Their eyes

I have seen it two places and only two. Once was in Ireland at a long table in a common room of the hostel. Six months later, it was in a walk-in cooler at my job away from eyes and ears of all else. The tightening of the jaw, twitch of the face, and shortness of breath as the young men talk about their souls being ripped from them. I see it in their eyes.

One was from the third world. He was an immigrant looking for a better life only to find obstacles. They used to tell me, "You're American. You make the rules." I still struggle to process the feeling of palpable dispare and hope. Maybe it tastes like the beer he clutched in his hand.

The other had the people he trusted most betray him, all at the same time. I later told him I thought it was a rite of passage to becoming an adult. Why pain has to be so universal and how the hell we forget that it is will always baffle me.

Pain is pain. It drops the eyes, sucks in the breath, and corners people into little holes no matter how it visits. Our response to pain is what makes us humane or animalistic. Do we lick our wounds and put ourselves first, fighting for our own survival above all else? Or do we reach out and let others set our broken bones, bandage our wounds, and walk us to healing, teaching us to do the same for others? Or, is the need greater than the capacity?

I look at the refugee situation overseas, and it doesn't seem so far away tonight. I know those eyes. I don't know what to do for them except to make new rules here. Rules that say, "You're welcome. I will pay full price for my goods so you can live. I will do all I can to create a better world for you."

Those eyes haunt my dreams. I will be running with them for my life in my sleep tonight. Pain is pain. We all share it. Just look in our eyes.