Two homeless people stood on the corner outside Beneroya Hall. 

It was Friday night in Seattle and fresh rain slicked the streets. 

I was on a date with my new man and we had just spent a couple hours inside Beneroya, where a lot of kids, very talented kids, performed jazz.  Also, I had the chance to meet his son.

This night was a big deal.  At least to me.  Meeting the child of the man you love means something.   And once that was done, we left the Beneroya and talked about how talented his son was, how poised and charming--all the regular stuff. 
We moved close together, arm in, the way "in love" people tend to move.

As we approached the crosswalk, he held my elbow in that protective way I both adore and find a little surprising.  I'm not used to leaning on anyone, let alone a man.  But that night, I leaned on him and it was nice. 

I was all dressed up in little black dress, very Jackie O, and had on a pair of silky high heels.  Since I'm not really a girl who does high heels, I had my eyes on the slick street.  The last thing I wanted to do was fall down on a date with my beautiful new man.

In my little clutch?  I had a twenty dollar bill and a tube of lipstick.

And there they stood, ten feet away.  A man and a woman.  They had a sign all done up too and as I glanced in their direction--these street people with spikes of metal in their lips and ears and blacker than black dyed hair--all I could see was sneer.  Their expressions were pissed off and something else. Buzzed up?  High?  I really don't know.  These people were more than homeless and more than street.  They were intense people with intense problems and an intense need. 

I slowed up, just a little but my man hurried us along.

In the middle of the intersection, I said, "that's my thing, I should stop," and he slowed down a little as if it would be okay.  But then I realized I only had lipstick and that twenty dollar bill which was money I might need later in our night.

And so I let it go.  We walked away.

This is what I thought later:  Portland people I've run into do not look like that.  The people in Portland, every single man and woman I've met, have had such a sweetness to them.  But there, in Seattle, it was a whole different scene.

I was scared and more, I was grateful to have a man like my man with his hand on my elbow.  Nothing would have happened to me, if I was alone. I'm sure of that, but sometimes it's the right time to help and other times, I suppose it is better to let a man get you across the street and into the car.


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