Bug

When Bug rode his ramshackle bicycle up to our vehicle at Sonic I didn’t look at him. In fact, I had my back to him and let him talk to my friends. I really don’t know what prompted me to eventually turn and see him but I’m certainly glad I did. Bug was of undeterminable age but his eyes held the joy of a child. His dark skin was lined, his shirt worn, yet, he had not been beaten down. He spoke cordially and made pleasant conversation as we ate our food in the glow of florescent lights while swatting away willow flies. I watched his eyes light up as he spoke and noticed the contents of his bicycle basket – an opened box of generic vanilla wafers, a half-empty bottle of Gatorade, a few nondescript odds and ends with a pack of hot dogs peaking out from underneath. The basket also held a pack of cheap cigarettes but when Bug shook one out it wasn’t as I’d expected. Bug’s cigarettes were left-overs – stubs he’d picked up off the ground that had been unceremoniously tossed aside by some passerby.

Bug asked us for a french fry – just one. We had not gotten fries with our food and while flailing around in the backseat trying to get rid of the willow flies, my friend David told Bug to pick something off the menu. Bug said no but David pressed on and Bug rolled his bicycle over to the menu and meekly chose the cheapest hamburger. He shied away from David’s offer of fries but, again, David insisted and placed an order for two burgers and an order of fries.

Bug had a story and while we waited for his food he began to tell it. He said he felt it was necessary, as if he were embarrassed by his need for charity but not by his history. Bug went to prison at sixteen for murder. He said he wasn’t guilty and that his friend had actually committed the crime. It wasn’t our place to question or judge him. We simply listened. He told us that he’d never gotten into anything bad while in prison and that the Lord had helped him stay straight.

His food arrived and as we paid, David handed the bag to Bug. He was most grateful and as we said goodbye he told me to keep my friends in line. We backed out and he reached into the bag for a french fry.

Bug made me smile and made me want to cry as I watched his almost-toothless grin as he laughed with us. He said I was “deep” and that I really listened to him. I think he wasn’t used to that.