I was staring at his back, his long pony tail hanging down over his leather jacket. He was standing next to a little black car, filling it up with gas. I got his attention, asking my question.
There was a long pause. He seemed a casual kind of a guy, about 40 years old, with a beard and jeans. But the pause continued as he stared straight back into my eyes. So I asked him again: “Can I pray for you.”
His answer was puzzling. “Yeaahh,” he said. It was the way he said it that caught me. It was as if I asked him if he wanted a million bucks. It was that “yeah” you give to a really stupid question. That would have been a great, refreshing answer. But the look on his face was totally detached from what he was saying. He just looked annoyed that I was there.
So, not sure what else to say, I asked him again. He didn’t pause this time, but just gave me that same “Yeaahh.” By this time, I felt mildly like an idiot. So I just bowed my head and prayed for him. I’m not sure whether he bowed his head. He was looking at me when I lifted my eyes. We had another brief pause, and then I thanked him. He didn’t really say anything. He moved to his side of the gas pump, and I moved to mine.
On the way home, I tried to commit to memory that response. “Yeaahh!” I said aloud in my empty car. And then “yeaahh” and again, “yeaahh.” This continued for three miles until I finally gave up. I really have no idea what he was thinking.
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