A Soul Speaks

Verbal Balance/SpokenWord. Wednesday, June 17, 2009. PART TWO. 

His name might have been Big Owie or maybe it was Big D. In any case, “Big” was certainly the adjective. When they announced his name to resounding applause, I turned around to see one of the largest human beings I have ever seen amble slowly up to the stage. He was like a human block, and I looked at him with a little bit of awe. He seemed to be made of mountains of flesh.

He seemed shy and awkward and once at the microphone, he spoke softly. His baby face was turned away from me and I strained to hear snatches of what he said.  It sounded like he said he had just been released from the hospital—the applause must have been a welcome back to a good friend. What I did hear him say was: “Well, you know, I at a high risk for diabetes. It on both sides of my family.”

My heart broke for this soft-spoken giant. Did he really think that the only reason he was at risk with diabetes was because it was in his family? It was probably in his family because of their situation, their family style of eating, and probably, because of their poverty. It used to be poor people were skinny, nowadays, it seems the poorer, the fatter.

He couldn’t have been older than me, but he already had so much working against him. To me, he seemed trapped—in poverty, in a certain lifestyle and in a hot, uncomfortable, awkward body suit.

He paused, breathed and then drew the microphone close. And  something escaped, flew free from that prison. His voice, gentle and sweet, rose up and filled the café. His song was of beauty, heartbreak and a peaceful place he’d escape to. A peaceful place, he repeated, a peaceful place. He spoke, then, his words rhythmic and strong. But it was the melody that haunted me. He sung it again and all I wanted in the world was for him to have that peaceful, beautiful place always.

I knew the thin, haunting melody was his soul.  All I could hope was it wouldn’t be crushed.