But now, I really want to know more about him. I'm attracted to him in a way I don't want to be.
I should have never asked him for a beer but here we are, back near campus and sitting in a popular hangout called Neely's. The waitress takes our order. I ask for a Bud Light and Ryan orders a Sam Adams and a plate of nachos.
"Nachos? Didn't that delicious bowl of soup satisfy your hunger tonight?" I tease him.
"I will agree that was one delicious bowl of soup we ate tonight, but it in no way was enough to fill me up."
I watch him frown after he says those words and his brow furrows deep.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
He shakes his head for a second, staring at the table. Then he looks up at me and my heart actually flips a little at the tortured look in his eyes. Now I'm concerned. "Ryan, what's wrong?"
"It's just...I make a flippant remark that the bowl of soup wasn't enough to fill me up. Then I order a plate of nachos. Those people back at the shelter...that bowl of soup is all they are getting tonight. I just realized..."
Our waitress arrives with the beers and sets them down. I'm glad for the slight interruption so I can collect my thoughts. Poverty and homelessness is not an easy subject to discuss.
"And you're feeling guilty." I don't ask it as a question but state the obvious. "Which is okay, Ryan. I feel that way too a lot of the time."
"I admire you a lot, Danny. Your commitment is...inspiring."
I take a sip of my beer and give a smile of thanks. "Well, the cause is a bit personal to me. My dad was homeless and he died out on the streets."
I'm not sure why I told Ryan that bit of personal information. I guess I didn't want him thinking that everyone had to be as involved as me. I didn't want him carrying guilt. And now he's looking at me...and his coppered eyes are swimming with...pity? No, that's not it. Sympathy. Definitely sympathy.
"What happened?" he asks softly.
I shrug my shoulders as if it's not a big deal, but it is. My dad fell down a spiral of despair and hopelessness that not even the love of his family could pull him out of. I took another sip of my beer and leaned forward with my arms resting on the table.
"My dad was a cop here in Boston. He worked narcotics and unfortunately, had a dirty partner. He got my dad dragged into stealing drugs from evidence and re-selling them on the streets. It was only a matter of time before they got busted and when they did, my dad's life was over for him."
It's funny how I can talk about him now without experiencing blinding pain because there was a long period where I couldn't. But as with all things, time can dull the hurt.
Ryan reaches across the table and takes my hand. He gently runs his thumb over the top while he holds it. "How did he end up homeless then?"
"His life just unraveled. First, he was fired. Although the DA cut him a deal to avoid prison time if he turned state's evidence against his partner and the other people involved, he was humiliated beyond repair. He started drinking... heavily. He became depressed. Ultimately, he started using drugs... hardcore stuff like heroin. Eventually my mom had to ask him to leave the house. He did but being unemployed and an addict, he ended up on the streets."
Ryan squeezed my hand. "I am so sorry, Danny."
I give him a squeeze back. My eyes are dry because I have no tears left for my dad. I try now to remember only the good about him. "It's okay. It took me a long time to come to peace with it."
The waitress arrives with Ryan's nachos. She sets them on the table and gives us each a plate. I watch as Ryan takes a heaping pile and I pick one up to nibble at it.
"How did he die?" Ryan asks.
"Well, he actually got into Helping Hands Ministry and tried to clean himself up. In fact, the last memories of my dad are me going there to visit him. He actually was sober for a few months but then relapsed. He went back out on the streets, peddling drugs and eventually he got shot in a deal gone bad."
Ryan is silent for a minute. And it's okay. It's not uncomfortable and I watch him pick at his nachos. Finally, he pushes the plate aside and leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. He looks directly in my eyes with a seriousness that makes me swallow hard.
"I'm beyond sorry—."
I cut him off by holding my hand up. I give him a genuine smile. "You don't have to be sorry. I'm serious when I say I made my peace with it."
Ryan is shaking his head back and forth, and the look on his face is sad. "No, listen to me. I'm sorry because before tonight...I never once thought about any of this. I'm not sure I've even seen a homeless person outside of TV. And I am feeling all kinds of bad that I didn't bother to notice. But I’m grateful that you showed me something new tonight. Something everyone should see."
Ryan pauses and looks down at the table. My heart breaks a little for him because I can see that his ignorance of these issues is causing him some real pain. I don't know what to say to him. I feel clueless and all of a sudden, I'm thinking how very bad this evening is turning. Because I'm starting to feel something for this man sitting across from me and it's the last thing in the world I want right now.
And yet, I'm helpless when I reach across the table and take his hand in mine. With my other hand, I stroke the back of his, running my fingers lightly over the crisp hairs. I turn his palm up and trace my index finger over his callouses, reveling in how they feel against my soft skin. With my thumb, I trace around the outer edge of his thumbnail, almost absentmindedly while I think of something comforting to say to him.