My Friend Caitlin, a True Story

It was a cold Jersey day.   It was my Sabbath, and I wanted to head over to daily Mass at the city’s Cathedral.  I decided to wrap up in a blanket to shield myself from the wind over the 12 minute trek to the center of town, and keep what warmth I could from being stolen away by the frozen air’s thieving grasp.

It was a cold Jersey day.

Upon entering the Cathedral, I saw Caitlin, a friend of mine who was homeless.  She was something around 40, and beginning to get the leathery and dry skin that many homeless attain over time.  Maybe that’s what it really meant to be weathered.  Her skin, I mean.

Caitlin liked talked about all kinds of things.  I don’t know if she remembered some of the stuff she said, but she also was either able to comprehend things that I couldn’t make connections to, or wasn’t able to comprehend what others were saying.  I think she had some form of Turret’s, but I’m no doctor.

She also would say very deep things from time to time.  She was good to listen to and kept me grounded.

We walked around the Cathedral that day and she showed me the Bible pages and talked about how her family made them.  I didn’t know if I believed her, but I didn’t care if she was lying.  We were just happy to have one another’s company, and it wasn’t about lying.  It was just about hanging out with one another.  Caitlin has a spirit of joy and happiness, and whatever she was sharing with her words, whether it was real or not real, I think she transferred some joy and sunshine through those words and into my lungs.

We sat by one another for Mass, each of us in our blankets, and the most I can remember about that day was when Mass came to a close and Caitlin said, “Well that was a good sermon about minerals!”

I had to laugh.  That was Caitlin!

As we were walking out together, a man nervously approached us with a $20 bill in his hand.  He looked at me nervously, as if he’d never done this before and said, “do you need this?”  I felt honored that he would even ask.  Or that I could be put into the category of these beautiful homeless people that I’d met there.  I hoped I was as open and welcoming as they were.

“Oh, thank you,” I replied, “but I’m not homeless.”

He got extra nervous at that and wondered if I felt insulted, continuing with sorries and clarifications and justifications.

“No problem,” I said, trying to make him know it was okay, “Caitlin is homeless, though.  She could use it.”

Caitlin and I stood there together, and I don’t know what it was, but the man looked at Caitlin, kept his $20, and nervously left.  I don’t know if it registered to Caitlin what had just happened, because she was just as full of sunshine as she always was.  She seemed to not notice, even. 

I don’t know fully what that meant, but sometimes I jump to conclusions.

Was it because the man thought Caitlin was “too crazy”?

Was I offered the money because he felt I was less scary?

Did I smell better?

Was he too nervous and assumed neither of us were homeless, if I wasn’t?

I still don’t know fully what that meant.

But, sometimes I still jump to conclusions.

I haven't lived in Jersey since 2009.  I don't know where Caitlin is nowadays, and I'm not sure I ever knew exactly before.  But, maybe you'll see her sometime.  You won't be afraid, I hope.