A few years ago I volunteered for the local GLBT Community Center here. It was in many ways the best time I've had since I moved here. I met some truly wonderful people, some I consider to be my best
friends today. Some other people were only in my life briefly, but had an
equally significant effect. One of them was a man named Jason.

At the time I worked in the evening, so I volunteered during the afternoon answering the phone and doing small projects for the Center's director. Many times, homeless people, gay or not, would come to the Center to get a break from the summer heat. I'd show them where the water fountain and bathroom was. One day Jason came in.

He had a gentle presence. He spoke softly and was extremely polite. He told me he had just moved to Phoenix and was living in his car. I gave him a tour of the Center. Showed him the bulletin board where job and roommate postings were listed, the public access computers, explained how the library worked. He asked if he could stay for a while. I said of course.

I usually volunteered a couple days a week. Jason frequented the Center often over the next several weeks. He'd come in and read magazines or browse the internet. We'd make small talk every once in a while. He alluded to some problems he had, but didn't elaborate what they were.

After some time, he found a job and an apartment. Then he did something truly wonderful. He became a volunteer at the Center. He told me he wanted to give something back to the Center since
the Center helped him out when he first came to town. Once or twice a week, he'd
come in and answer the phones and greet guests. He'd tell visitors his
experience at the Center and encourage others to volunteer too.

After several months, I didn't see Jason very much. One night I ran into him at a bar. I asked him how he was and let him know we missed him at the Center. He seemed jittery and nervous. I suspected he may have been on something.

I eventually started working a day shift and began volunteering mostly on weekends. One Sunday, Jason came in looking very weathered from the Arizona
sun. It was obvious he was homeless again. We again made small talk, nothing very involved. Mainly pleasantries. I
was afraid of embarrassing him or making him feel uncomfortable or unwelcome.

Over time, he came in every Sunday I worked. He'd sit and read or use the computer while I did my work. I'd share any food I had with him under the pretense that I brought too much with me, but I'm sure he
saw through my ruse. He'd accept my offering and thank me.

Although he never told me specifically what happened in his life, he told me in a round about way that he was struggling with addiction. Whenever I saw him, my heart would break.

After my shift, at home, I'd think about Jason a lot. I never felt like I was doing enough. I should be trying to help
him more, I'd think. Talk to him more about his life. Take him out for a meal. Buy him a better pair of shoes. Help him in
some way. Do more.

I'd tell this to friends and they'd say "oh, you've done enough. People like that need to learn to help themselves." Eventually, I stopped talking about Jason to my friends at all.

Later that year I ended up leaving the Center. There was a lot of drama going on behind the scenes and it was starting to affect me personally, so I
quit. The one thing I regret about leaving was not getting to see Jason one last time. I wonder if given the chance, would I have done anything
differently. Would I have given him my phone number? Tried to help him out in someway? Or would I have just chickened out like I did some many other times?

I could have a least said goodbye.

Since then I think of Jason often. I wonder where he is. Is he still homeless? Is he still in Phoenix? Is he still alive?

Even today, when I see a homeless person, I take a closer look to see if it's him.

He's still breaking my heart.