Everybody's Got Troubles

School had just let out so the line at the cash register was longer and rowdier than usual.  Two people ahead of me was a stern looking, quite tall man with the look of a preacher.  He shifted from one foot to the another, appraising his fellow consumers, watching the cashier with hawk-like eyes.  He turned to look at the lost soul between us, a weaving, much younger man - clearly intoxicated but bothering no one -  in a sweat stained t shirt and ragged blue jeans, and frowned.

You alright, son? he asked.

Yes, sir, the young drunk nodded, Thank you, sir.

How much have you had to drink today?   

A lot,  the younger man admitted and stared determinedly at the floor.

Because you reek of whiskey, son, I can smell it on you.

Yes, sir, the younger man whispered, Thank you, sir.

Have you eaten today?

Not since breakfast, the younger man said, Mama fixed me eggs.

The tall man cleared his throat, delivered a short lecture on the evils of liquor - meant to be kind, I was almost sure, but failing miserably - then began telling him about AA meetings within walking distance and suggesting that he might drop in one.

You're a child of god, son, you ought to take better care of yourself, he finished and left.

Yes, sir, the younger man kept repeating, Thank you, sir.  His eyes looked everywhere except up.

When he reached the register at last, he asked for a lighter, A cheap one, he added to the clerk.  He held a single cigarette in one grimy hand, a dollar bill and some loose coins in the other.  The clerk handed him a plastic wrapped $1.19 Bic and took his money, returning some extra change and smiling.

Hands don't work so good, the younger man said, fumbling with the shrink wrap yellow lighter, dropping the cigarette and the extra coins in the process.

Here, the clerk said gently, let me.

Yes, sir, the younger man tried and failed at a smile, Thank you, sir.

I watched him make his unsteady way toward the door, eyes downcast and nearly colliding with the newspaper rack.

That was a nice thing you did, I told the clerk.  

Everybody's got troubles, he shrugged.

On my way out, I passed the younger man who was leaning against the industrial sized trash barrel and struggling to light his cigarette with his new yellow lighter.  His hands were shaking and he did indeed reek of liquor, it was pouring off him in waves.  I didn't want to but couldn't help notice his dirty hands and missing teeth.  He ran his fingers through his long curly hair in an almost desperate gesture and the lighter clattered to the concrete,  Without thinking, I reached and picked it up, flicked it and lit his cigarette for him.  

Yes, ma'am, he said so softly I almost didn't hear him, Thank you, ma'am.  Hurt my feelings.

For a second I thought he meant me then I realized he was talking about the tall, preacher man.

He meant to be kind, I said tentatively.

Yes, ma'am, but he was shaking his head, Thank you, ma'am.  Hurt my feelings though.

I still had a couple of dollar bills in my hand and I tucked them and his yellow lighter into his t shirt pocket.

He immediately protested and his eyes welled up.

You don't need to do that, ma'am, I have money.

Well, now you have a little more, I told him, Take care of yourself.

What's your name, ma'am? he asked, trailing behind me as I walked to my car.

I told him.

I'm a good person, ma'am, my mama says so, he said quietly, My name's Ryan.

Nice to meet you, Ryan, I said and shook his extended hand.

You didn't have to do that, ma'am, he repeated.

I know, I told him, Everybody's got troubles.

Maybe it was because he was young.  Or dirty and ashamed or vulnerable.  Or so painfully polite.  Maybe it was because I didn't think he needed religion or another well intended lecture.  Maybe it was just because he didn't ask.