A Day in the Life

Once upon a time there was a baby born.  His mother named him Bryn.  He was a cute little boy, sweet too.  He would come in at lunch time with his knees caked with dirt from playing hard.  "Wash up" his mama would say.  He gobbled up his food, kissed his mama on the cheek and ran back outside to soak up all the rest of the hours of play he could.  Bryn loved his mama.  They were all each other had.

Years later, Bryn left home to study at University.  One day he got a call that his mama had died.  And that day, a part of him died too.  He studied hard, and he gave his love to a girl.  Now she was all he had.  They moved in together and he wanted to forget about the dad he never knew and the mom who had just left him. He tried to love his girl, but the gaping holes in his own heart prevented him from doing it as well as he wanted to.  Life got hard and love grew cold.

Years later, Bryn found himself on the streets in the cold shadows of the spires of the buildings he once studied in.  He kept thinking that this was temporary.  That he would get his act together and get his girl back.  That was ten years ago.

We met Bryn a few days ago.  Emily Duffey and Jeff and I were walking through Jericho late at night when we heard the familiar tune of Scooby Doo being sung from the shadows.  We walked over to the man perched on his bed of foam and cardboard, gave him a couple pounds and started talking to him.  It didn't take much... Bryn was ready to talk.  It had been a long and cold day, he said.  He asked us to follow him so he could show us where he stashed his stuff during the day so he wouldn't have to carry it around with him.  He showed us the can of beans he'd just finished off... and then he trailed off into thinking about this amazing soup that he likes to make when he gets the chance.  Carrot and Coriander Soup.  He began describing in great detail how to make the soup, with eyes closed every once in a while- as he imagined the tastes and smells. He talked about the carrots and just how to cut some, and mash some. The coriander, and how to cut it.... and just how much.  The garlic and onion, perfectly sauteed.  The lentils to add, to thicken it up.  And the honey.... just a touch. We all watched as he described this soup that he seemed to be making even as he spoke. And Emily, who loves to cook and has a knack for it was smiling the entire time, as she wrote the recipe on the wall of her mind.  We left Bryn and went on down Little Clarendon to the last place open in the city for ice cream, G&D's.  An hour later, we passed back by Bryn on our way home.  He had found a stalk of broccoli in the trash since we'd seen him last and had planted it in the ground near his perch.  He was a little more drunk than the first time we'd seen him, and I understood.  It was cold.  He wasn't going anywhere that night.  Not inside somewhere warm for ice cream and not inside four walls with a bed.  He was home.

The next day, Emily pulled that recipe from her mind and made Bryn's Carrot and Coriander Soup from scratch.  We warmed up some naan bread, and put a couple bowls of soup in a bag and headed for Jericho.  We found Bryn huddled next to the movie theater, this time no cardboard and foam.  Bryn told us his bedding had gotten wet. Emily presented him with a hot bowl of Bryn's Carrot and Coriander soup.  He took his first bite and Emily asked him if it was right.  He thought for a minute with the spoon suspended near his mouth, and said, "It's close.  But no two soups are the same anyway, right?"  We laughed and talked with him for a while and felt bad as we were shivering away, knowing we would be warm in a few minutes, but Bryn, he was already home.