Interrupting Aloneness
The name has been changed for privacy
I could feel the vitamin D soaking into my soul.
I decided to walk, my spirits light.
It finally felt like proper spring— just warm enough to wonder if I needed my jacket.
My goal was simple: buy pajamas and shoes for the season.
The shopping center is a maze of small stalls where you can find anything from curtains to school supplies, each run by individual vendors. Because of the setup, it requires a certain level of language and confidence to navigate asking for what you need and negotiating prices.
I had never gone alone before, but I knew I was capable.
At one stall, the women were delighted by my Mongolian. It wasn’t particularly impressive, but apparently it surprised them. I left with a pair of pajamas, but the shoes overwhelmed me. There were too many choices, and suddenly I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
Still, happy with my purchase and bravery, I left the store.
In the time I had been inside, the weather had completely changed.
The sky was overcast and the ground looked freshly wet with rain.
The air had turned sharp and cold and this time I decided to take the bus.
As I stood at the stop, I noticed someone out of the corner of my eye—kicking a stone, then a bottle, in the middle of the road. At first, I assumed he was drunk. But something in the movement felt familiar.
Then I realized.
It was one of my former English students from the shelter, now in his twenties.
I had heard about him from others, that he was begging on buses and more unpredictable.
I felt a flicker of unease. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t notice me.
But he did.
“Hi Jake,” I said. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
I could feel people looking at us.
We were the two people that stood out most and together we made a unique spectacle- the foreign girl and person from the street, chatting together.
“Do you remember me?” I asked.
“You’re the sister from Flourishing Future. Do you have any candy?”
I didn’t and he moved on, asking others for candy and money, eventually disappearing into a small store.
A few minutes later, he returned and stood beside me again, proudly showing me the candy he had gotten. We talked a little, though I wasn’t sure what to say. Then he left again.
The bus arrived, and I got on with the crowd. I looked for him one last time and waved goodbye.
But as the bus started to move, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
He had followed me onto the bus.
He showed me a 50 tugrik bill that he had gotten (about 15 cents), smiling as if he wanted me to be proud of him. Then he moved through the bus, asking others for money. I could feel their discomfort at his inhibition, either ignoring him or leaning away.
He got off before me and I didn’t get to say goodbye.
He never asked me for anything, only candy.
I walked home through the cold wind, trying to process what had just happened.
How strange it is to know someone who everyone else turns away from.
He was exactly as I remembered him from 7 years ago except now much taller.
I wept for him when he was a child,
after he had cried in my arms at the shelter.
The lump in my throat remains.
Love can’t always change the ending,
but it can interrupt the aloneness.
The rain has turned to snow.
