His name was Abdullah. He walked briskly, head forward and back slightly bent, down the dumpster ridden alley behind a row of apartments. He wore the same old, tan jacket he always wore. There was a satchel hanging from his right side, the strap draped over his left shoulder which did not come higher that the lips of the dumpster bins he passed by. As he walked, his left hand swung in a determined manner. He knew where he was going, and how long it would take to get there.
His right hand didn’t swing at all, for it lay protectively over the satchel.
The crumbling asphalt of the alley crunched under his feet.
I had just heaved the overflowing trash bag from the kitchen into one of the dumpsters near my apartment. When I turned to go back inside, I saw Abdullah coming down the alley from the east. I wasn’t surprised to see him. He always came down my alley around the same time every evening. I never knew why, or where he was going. I assumed he was homeless. I’d seen him elsewhere around the city. He was always walking, always wearing the same thing. He always carried the satchel with him.
Normally, I would wave and then go about my business. This time, however, something (or someone) stopped me.
I waited there by the dumpster and pretended to admire the sunset. I didn’t need to pretend for long. It was a jewel. Big, ripe clouds hung heavily in a pale blue sky. Streaks of orange and pink decorated the background.
The crunches of his feet grew louder, and I turned and smiled.
I hadn’t seen his face up close for a while. It had gotten older, more wrinkled. The white hair that still grew from the sides of his head had gotten thinner.
He gave me a gapped but friendly grin in return.
I said ‘hi’ and something about the beautiful sunset. He never stopped walking, but nodded and chuckled. Then he spoke. He had a voice like a rusty motor, all grinding gears and metal, but it still got the job done.
“Finally starting to cool down.” He said, continuing on his way.
I laughed and started to walk back. “What is your name?” I asked, in passing.
The crunches stopped. He turned to look me in the eye, a surprised smile brightening his face. “Abdullah! And yourself?”
“I’m Michael.”
“Ah! A common name! A pleasure to meet you.”
We exchanged farewells. He turned and walked back down the alley.
I walked up the steps to my apartment somewhat stunned. There in the dirty alley, amid the crowded cars and trash bins, I’d seen an artistic masterpiece. Abdullah was made. He was crafted by God to be totally unique, original, different from anyone else on earth. He had his own story, his own treasures, and his own pain.
And he was real. He wasn’t wearing a mask, or trying to impress anyone, or asking for handouts. He was walking, with head down and feet steady, and hand guarding his satchel. And he’d looked me in the eye and shared a piece of himself with me.
His name was Abdullah.