Laying on of Hands

No More a Stranger or a Guest, But Like a Child at Home
--Isaac Watts

When I arrived at Aurora Commons, Cory was already there. Standing in the kitchen, tending something on the stove. He would be hard to miss, six feet five and wide through the shoulders. Just standing there, he was a presence.

I watched him as he walked around. He walked with a limp, his right foot dragging slightly. Never once was I able to make eye contact. He didn't look angry, but his face was tough, uninviting and unresponsive. He minded his own business and expected you to stay out of it. At least that's how I read it.

He spent a fair amount of time in the back hall, right by the back door, talking on his cell phone. Later, maybe an hour later, I realized there was a woman on the couch in the back hall. A woman I recognized. Annette was a regular. She was out it, struggling to lift her feet when I came by with the push broom. At first I took it for tiredness and sleepiness, then it dawned on me. She was high. On something.

It took a little longer for me to realize she and Cory were together, a couple. “What are we going to do, Cory?” I heard her ask in a little girl voice. “Where are we going to go?” He grunted something in reply. I never understood anything he said. I realized his standing in the back hall to talk on his phone was to be near her.

Later, as I was coming back to get the mop, I heard her ask again, “Where are we going to go?” There was a tired worry in her voice. She didn't have the strength to do more than ask. But neither could help asking.

This time Cory didn't say anything. He continued his conversation into the phone in his right hand. He put his left hand on her head. As I watched his big hand descend I could see the gentleness in it. And in that moment as his hand gently held her head, Annette relaxed. I could see her body let go of some of the worry. Everything was going to be all right. Cory was her man. Cory was going to take care of it.

It was beautiful. I've played the scene over in my mind repeatedly. I hear her plaintive question. I see her struggling to be awake above the fog of the drugs. And I see that hand, that great big hand, settle affectionately on her head and soothe and quiet her.

Beautiful. It was very good.