scissors and pills

Yesterday I spent far more time in the pharmacy than my errand warranted - my prescription was mislaid, or some such - and met a man with a significant brain injury who was also waiting on medication. I wasn't certain at first that there was anything actually wrong with him because he initially spoke to me of Our Lord and, living in the South, people without brain injuries do think it perfectly acceptable to accost strangers and preach to them about Blessed Jesus. However, he did get around to telling me about a head-on collision with a firetruck and actually said the words "brain injury," thus confirming my suspicions. I felt a little less guarded then, and was able to respond to his comments about his very large family, his wishes for the holidays, and his Jesus, with perhaps more sincerity than before, albeit without any notable content. I said a lot of things like, "Oh, really?" "That's nice," and "I hope you have a good Thanksgiving, too."

At one point, he expressed a liking for all kinds of music, but especially gospel. He also cited a 6-year history with some sort of choral group. I asked if he still sang, at which point he asked, "Do you want me to sing a solo?" as if he were shocked I would make such a brazen request. I hadn't really meant to ask him any such thing, but I said, "Sure." He sang a wavering, atonal version of Amazing Grace in its entirety while staring into my eyes. It was riveting and horrifying and kind of awesome.