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It’s the elderly man alone in the restaurant.

It’s handicapped man in the wheelchair rolling around town.

It’s the mentally disabled woman wandering about.

It’s the clinically obese woman waiting at the bus stop.

These people float in and out of our day’s and we pay them no mind.  Their existence means little to us in the moment and we pass them by like they were a piece of rubbish on the side of the road.  In a long line of people in the world that stand next to these people I stick out like a sore thumb as I peer over at them searching for some meaning to their lives.  Their lives are no more insignificant than mine.  There are people that love them and care for them just as there are for me.  I look at the flip side of that coin though and see an unhappy, lonely individual that is escaping something, even if it’s only for a short while.

The elderly man sits alone in the restaurant trying to reconnect with some memory with his children or grandchildren that he has some how been detached.  Perhaps, the man is a widower and spends his time here because it was a normal breakfast spot from them on the weekends and this is the only way he is able to cope.  He has trouble talking to you, but you can still see the kindness in his eyes behind all that pain he hides.  As he holds the door open his hands shake.  The tears well in my eyes as I can no longer find the strength to be happy.  He walks out of sight, alone, not a sole to greet him.

The handicapped man in the wheelchair rolling through town holds onto the memories of the days he could walk.  He still takes the same route he would run in the morning.  His shirt old, haggard, and the same each time I see him looks to be years old.  He cruises quickly, his arms glisten with sweat as he pumps his way up the small hill pass all the neighborhood shops.  He waves to people here and there, it seems like people know him, but they do not really know him.  At each intersection he searches for a new direction, which way is the best, what kind of terrain does he feel like taking, and where will it take him.  I don’t know where this man is from, but with each door that is held for him and for each person the steps to the side in the wake of his wheelchair my heart weeps just a little more.  What has brought this man, day after day, to the town square to show himself off.

I see her from time to time.  She takes the same steps down the street every day.  Walk a 20-30 paces and turn back and look at what may or may not be following her.  Did something attack her?  Her neurotic behavior suggests nothing different.  I watch from afar and I believe this to be a bit disturbing, but I can’t help but feel the need to want to reach out and help this poor sole.  Now I begin wrestling with my conscience.  Perhaps, there is not a soul to to reach out and help because they are content with their life, how ever out of control it may seem.

She stand there, her head only 5 feet 1 inch from the ground and her bones struggle to hold up the body her frame was never meant to carry.  There is nothing for her to do.  At first glance, one might consider this person to even be mentally challenged because of the way the fat folds over her eyes, practically blinding her, and just the way her body had been malformed from her uncontrollable disease.  More than likely, this is the smartest girl in school.  She stood at the bus stop with her sweatsuit that didn’t match and her ‘Hello Kitty’ umbrella and extra small backpack looking about.  No one has ever told this girl she is pretty and has accepted it.

I’m probably completely wrong about every one of these people and most of them have happy homes to go to with people who love them endlessly.  Why is it that I choose to connect with these people on such a level?  Why can I not see the happy side of their lives?  Perhaps, it is a lonely part of myself that yearns to connect with someone else, if only for a few moments and to let out that emotion in hopes of feeling better.  Either way, I don’t know why I feel this way, but it is how I observe the world.