Written piece
Don't you remember me?
Shaneza Thomas
Guyana
About this piece
A sequence of encounters in which someone overlooked — on a train, on a bench, outside a shop, in a tent in a park — is met with kindness and, above all, is seen. The final turn reveals who has been speaking throughout: God, present in the ignored and the forgotten.
Don't you remember me? You were sitting with your eyes closed on the train when I tapped on your shoulder. You looked up into my light blue eyes and through it I showed you the universe. You gave me what we both knew you had in your bag. You smiled, you saw me and I saw you too.
Don't you remember me? I was sitting on the bench on the busy street. You heard me and stopped. You looked for something in your bag and you told me that you knew it was in there. I saw your sincerity. I told you that it is okay, your smile is enough, you have already brightened my day. Tears came to your eyes. You found it and handed it to me as you looked into my eyes and smiled. You saw me and I saw you too.
Don't you remember me? I was sitting on the ground outside the fancy store not too far from the museum. As people dressed in beautiful clothes passed me by, you came over, stooped down and asked me if I had eaten anything yet. You got me what I wanted. As you gave it to me, you looked into my eyes and smiled. You saw me and I saw you too.
Don't you remember us? We were sleeping in our tents at the park that is surrounded by houses. It was early, you called out and told us that you had a package for us. We came out and saw you standing there with red bags in your hands. You told us that they were filled with essentials and food. You handed them to us, looked into our eyes and smiled. You saw us and we saw you too.
Don't you remember me? I was the man on the train. I was the man on the bench. I was the woman sitting outside the store. I was the ones in the tents. I was in worn clothes, damaged teeth, weathered hands. I was hidden beneath rags, inside forgotten places. Don't you remember me? It's me, God, I remember you.