered and worn. What Bede had paid several hundred dollars for, Larry received as a gift from the designer whose high end retail shop was just a few dozen feet away. Both of them were enjoying a warm coffee, but only Bede had to pay for his. The same five dollar coffee he was drinking had been gifted to Larry by the barista with the multi-colored hair and multi-pierced face, a ritual she performed several times a day with the same devotion as a believer performing the liturgy. They ate the same muffins and drank the same coffee outside the same coffee shop, wore the same jacket, but while Bede sat in silence, Larry stood talking and laughing as if he were surrounded by his oldest and dearest friends.
“I wonder who he is talking to, in his own mind”, Bede wondered as he listened to Larry lecture about the “special flour and free range eggs they use” to make the cookies. His cookie monologue was going on fifteen minutes by this point.
“Is he just reliving some long ago conversation with his wife or maybe his son and this memory is just stuck on an endless loop in his mind? Is this one of the last remaining happy memories that he can recall and he just wants to relive this moment that is long gone? Was he just so lonely, so long ignored and overlooked that he learned to talk to himself or create some imaginary friend to keep him company?” In a way it was impressive how committed to the conversation he was, even pausing occasionally as if listening to some invisible speaker who was asking questions and yearning for greater detail. Bede couldn’t help but wonder if Larry had been a talented actor long ago and these discussions were really just dialogue from plays or commercials, maybe even a movie; lines so engrained in his brain from hours of rehearsal that they were permanently etched in its folds. Maybe his blossoming career was derailed by drugs or tragedy or mental illness, leaving him destined to star in sidewalk performances where no one paid attention, much less paid for a ticket.
Most of the business owners downtown treated Larry well, feeding and clothing him with offerings from their stores, but not everyone was as willing to tolerate the often loud speeches he gave within a few feet of patrons. The police knew him well and often interrupted his conversations, not because he was threat to anyone or breaking any laws, but mainly because his mere existence tended to make people uncomfortable. Most days he walked laps around the downtown business district. High end shops, restaurants, coffee houses and theaters lined the block and sometimes customers were disturbed by his soliloquies, so they called the police and feigned “concern for this man experiencing a mental break.” Bede always found it disappointing that stray dogs, birds and rodents like squirrels were greeted with smiles by this same clientel who tossed them scraps of bread while Larry, the stray human, was ignored at best and run off at worst.
Larry wasn’t an easy person to get to know, but Bede had tried over the years. When he noticed Larry standing around being ignored he would buy him a coffee or a muffin or a Diet Coke and bring it to him. Larry rarely responded, usually just taking the offering and walking away, continuing his conversation with no one and everyone. On one occasion Bede was taken aback when Larry took the muffin from his hand and announced, “My birthday is August 26th. I’ll be 69 years old.” Bede wasn’t exactly sure if Larry was saying this to him or to the invisible person he was always conversing with. Regardless, Bede replied, “Really! Wow! You don’t look anywhere near that old Larry.” Larry didn’t respond, he just walked away unwrapping the cellophane from the still warm banana walnut muffin.
August 26th was just a few weeks away and when the day finally rolled around Bede made it a point to be at the coffee shop early with a birthday card and $20 bill for Larry. When he saw Larry making his way up the sidewalk he went out to meet him. “Happy birthday Larry!”, Bede greeted him enthusiastically. For the first time he saw something different on Larry’s face….recognition. Whenever he engaged Larry in the past the response was somewhat distracted. It was as if Larry didn’t really see him but was looking at someone, somewhere else. This time Larry looked him in the eyes and smiled. Almost as quickly he began talking, not so much as “to” Bede, but in simply in the presence of Bede. He realized Larry was likely talking to whomever he normally was talking to, but he was still maintaining eye contact with Bede. It reminded Bede of the way his great grandmother used to look through him, talking to the ghosts of people long gone as her Alzheimer’s progressed. Larry’s conversation was erratic, as usual, talking about socks and a church and a nearby town. None of it was comprehensible to Bede but he listened politely, trying to see if he could make sense of anything Larry was saying, but it was useless. They were eye to eye but Larry was talking to someone else, Bede just happened to be a bystander for their conversation. After a couple of minutes Larry walked away, still muttering, and Bede went back to his laptop and latte.
That interaction was a couple of months ago and Bede had noticed in the weeks since that whenever Larry would stop and talk to no one he would usually stand next to where Bede was sitting. Bede couldn’t help but feel that even though they didn’t have anything remotely like a conversation, they had made some kind of, even if ever so brief, connection. Larry saw Bede and Bede saw Larry, if just for a moment.
Sitting, smiling, and listening to Larry’s dissertation on caramel drizzled white chocolate macadamia cookies today, Bede was suddenly struck with a crushing pain across his chest. It was as if he had been blindsided by a blitzing linebacker, sending pain radiating throughout his body and knocking all the breath from his lungs. Disoriented and confused, Bede realized he was looking up at the sky from the rough concrete sidewalk.
“How did I get down here? What hit me? Have I been shot? Did a car jump the curb behind me and plow me down?”, Bede wondered as a dozen thoughts flooded his brain at once. Those thoughts were almost instantly driven from his mind by a pain like he’d never experienced. For the first time in his life Bede hurt so bad that he knew he had to be dying. He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t think, and the edges of his vision began to blur and darken. The only thing keeping him conscious was his panic at realizing no one else was outside on the sidewalk today, except for Larry. On a typical day the outdoor seating would be filled with artists, musicians, and college students on breaks between classes, but today of all days, it was just Larry and one other guy.
“Wait, there’s somebody with Larry! Larry’s talking with somebody!”, Bede thought hopefully. “Surely this guy will see me and come to my rescue.” Bede kept his eyes focused on the man hoping to make eye contact, praying he would notice the commotion just a few feet away. No sooner than the thought swept across his mind, the man talking with Larry turned and looked him straight in the eyes. Oddly, another thought crossed his mind, “Where did this guy come from? He wasn’t there two seconds ago. I’ve been sitting here for half an hour. Larry’s only been here for fifteen minutes and no one has walked by or come in or out during that time. I’ve never seen him here before, but he looks so familiar.” When you are dying, mere seconds can stretch out for an eternity. Bede couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew this man, even though he’d never seen him here before. For a brief moment all the pain, the fear, the confusion, melted away as peace washed over him, and then, clarity. “I know him, I know who that man is!”, Bede thought as the darkness at the edges of his vision began to fill his mind, body, and vision.
One of the last things he saw before he succumbed to the darkness was the man gesturing to Larry to move closer to where Bede was lying. Together they walked right next to Bede, practically standing over him, the man lovingly looking down at him and Larry frantically ranting about something Bede couldn’t quite make out, his arms waiving in a wild motion over his head. As his eyes blinked slower and slower, his lids staying closed for longer periods of time, Bede focused on the man in wonder and amazement. In the distance he could hear the wail of sirens, though the sound was muffled like it was coming from the bottom of a well. Next he could see the lights reflecting off the plate glass windows of the coffee house as police cars approached. The last thing Bede saw before fading into unconsciousness was the police rushing up, grabbing Larry and throwing him to the ground just feet from Bede’s face. Bede was lying on his back on the concrete looking into the eyes of Larry who was facedown on the sidewalk looking back at him with those wild eyes. Exhausted, Bede finally yielded to the encroaching darkness as a single word passed across his lips, “Jesus.”
When Bede came to in the hospital a few days later, his entire body aching with every movement and breath due to the life saving surgery that restored blood flow to his heart, his mind immediately went to Larry. Although he persisted in asking about Larry, the nurses continually dismissed his questions and told him to just rest, to stay calm and to not worry. The next few days were filled with frustration and pain as he began the lengthy rehabilitation necessary to enable him to resume normal function. No one seemed interested in entertaining his questions about the homeless man from the coffee shop. After a week, his body and his brain were returning to normal enough that he was able to converse with his wife about the events of that afternoon. Over the course of the next half hour she explained things as they had been told to her by the doctors and police who occasionally stopped by his room to see if he was able to give a statement. Someone inside the coffee shop heard Larry shouting and waving his hands wildly while standing over an unconscious man, lying on the sidewalk bleeding from his head. The patron assumed that Larry the crazy homeless man had finally crossed the line and attacked an innocent person. Someone called 911 and frantically told the dispatcher that a homeless man had just attacked a customer. The police arrived before the ambulance and saw Larry, still ranting and raving, standing over Bede. Believing Larry to be a threat and perpetrator of violence, they tackled him to the sidewalk, roughly handcuffing him and throwing him into the back of the squad car. Larry, confused and scared, instinctively fought back which only made things worse for him. Within a matter of minutes he was removed from the scene to make room for the now arriving paramedics to begin their life saving work on the dying man. With Bede unconscious there was no one to defend Larry, no one to explain what had really happened. Larry hadn’t hurt Bede, he saved him. It was his wild and loud talking that drew the attention of the people inside the coffee shop and prompted them to call 911.
Bede spent the next couple of weeks in the hospital, trying to locate Larry through calls to the police department, the coffee shop, public defenders, hospitals, anyone he thought might listen or have information concerning his whereabouts. Bede grew more and more frustrated as he encountered people who didn’t understand or didn’t seem to care to answer his questions. The best he could get was that Larry had been belligerent and resistant to the police, resulting in him being moved from the jail to a facility for mental evaluation, perhaps a VA affiliated hospital.
Upon release from the hospital Bede had to spend the next twelve weeks in rehabilitation, trying to get his back back to normal function. Larry stayed on his mind every day as his frustration grew with his inability to locate him and with the lack of concern shown by the institutions responsible for insuring justice. Larry was one of the most vulnerable among us, homeless, perhaps mentally ill, and yet he was being devoured by a system that was intended to protect people like him. One positive from his long recovery was that it gave him time to reflect on what he thought he knew about Larry and about everything that happened that day.
The whole time Bede had known Larry he’d assumed Larry was mentally ill, and maybe he was, but now he believed there was more to it, something he couldn’t explain. Bede couldn’t tell anyone because he knew they’d never believe it. Bede would never believe it if he hadn’t experienced it, and even then he struggled with what he saw. Was it just a hallucination, a near death experience, or was it real? Though logic suggested otherwise, Bede knew in his heart it was all real. Larry spent his days walking around town talking with Jesus and on this day Jesus used Larry to save his life. When you are dying none of the things that consume your energy and attention are relevant anymore. They fall away like autumn winds in the breeze, leaving only the branches of the tree. Perhaps it was all of cares of this life falling away from Bede’s eyes and mind that freed him to finally see that Jesus was always there, He was just obscured by the pursuit of food, possessions, notoriety, achievement, all the things that take precedent over seeing Him. Maybe that is why Larry could see Him so clearly and converse with Him so freely. Larry had none of the things that obscured Jesus and he didn’t even pursue them. No one else, Bede included, ever noticed Jesus, but Larry never noticed anyone else but Jesus. For the first time in his life all the distractions and cares and prejudices of life were gone and Bede could see Jesus too, though He’d been there all along, day after day, just a few feet away from him talking with Larry. They weren’t talking about the Bible or heaven and hell or anything more serious and weighty than cookies.
It dawned on Bede that no matter how many times Larry had told Jesus the story about the caramel drizzled cookie He always listened like it was his first time hearing it. He always paid attention like He didn't know where the story was going or the details Larry was going to include and He always asked the same questions, prompting Larry to keep going. All of those days, all of those conversations, all of that talking, Larry was talking to Jesus and he wasn't pouring out his heart, confessing his sins, begging for his needs to be met or asking for his daily bread. Some days he just told Jesus about the best cookie he’d ever eaten in excruciating detail and they laughed together as he remembered that wonderful meal. For Larry this cookie wasn't dessert, it was communion. It was the breaking of bread, fellowship with Jesus. It was food for the soul. It was the conversation that was his daily bread.
Bede couldn’t help but wonder how it all began. How did Larry come to see Jesus? Where did they meet? Was it in childhood long ago or was it after so many years on the street alone, ignored, neglected, unseen? Did Jesus come to him there or did He just start to be visible to Larry once Larry became invisible to most everyone else? Many of the disciples of Jesus had to first lose everything they had, homes, careers, possessions, and sometimes relationships, before they could be with Jesus everyday. Maybe this was true with Larry too. Once he lost everything he could be with Jesus everyday. Maybe he just started talking to Jesus, and the more he talked the more he began to see Jesus, until finally, all day every day, Jesus walked and talked with Larry, conversing like old friends. It wasn’t just Larry talking, Jesus was listening and laughing and asking him questions as if He didn’t know everything about everything Larry was saying.
Bede tried to comfort himself knowing that no matter where Larry was, no matter what situation he was in, he wasn't alone. Larry still had Jesus with him. The more he thought about it the more it became clear that Jesus and Larry helped to heal and restart his heart, but they also changed it. They performed a heart surgery of a sorts, the kind the apostle Paul spoke of in the Bible as “circumcision of the heart”, the removal of the calloused hardness that prevented him from being able to see and hear Jesus everyday in his own life.
Sitting in the same seat where his life almost ended just four months earlier, Bede took a bite out of the best caramel drizzled white chocolate macadamia cookie that he had ever eaten before saying out loud to no one, “They sure enough can make a good cookie!”
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