A Conversation

3rd in the 'Inspired 2019' competition

“A dollar is all I ask!” yelled the vagrant.
I winced at the sound of his raspy voice, yet somehow, I managed to steal a glance. Noticing his tousled hair, scraggly beard and tattered shirt, I couldn’t fathom how this muddy mess could occupy an otherwise clean patch of street. My street. I wanted to sweep him off into the sewer, where he belongs. Suddenly, he turned his head. His eyes locked with mine. Panicking, I tried to merge with the nearby crowd, but his eyes followed me like a laser. I knew there’s no way I’m getting out of this. Hesitantly, I approached him. I caught his odour; the sewer smelled better no doubt. Out of nowhere, he grabbed my arm and pleaded that I give him one dollar.
“Get away from me, you filthy beggar!” I bellowed. “Haven’t you learned your lesson already?”
“Closed mouths don’t get fed,” he replied bluntly.
I must admit, he sounded wiser than I thought. Then again, he’s poor. “Why don’t you get a job? No one wants to feed someone who can’t feed themselves.”
“So, you’d rather feed a rich man than a poor man, even though the rich man could feed himself?”
“That’s not what I meant. Picture yourself as a parasite – a mosquito, sucking people’s blood. Now do you see what I mean?”
“How do you know I’m a mosquito?”
“You’re a grown man, with no job, family, or future. How could you possibly contribute to society?”
“Don’t be so quick to judge, but first, who would give a vagabond like me a job?”
I stroked my chin. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll give you a job just so I won’t have to listen to your pandering anymore. Deal?”
He stared at me for what seemed like an eternity. Then he leaned into my ear, and whispered, “Could you trust me?”
I was stumped. “The Sun shines on even the lowest of lives,” I managed.
“Is that why I’m left here to rot?”
“Uh… you did it to yourself!” I blurted out. “I bet you gambled, drank and wasted your life away. Don’t blame others for your misfortune.”
“Again, how are you so sure? Is that what society tells you?”
Feeling impatient, I told him, “Want to know a secret?”
"Go ahead."
“When I was struggling, I didn’t compromise. I didn’t beg. Instead, I worked tirelessly. I earned my stature; could you say the same about yours?”
“Or were you born into a rich family?”
“Or are you babbling and looking for excuses? Every dollar I made is mine to keep.”
“What about empathy? Did you get to keep that too?”
“That’s the price you pay to escape the rat-race. I’d rather be soulless and rich than benevolent and poor.”
“Then you haven’t learned a thing, have you?”
“You’re poor; you can’t teach me anything!”
A smile emerged from his face. “A man who can’t give one dollar is a poor man indeed.”

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