The Color Of Light

“I’m going to park beside my office, but I’ll meet you back here to take you home,” he said, pointing to a street sign. “In case I can’t find you at the end.”

“You’re really planning to stay?”

“I want to hear what you have to say.”

“Then I’ll treat you to dinner afterward, but it will have to be fast. I have a list of phone calls to make tonight.”

“Ana...maybe you ought to take the night off.”

“Not with the council executive committee gunning for me.”

“After today, you still want to keep your job?”

No good answer occurred to her, but she had to smile. She stepped back and waved him off.

She was quickly drawn into the crowd. When she had agreed to add her comments to those of county officials and other leaders at this rush-hour rally, she hadn’t realized how large the gathering would be. She’d said yes a month ago and then nearly forgotten until a reminder had popped up on her calendar. She was lucky Ethan had driven her and could park in his personal space. Even on a relatively quiet day downtown parking was tough.

She was early—that seemed nearly miraculous since so little had gone well today—and she had a few minutes to unwind before she made her way toward the front. She skirted the crowd and leisurely took in the view.

The scene was Asheville at its finest. Bare-chested, tattooed Gen Xers tossed Frisbees with mutts yapping at their heels. A small group of men in sports coats accompanying women in heels looked as if they had just left downtown offices. Tourists with cameras and retirees dressed for the next round of golf stood side by side with members of the crowd who looked considerably less fortunate. Many of that last group were carrying large backpacks or duffels. One was pushing a shopping cart.

Nobody had as much to gain from a well-attended rally as Asheville’s homeless. The city was working hard to find solutions. Panhandling was now illegal, and of course not everybody was pleased about that, including the man several feet away who was engaged in an angry conversation with a young mother clutching her baby firmly to her chest.

Analiese didn’t think twice. The pair was off to one side of the crowd, in the direction she was walking, and nobody else seemed to be paying attention. The young woman turned and tried to get away, but the man, sporting snakelike dreadlocks, grabbed her shoulder and jerked her backward just as Analiese got close enough to hear him.

“Just some change. You got change, I know you do!”

Analiese arrived just as the young woman, off balance, nearly fell into the man’s arms. “Hey,” she said calmly. “Please let her go. You’re scaring her.”

The man released the young mother with a shove, and she stumbled forward with her baby still clasped against her. He faced Analiese, and up close she saw his eyes were wild, his pupils distended. She was still several feet away but his smell preceded him. Poverty and despair, vomit and urine. She steeled herself not to react, and watched as the young woman found her feet and disappeared into the crowd.

“How ’bout you?” he asked, a grin revealing decaying teeth. “Am I scaring you enough to give me some money?”

“Why don’t I see if I can find somebody with Rescue Ministries to help you? They have better solutions.”

He moved closer. She refused to retreat. In that moment it seemed that she’d been retreating all day. There was no sexton’s closet here, and the time had come to stand her ground.

“I need money!”

Now she smelled alcohol, too, although her first guess had been drugs. She felt and heard movement behind her, and she hoped that reinforcements were closing in.

“I know you do,” she said calmly. “I can get you help. Come with me and we’ll find somebody at the front who can get you dinner and shelter for the night.”

Analiese had plenty of street smarts. Before seminary she had been a broadcast journalist who had done stories in some of San Diego’s meanest neighborhoods, so she was paying close attention to the man’s body language. Unfortunately she had overestimated how drunk he was. She hadn’t expected him to move so quickly. One moment he was an arm’s length away, the next his hands were closing around her neck. She only had time for a quick gasp before her arms came up between his, and she slammed them against his wrists to break his grip.

Furious, he grabbed her again, and this time he shoved her with all his considerable strength.

The fall seemed to take forever, but once she hit the grass, she rolled to her side and tried to push upright. The man who had attacked her was screaming now, as if he’d been tackled. At the moment she couldn’t worry about him. She was still lying on the ground. The people closest to her tried to make room to help, but the crowd surrounding them was expanding and pushing in from the edges. She was jostled as people tried to clear a space. Somebody’s Doc Martens stomped on her hand.

“Give her some room!”

Analiese looked up and just glimpsed a man hovering protectively over her, arm extended. She grabbed his hand gratefully, and he hauled her to her feet.

Once there she tried to thank him, but the crowd surged around her, packing together so tightly that the moment she dropped his hand he disappeared. Police arrived, and she was jostled still more as people made room. Seconds later she glimpsed her attacker being dragged away, screeching about his rights. The police were speaking calmly and trying to convince him to walk on his own, partly, she was sure, because they were surrounded by advocates for the homeless who were watching carefully.

A man in shorts and a tie-dyed T-shirt asked if she was all right, and she nodded, but he wasn’t the one who had rescued her. That man had been taller and dark-haired.

Somebody took her elbow, and she whirled to find Ethan looking down at her. He put his other arm around her and hugged her quickly. “Ana, are you all right?”

She thought she was, although she might sport bruises on her neck and the outline of a heel on her hand as a reminder of the past moments.

“Think so,” she said, shaking her hand back and forth to be sure.

“The police have things under control.” Ethan stepped away a bit and pointed toward the edge of the crowd. “Not his lucky day. He ran right into them after he shoved you.”

“He shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning either.”

He smiled warmly, but he continued to hold her elbow to steady her. “Know why he pushed you?”

“Because I was in easy reach and wanted to give him help he’s not ready for. He’s hungry, frightened, tired, angry—”

“You’re being kind. Don’t forget drunk or high. He didn’t seem too steady on his feet.”

“That, too.”

“Let’s see if we can fight our way to the edge.” Ethan guided her in that direction.

“I’d better head for the speakers’ stand.”

“You can make your way up front once we’re out of the throng. Afterward you might want to find the police. You probably should tell them what happened.”

She stayed close to Ethan, letting him clear a path. Out of the worst of the crowd she brushed off her skirt and straightened her blazer. She only rarely wore a clerical collar. Today she wore a burgundy scarf knotted over a light pullover. When she spoke, her role as senior minister of one of the largest Protestant churches in Asheville, North Carolina, should lend enough weight without trappings.

On the other hand, maybe if she had been wearing her collar, the man who had attacked her would have thought better of it.

Definitely an unworthy thought. She had another as she wondered if wearing her collar more often would help with the council executive committee. She sighed and stood still for Ethan’s inspection.

“Am I presentable?”

Another smile. He stretched out his hand and brushed something off her cheek, rubbing it with the tips of his fingers until he was satisfied. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“He gave me a great opening for my speech. Life on the streets is difficult, even terrifying, and it can have consequences for everybody, the homeless and the onlookers. We need to help people rebuild their lives.”

“Are you practicing?”

She answered his smile with one of her own. “Thank you. I’m glad you found me.”

“You so rarely need help, it was a pleasure.”