On Fridays, to make extra grocery money each week, I deliver Tidbits newspaper around the Wasatch Front. One of my drops is a little coffee shop called Grounds For Coffee, in Clearfield.

A couple of weeks ago, I met a young man wearing a Willy Wonka outfit: maroon coat and tails, and a velvet tophat. Joe. Joe has a jack o' lantern smile full of goofy crooked teeth, and a personality to take your breath away. Friendly, silly Joe. He hailed me as I dashed out the door and asked if I knew who he was? (Mind you, Joe is 19 years old...mentally at about 6 years of age) Now, my main job is with a company that helps disabled adults, and Joe was charming. Reminded me of Matt at the Pryme Day Center, so I talked and visited with him a bit. His grampa was sitting at a table nearby and we both laughed at Joe and his Willy Wonka outfit. Meeting Joe made my day.

Saw Joe again last Saturday, and said hi to him. This time his dad and his grampa were with him, and I shook hands with Joe and laughed with him. I'll probably see him there again.

And today...today...as I was dashing out from Grounds for Coffee, I saw a young man wandering across the parking lot in his stocking feet. He was rubbing his hands together and pacing, clearly not sure of where he was. So, I tossed my stuff in the front seat and went over to him. "Hi," I said. The young man was not verbal, but was muttering and making sounds. He was so happy to have someone approach him! He reached out to me to try and hug, but I gave him my hand instead.

"Who is with you?" He had my hand in both of his, and seemed like he was going to cry. He was so scared! But he couldn't talk. "Where did you come from?" I asked him. He clasped my hand and shuffled and muttered. "What is your name?" He couldn't answer, he couldn't tell me where he came from...he was lost!

I looked around and saw a paratransit bus across the parking lot, and sure enough, a frantic woman casting around, obviously looking for ... my temporary charge. I hollered, and held the man's hand. We walked that direction, and I shouted again and waved my arm in the air.

She saw me and came running. "What's his name?" I asked. "Tony."

"He's not wearing shoes," I commented. "Yeah, he takes his shoes off."

She took Tony by the hand and led him off. I patted him on the back and said "There you go bud. See you, Tony."

When I got back in the car, I burst into tears. That poor, frightened, vulnerable man. Shoeless, mindless, voiceless. I'm so GLAD I saw him. It shook me up, for some reason. It still has me close to tears, two hours later.

His inability to speak reminds me of Scott at the Day Center, but his mentality is much lower than Scott's. Scott can at least sign some and he understands everything he hears. This young man was utterly helpless. As if an 18 month old had wandered from his family or something.

And I wonder what this is all about, this meeting up with mentally disabled people in other-than-work-venues. And I wonder why meeting Tony has me so...has touched my heart so profoundly.