by Jayson Boyd

Columnist

My bus that I take to work in the morning drops me off on First Avenue in front of the Seattle Art Museum. That’s the first stop downtown after exiting Highway 99. I then walk the ten blocks to the King County Administration building, heading south on First, and then east on Yesler Way. My bus makes a loop around downtown before getting back onto 99, and I could just stay on for a few minutes and get off much closer to work, but I prefer the extra walk. 

It’s kind of funny how, in a city of millions of people, you tend to see the same ones when you walk the same route at the same time every day. One person I don’t see anymore, however, is the Jesus guy. The first time I saw him, I could see from afar that he was holding a small sign in front of his chest. I assumed he was asking for money – maybe a street kid. As I got closer, I could finally make out what it said, “Jesus Loves You”. When I realized this I did what any reasonable person would do: I looked away so as to not make eye contact. A few days went by with me pretending not to notice him. I was sure that one day he’d walk up to me, and ask me if I knew Jesus. I could be a jerk and reply that in fact, Jesus had made me some killer steak mulitas the night prior. Maybe I should just lie and explain that I was late for work. I mean, he doesn’t know that I work for the government and really couldn’t care less. But, he never did approach me, or anyone else. As time wore on, I grew more comfortable and began to inspect him a little when he wasn’t looking my direction. He was young, but clean and sharp, with olive skin and an inviting face; he was handsome, but awfully short. Although his sign had the same message every day, it was always a different one. Carrying this sign was obviously important enough to him that he took the time to write out a fresh one every day. Eventually, I started allowing myself to make eye contact, which then led to a head nod. I came to appreciate seeing him every day; because even when it was wet and cold and everyone else looked miserable, he seemed downright chipper. It got to the point where I was even giving him the look that says, “Well, it’s raining again, but what are ya’ gunna do?” No matter the weather, he was always smiling. 

My curiosity about the sign was starting to get the better of me. I began to realize that a conversation with him at this point would likely transcend the dreaded small-talk, and it could possibly be a fulfilling, deep, philosophical discussion on the role of religion and what it means to be happy. What if he blew my mind with incredible insight? Or maybe he was conducting a sort of experiment for a class, and all this time I’ve been one of his subjects – that’d give me a laugh. Heck, he could be the next “Free Hugs” guy, spreading joy in all sorts of hostile places. Of course, he still could be just a run-of-the-mill Jesus freak, after all. 

But who was going to make the first move? He was the one that was literally carrying the first words spoken between us, and so I had to be the one – easier said than done for an introvert like me. I always had an excuse for not initiating: like there were too many people around, or we were passing each other in the middle of the street, or maybe I really was late to work, and maybe I do care a little. The frustration with myself grew. I knew that if I never found out what his motivation was, I’d never stop wondering about it.

And then I stopped seeing him.