Early on in my new carfree life I meet Gonzalo.

Gonzalo speaks only the most threadlike English, woven into the sturdy fabric of his Spanish. 

And I speak no Spanish. So, we strike up a friendship.

 “My name is Maria,” I say, knowing that he will never master my real name. And I am hoping to learn his name, but do not want to ask.

¿Si? he says. Me llamo Gonzalo.

“Gonzalo!” I say. I make awkward efforts toward conversation.

I notice the morning sun splashing across his warm-toned skin, shining full on his face.

“Gonzalo,” I say, “you … are … beautiful!” 

He beams. 

“May I give you a hug?” I ask

Gonzalo is in a wheelchair. I think his vision is poor.

So he reaches his arms up toward me, as I bend toward him. He hugs me and hugs me, the way a child hugs the mother. He hugs as though he has not hugged in … decades.

I mean, who would hug someone like Gonzalo, confined to a wheelchair? I think he might live at the Mission, and I am pretty sure he has no family nearby.

Now I see Gonzalo intermittently, on one street corner or another, or at the transit mall, under the maple trees on the sidewalk in front of St. Mary’s downtown. Always in his wheelchair. 

It never occurs to me to wonder why he is in a wheelchair.

Until one warm afternoon, when I am running late for a coffee appointment. And here is Gonzalo sitting in the shade beside the library. 

Maybe he won’t see me, I think, trying to assuage my suddenly discomforted conscience.

I hurry past him.

And my heart is convicted.

I stop short, turn around, and quickly retrace my steps.

“Gonzalo!” I say. His arms reach up, because I am the mother who loves him. He trusts a mother’s love.

And in an instant I understand why Gonzalo lives in a wheelchair. His cutoff jeans reveal a prosthetic leg.

Dear God, I groan inwardly.

And I think of all the doors that do not open when you are missing a leg, a limb. And when everything about you says that you are not from here.

And for the ten seconds of our hug I forget about my rush to get to my coffee appointment.

I owe Gonzalo this gift of real presence because he is now one of my downtown peeps. And when he hears my voice he knows that he is not cast aside but real, at least in the eyes of his friend Maria.