“Can I pet him?”
“If he lets you.”
Buddy lifted his head. Ethan held out his hand.
The dog sniffed him, then shuffled forward.
That was how a 30-second interaction became 20 minutes.
The man’s name was Malcolm.
He told Ethan that Buddy had been with him for nine years.
Ethan asked where they slept.
Malcolm said wherever he could.
Sometimes a shelter. Sometimes outside.
Sometimes a motel if he managed to save enough.
I stood nearby, listening.
Ethan asked questions adults usually avoid.
“How did you become homeless?”
I almost interrupted him.
Malcolm smiled. “It’s okay.”
Then he looked at Ethan.
“Bad choices and pride.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got involved with some bad people. I ended up losing my job and my family. My savings ran out, and eventually I lost my apartment, too. I keep thinking I’ll fix everything myself.”
He scratched Buddy behind the ears.
“Then one day you realize you’ve been saying ‘next week’ for three years.”
Ethan went quiet. Malcolm asked, “What are you up to?”
Ethan smiled. “We are going to buy a guitar.”
