I met a young man. . .

Crepe myrtle in Mary Street last summer

Wednesday I parked the car in Mary Street, just down the road from the college and outside the doctor who doles out methadone in the morning. After work, as I was stowing my bag & umbrella on the passenger side of my car I heard a voice greeting me: "Good afternoon madam."

I looked up but I wasn't sure where the voice was coming from. There was a young man crossing the road walking quickly towards me, but I didn't see his lips moving, and his face was expressionless. I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or past me. I turned my attention back to arranging my stuff. "How are you madam?" I heard and again I looked at the young man crossing the road. No-one else was so close to me, but his mouth hadn't moved as far as I could tell and the inanimate expression hadn't changed.

I closed the door and started to go around the back of the car to the driver's side door. I couldn't though, because by that time the young man was blocking me. He was too close.

He said: "Madam, I'm desperate. I haven't got anywhere to sleep tonight. My father and step-mother have thrown me out. I've got nowhere to sleep. I've got no family. I'm desperate. I've got cancer, madam." He took off his beanie and showed me a bald head, with a few wisps of fair hair just above his neck. His face was very pale, unearthly. He stood very close to me. I thought he would cry.

"I need money madam. No-one will give me a job. I need to get a place to sleep tonight. I've got no family. You've got a family. Can you imagine what it's like to have no family?" I couldn't. His situation seemed hopeless. "I'm 27, madam. I don't take drugs," he told me. "I don't drink. I go to church every Sunday." That's what brought me up a bit. You don't tell an atheist that, and gain much kudos. But I wasn't sure it was just a story. He sounded credible. He sounded very sad. And he was standing very close to me.

He wasn't tall. Just a little taller than me, but thin. He looked right into my eyes. I felt menaced, and I began to feel nauseous. He was obviously sick. "Have you been to Centrelink?" I asked him. And he replied, "I have to pay twice what they give me, for rent." I didn't understand what he meant or how it related to my question, or his situation. "I'm desperate madam. I don't want to beg but I'm desperate." I took out my purse and gave him $5. I was upset and I wanted to get away. He said, "I don't want $5. I need $50 to get somewhere to sleep tonight. I don't want to have to keep on begging. I hate it. I'm desperate."

I inched past him and to the driver's door. I closed it and started the engine. And he didn't try to open my door for which I was grateful. He walked quickly away towards the doctor's.

I felt nauseous all the way home, and I'm still upset as I think about it. If I were certain that he had wanted the money for drugs, I would be able to lay the experience to rest. But I'm not. I know he was suffering from something, quite possibly cancer. What he said was credible, perhaps, but doesn't Centrelink look after people who can't support themselves? I would have offered to go with him to Centrelink, but I was afraid of him.

I am wondering what I should have done. I am wondering if I have a lack of basic human feeling. I am wondering if I could have made a difference. I can't forget what one speaker said to us on the last day of high school. He said we have many people now who ask us to help them. The number of people in need increases, and we are increasingly called on to open our hearts and purses. People become inured to the suffering of others and close themselves off from it. He said that it was the wrong way to go. The right way is to become increasingly sensitive to the suffering of our fellows. This is the way we must proceed if we are to create and live in a caring society.