“You remind me of my daughter.”

The man who had been watching me from the corner of his eye finally spoke up. I was volunteering with my school at a local shelter, Andre House, in downtown phoenix.

“Me?” I questioned.

The man nodded and motioned for me to take a seat. As I took the seat next to him, I quickly examined his appearance. Worn out clothes, scruffy face, and dark: but not his natural skin tone. I noticed his right eye was significantly lighter than the right. A dull gray pupil to accompany his shiny silver hair. The man looked at me as if he were doing the same.

I began to fidget with my fingers and looked around the room until my eyes met his.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Gemma” I replied unsure if I should be telling a complete stranger my name.
“Nice to meet you Gemma, I’m Emilio,” he smiled.

“Why did you say I remind you of your daughter?” I accidentally blurted out. The man was taken back by how direct I was, to be completely honest so was I. However, I was curious as to why he had wanted to speak to me and no one else.

“My daughter, Silvia, has your smile and you both share brown hair and big brown eyes. She is in Cuba with the rest of my family.” Emilio continued to tell me about his life and how he lost everything.

Shortly after arriving in America, he was assaulted by a group of delinquents, while sleeping outside of a church. The criminals had taken what little money he had, his identification, and documents regarding his immigration status, along with the vision in his right eye.

Emilio had been in the United States for twenty five years since the incident.

I was mind boggled after hearing his struggles. How could someone remain alone for so long with nothing?
I pondered whether I should ask, but I decided against it. Emilio, however, sensed what I was asking and softly replied “I have not lost faith that God has something in store for me.”

I was astonished as to how calm and positive he was about the situation. He chose to always look for the light at the end of the tunnel, something I never did. Once something went wrong, I would either shutdown or lash out, no in between.

Andre House was getting ready to close. Emilio stood and reached to shake my hand. I removed the latex glove, from my left hand, and wiped the sweat off on my jeans before reaching out to shake his hand.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve talked to someone about my life,” he sighed.

“Thank you for choosing to share your story with me, and I hope all goes well in the future,” I smiled.
He returned the gesture and waved before exiting the family room.

I looked around wondering how many of these people had similar stories to tell and just wanted someone to listen.

I helped my classmates’ wipe down tables and stack the chairs. On the bus ride back I thought to myself as to who I might encounter on my nest visit to Andre House and what their story might be.