Innerdialects

The rain fell in the steps outside Crown Coffee. It fell in the trees and on the girl lying in the steps of Crown with her baby.

Then the rain fell on truck loads of somethings, and it fell in the slush and gutter and in nice shoes getting off a grey cab, and going towards the coffee shop. The girl saw nothing it seemed. Her eyes were here and elsewhere. She asked no questions, her face still: not asking about differences in life styles, not judging the price of other people’s clothes and why some had umbrellas and cars and houses, or how even the step outside Crown coffee was nicer than her floor back home in a gully beyond;

her eyes seeing what others may not see yet,

…not till …when the rain fills all, with equal grain …. equal grain enough for all to be able to sit that way in the rain, unflinching; maybe when the rain falls equally on human skin.

The very young woman fed her baby, they both ignored the thunder; the baby was hungry, in her tiny colourless shirt glistening off two wet buttons.

A wet dog muttered next to them. The girl turned to a Balloon seller. He had a baby strapped to his side. His balloon selling cycle was parked next to another like it. The two balloon selling cycles were with gaudy merry lemon balloons, cherry reds, neon green, pinks, silver and a gold happy birthday clown balloon, all snugged in plastic streamers.

The young father nodded at the sky; their babies were soon strapped into plastic bags in their balloon selling cycles.

All this happened like in slow motion, speechless: a silent movie, with just that sound of rain hitting everything in wide spaced drops now. People passing by stared at the couple. A lady in plastered foot hobbled past with a friend, their little lips a small “Ohhh!”. The two were bent with plastic coats and rain caps, their feet slipping in and out of wet leather. The plastered lady paused, wanting to buy a balloon, then she leaned heavier on her friend. They didnt need balloons, what to do about such terribleness in the street, what ‘d it all come to finally?! Their faces wagged as they shook head in synchrony unable to reach the balloon couple in any other way. What if these Balloon beggars were Mafia; limitations announced by the self, can mess solutions. It can deny the basic human right of access. It bears ‘proper’ suspicion, and humans find Differences too much. The head freezes.

The Balloon Couple clinked cycle bells, their babies now fast asleep as if it were the most natural way to sleep, in plastic nests, under cheer- giving balloons bobbing with wind, unstoppable in the rain, and other things.

Nj runs out to give them a small packet. The young man says nothing, then asks if he can give him a balloon at least. The conversation lasts a few minutes. They both linger.

Sitting in the wee coffee shop under a hot fan, I shiver. NJ and I later get home; and I will remember how the balloon couple were in the rain. Now I know why Christ was Chosen for a simpler lifestyle, unshuttered by comforts. Here you know what the street feels. Here you learn to dance in storms and how to rain down some cheer. Here there’s a Freedom hard to grasp, not till you’re drenched like that. Hungry cold, knowing there’s more Comfort than meets the skin. I see why He chose the things He did and said, “Blessed the meek, they shall inherit the kingdom of God…” Cuz they mightn’t rubbish Help. The broken hearted don’t feel entitled. They serve. Barefooted, fearless to receive. The eyes hope, they’re rimmed with Hope. A Hope that sees, beyond Faith-that may not see. They believe, that maybe somewhere, they’ll be a sale..somewhere there’ll be Help. They are Seekers in the Rain, in the impossible moment, they press on for a Miracle;

perhaps Faith is best under fire?