George

This is how I spent my Saturday night, in New York City.

I had been hanging out with Jon and Niki at a coffee shop this last Saturday, and our midnight curfew was rapidly approaching. After debating whether or not to go play pool, or do karaoke, or see a movie, we ended up near Union Square. We were on our way to the subway to take the D train home, when we all stopped in our tracks at the sight of some guy hunched over and travailing in a puddle of his own vomit. He was sweaty and wreaked of alcohol. We all looked at each other uneasily, but the compelling words of Jesus echoing in our heads finally behooved us to approach him. Admittedly, I was hesitant to do so, because I wasn’t sure if it was safe. I knew, however, that I had been praying for opportunities to help the needy. Here was an opportunity.

I didn’t realize how young he was until we got closer. He was about seventeen, wearing a red t-shirt and skinny jeans. Jon immediately knelt down and produced some napkins from his backpack, and offered it to the guy to wipe himself off. Jon began asking him questions about how we could help him, while I watched Niki quietly assessed the kid’s level of intoxication. There's something inside me that wants to be significant, to be special, to be useful and indispensable. So there was an innate desire to impact this situation.

But...I wasn’t sure what to do. Unlike my two roommates, I had no background or experience in caring for the drunk. I quickly realized that this divine appointment was not about me being able to help someone, but it was about this kid getting help. From here on out, I decided I would just make myself available to assist however I could. Whether that was holding the guy's water, or helping him stand, or guiding his drunken footsteps, I was ready to be of at least some help.

Niki ran into Dunkin Donuts to get some water and a banana, while Jon continued to talk with the kid. He was completely incoherent, and couldn’t even stand up. He was convinced he was in Brooklyn, but we kept telling him he was in Manhattan. When Niki came back, a crowd of scantily clad Jersey girls swooped over us and demanded what was going on with the kid. Apparently, these girls had seen the drunken teenager earlier that evening, falling out of a subway car. People exiting the train walked over him, but they rescued him from the platform and called the police. They said that they had left him with the police, and thought nothing more of it, but were completely shocked to find him in the same place they’d left him.

The Jersey girls were being extremely overbearing, and scolding the poor kid for his misbehavior. They had good intentions, though. One of them fed him the banana and gave him a big sticky, pukey hug. They were celebrating someone’s birthday, so we insisted that we’d take care of it. Despite this kid’s protests and assertions of his increasing sobriety, we did not listen to him (he was convinced he was in the Bed-Stuyvesant neighborhood of middle Brooklyn, near his favorite pizza place.) They left, Jon called the house to tell them we’d be late, and we all sat down and got to know our new friend. Empty handed and speechless, I simply sat beside this young man and listened to him tell his story.

His name was George. He lived in Queens, and had just graduated from high school. He was on his way to film school in the fall. That afternoon, however, he broke up with his girlfriend down in Brooklyn and decided to drink his sorrows away with his friends. Unfortunately, George hadn’t eaten anything all day, and he had been drinking continuously since about 3pm. His supply of alcohol had run out around 10:30pm. Therefore, Niki had confirmed, he was absolutely wasted, and could possibly risk alcohol poisoning. At this point, George had no idea how he ended up in Manhattan, and he didn’t know where his friends were. He didn't even remember being rescued by the Jersey girls. What he did remember, however, was that he had forgotten his cell phone at home. ..and he was far to drunk to remember any phone numbers to call on someone else's.

As a strict follower of the straight-edge philosophy, I could not even begin to imagine being in this situation. I would have been so scared. Having no phone and no money and not even being able to walk straight or remember my house number...the very thought made me anxious. Perhaps if it ever did happen, God would send his sons and daughters to rescue me like He had done for George. I was surprised at myself for not looking at George with the judging eyes I usually have with my friends back home who indulge in alcohol and drugs. God gave me His heart for his son. I was filled with compassion and love for him.

As he told us his story, I could tell he was pretty sad about the whole ordeal. He had been with his girlfriend for a couple years, and they broke up because they were going to different colleges. He said he really cared for her. He knew that drinking wouldn't take away his pain, but he had just hoped he could stop thinking about it.

George was slowly recovering, and was feeling much better after drinking some water and eating the banana. Niki, who used to be a binge drinker and a drug addict, began educating him about the nature of alcohol and drug use. She told him that the reason he’d been so heavily affected was because he hadn’t eaten anything before he drank. Niki started telling him about her experiences drowning herself in substances to escape her problems. She noted one specific occasion when she was sixteen when she had drunken herself into a coma. Niki came to leave it all behind by realizing that drugs and alcohol would not solve her problems. The only thing that would truly satisfy the hungers of her soul, she said, was Jesus Christ.

He agreed with her; he believed in God, but he had been turned off by his parent's religious upbringing. He felt like Jesus was always being shoved down his throat, so he never took it to heart. We told him that Jesus, Himself, doesn't want to do that to him; Jesus wants George to choose Him, because He chose George. We asked him if we could pray for him, and he accepted. We prayed for God to show him His love and satisfy him in this hard time, and that God would bring him back to reality so we could get him home.

He had to use the bathroom, so Jon and I helped him up and walked him over to KFC where he could use the bathroom. All along the way, George kept telling us how “fucking cool” we were and how much he appreciated us helping him. I couldn't help but imagine how many people had walked by him that night, thinking he was some filthy vagrant, not even batting an eye. George said he couldn't believe we stopped for him. I could. What I couldn't believe is that we've come this far. This was the kind of thing I had only wished me and my friends were cool enough to do. This is the kind of thing I pictured only Jesus putting up with. Yet here we were. In response to his amazement, I told him he was our brother; if we are all God's children, then we are all a family. He smiled.

George emptied out his bladder and washed his face, while Jon went to get him some pizza (we were all very hungry.) He walked with Niki and I and sat down on the sidewalk a few blocks up, waiting for Jon, who brought back four delicious slices of artichoke and spinach pizza. It was a marvelous dinner. People passing us looked at the four of us curiously as we dined on the sidewalk, laughing and talking in the name of Jesus. We talked a lot about the movies that he wanted to make. He apparently had numerous odd jobs lined up this summer, filming baptisms and weddings. When we were finished eating, George said he was feeling nauseas, so Niki suggested that he throw up again. She insisted that he get as much alcohol out of his body has possible. Jon and I led him over to a garbage can, where we consoled him as he tried to gag the poison out of his body.

Niki excused herself for this activity, and started pacing up and down the block interceding for God's healing hand to be on George. I could vaguely hear her mouth racing, and I could almost see the tongue of fire over her head as she went to war for George.

It was time to get George home. We walked him to the subway, which was at least 90 degrees, and waited with him for over an hour for his train to arrive. George, at this point, was feeling much better. He was still pretty air-headed, but he could walk now. Much to my amusement, George asked for a piece of gum because he had a bitter taste in his mouth. It this kid's lucky day. I had a full pack in my back pocket. I couldn't help but notice what a perfect situation we were in. What if we had gone to play pool, or sing karaoke? We wouldn't have been anywhere near where George was. And what better people to stumble across him than an NYU student who knows the city like the back of his hand and could get him home, and a former binge drinker who knew exactly how to treat his symptoms?

We found out we had missed the local R-Train, so we had to wait for the sporadic N-train. I was starting to fade. We all were. I was exhausted and overheated. I excused myself outside (where it had begun to rain) a few times to refocus. Jon was a trooper. He never left his side for the rest of the wait.

Finally, we got George on the train. By this point, I was ready to pass out...so I offered to pay for a cab home. On the way, we prayed together, thanking God for this opportunity to love his son.

Overall, we had probably spent ten dollars on our new friend. We calculated that the water, banana, pizza and bagel and metrocard came to about total of ten dollars. Sometime after we arrived in the subway, Niki and I found a $10 on the steps leading down to the platform. Thanks, God.