I am watching him sleep in the corner. He is slumped over a book in the children’s section. The book is open on his lap. You cannot see his face under the series of greased curls that extend to his shoulder.
His hands are spread flat on the book in his lap. The dirt under his nails give the impression that he has dug his way through life or maybe dug through a garbage can for food.
All of the sudden the bus I was riding on was surrounded by more than 200 boys who were screaming and yelling. I got nervous and moved towards my window. Were they going to rock and tip the bus over? I asked the bus assistant, ‘What is happening?!’ He said, ‘Celebration!’ I saw all the boys with their school uniform ties tied around their heads and shaking branches of trees. I said, ‘Football?’ I figured their favorite soccer team might have won. He said, ‘No, school.’
The pain is not in the fact that I had to hide my religion, because I have no religion to hide.
The pain is that you internalized the condition to the point that you no longer feel that you can have your direct connection and therefore, I cannot have mine.
The pain is that you feel you have to go through someone to reach Life.