Find Your Others

There was something incredibly human about sitting in the gutter with someone and telling the truth

Six years ago, the first lockdown was almost upon us. I was a mess, and that period changed my life—both for better and worse. Looking back, one bright thread was the brief friendships people found themselves forming. This story is about such connections I made during those difficult months.

Image from Pexels - a dusky grave yard

During the first lockdown, my partner and I found ourselves trapped in the centre of Glasgow, living with his brother in a cramped one-bedroom flat. We were used to travelling across the UK for work, wide open spaces, and freedom. But now, boxed in by brown tenement buildings, we started to drift.

Him one way, me another.

At the time, I didn’t seem to care much. I was realising something uncomfortable about myself: that I often confused the present moment with permanence. How I felt now — claustrophobic, disconnected, weary — I assumed would stretch on endlessly, even though I logically knew better.

My partner and I started walking separately. Our allowed escape from the flat, and we took it alone.

I began drinking more. Eating lots of cake. Letting things slide, I’d normally keep a grip on.

Everything blurred. The days, the food, our moods.

It was June 2020…

On one of my walks, coming back from the supermarket, I usually passed a homeless man — dirty clothes, an expressive, weathered face, and a can in his hand. Sometimes I gave him a quid, though lockdown had hit my income hard as it had taken my job. However, I found enough for wine! Always that.

One day, I noticed the guy had a cut on his arm. I stopped. Asked if he was OK, if he had somewhere to go later. He said he did — a drop-in centre where if he got there early and was near the front of the queue, he’d get food, a bed, and they’d sort his wound. Apparently, some teens had cornered him and thrown stuff at him. Their parents must be proud, I thought!

We started talking, and I sat down next to him on the pavement. I don’t know how long we chatted, me pouring wine I’d just bought into his empty beer can and swigging my share from the bottle. We discussed life, how shit happens, and sometimes you just can’t get past it. He told me he felt ashamed for being stuck without anything. I took it all in and when it was my turn, spoke — Blah blah blah. Yet he really listened. And for the first time in months, I wasn’t lonely. I felt connected and uplifted.

There was something incredibly human about sitting in the gutter with someone and telling the truth.

A few days later, I passed him again. He put out his hand — not for money this time, but to stop me. “Thanks for chatting to me,” he said. “Most people just walk by or are abusive. But you were my good luck charm. I’ve got a permanent place to stay now. Starting next week.”

I smiled, genuinely happy he was getting sorted.

That was the last time I ever saw him.

About two weeks later, after an argument with my partner and feeling like my brother-in-law wanted me gone, I took a bottle of wine up to the huge Necropolis. It was late — past 11 p.m. The city was empty. I found a high wall to perch on, feet dangling, darkness all around. Gravestones looming. I drank under the stars. A few people passed by with dogs, or on bikes. Some looked at me strangely.

Then a guy of about forty on a skateboard rolled past, saw me, slowed to a stop, and looked up.

“You OK?” he asked.

“I’m fine, kinda,” I said.

“You mind if I join you?”

I shrugged. “No, go ahead.”

He sat on the grassy bank below the wall, got out a joint, and we started talking — about life, death, grief, parallel dimensions, destiny. We found common ground in the weirdest of places. An hour passed as if it were five minutes.

For that hour, we weren’t strangers — we were something else. Two people who’d separately witnessed the raw edge of life and weren’t trying to fix the other.

It was nearing one in the morning when he said he’d have to go, and urged me to not stay too much longer.

Before he left, he climbed up to where i was and hugged me. Held me properly, and told me: “It’s been great chatting. Always remember — there are others like you out there. Find the others.¹ Find your others. Never be afraid to talk to strangers.”

Meeting him and his words blew my mind somewhat.

I’d helped someone - the homeless guy. And now someone had helped me. I wondered if it was his turn now?

He’d told me his name, and I later looked him up. His mum had been a well known fashion designer in the ’60s and ’70s. Wild!

Strange times…

I never saw him again either.

Two strangers I’d connected with more deeply than some people I’d known for years. In the middle of a lockdown. In the middle of my low.

I sometimes think of them both, and wonder if they ever think of me?

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First published last year for the Catharsis Chronicles prompt.

¹Want to know more about these words? — Find the others. I learned later that they are part of a quote about being your best authentic self and connecting with people.

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