Glimpses of Grace

There is a parking lot behind our apartment building; it's filled with cars and old tires, broken bottles and every so often, a shy stray cat. One of the Middle Eastern restaurants opens out the back into this parking lot, and I only know this because sometimes I eat dessert from the living room window and watch as men in white cooking shirts pour dirty water out the back door.

Earlier I clopped down the stairs in flip flops and stopped in my tracks when I noticed a man kneeling outside the window. I quietly stepped over to see what in the hell he was doing, kneeling on the dingy parking lot floor. This guy, maybe mid-30s, was kneeling on a piece of cardboard, his little paper chef's hat still balancing on his head, his white gym-socked feet folded under him as he prayed towards Mecca (I assume. Could be Brooklyn Law School, but odds are...).

Watching someone pray is so intimate; I couldn't see his face, but his body language was enough to suspect that he was doing some good hoping there on the ground. Does he miss home? Is he away from his family? Does he hate working in a hot kitchen? Does he wish he was praying on a brightly woven rug?

Feels like a lucky day when I catch a little glimpse of someone else's life, someone unlike me.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

i saw it once, too, not sure if it was the same man, but it was the same situation; and it filled my heart with joy and wonder and i never told anyone about it... because i felt like i was observing this very private intimate moment and wanted to keep it small (something that remaied private to that man, his god, and myself)