It
was a comfortable mid-day in June; the surprise embrace of a cool breeze,
*chef’s kiss*.
Grocery
bags in hand, I navigated the sidewalk crowds waiting for the bus or heading to
their destinations.
I
was en route to the bus stop when a Black gentleman, sporting a salt and pepper
beard and an afro-shaped head of hair under a Rasta style hat, jog-walked
across my path before veering to the right.
His neon green shirt had me thinking he might be a manual laborer—
possibly in construction. He slowed to a
stop next to a party of three; two Black women and an older Black man with
snow-white hair.
The
women were in the process of ever so carefully guiding the man from a
wheelchair into the back seat of a black hired car. Wheelchair as close to the open car door as
possible, they had already gotten him up and now held him between the door and
the back seat. Physically, it was clear
he needed their help. In turn, their
guiding embrace communicated he was most precious and loved.
The
bearded gentleman talked with them. I
was too far away to hear the words, but his body language and facial expression
also spoke of care and concern. Once the
older man was safely in the backseat, the would-be Samaritan continued speaking
with one of the women; her short, bobbed hair of cloudy grey ruffled on and off
by a playful breeze.
The
other woman, long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, had begun the work of
folding the wheelchair. Task complete,
she was met by the driver at the trunk of the car, where they appeared to
discuss the logistics of getting the wheelchair in.
On
their first try, it didn’t fit; just enough of the wheels stuck out to make
closing the trunk problematic. So, out
it came, and the woman began folding it again.
It was clear her next attempt would be getting the wheels in first. By this time, the other woman and the caring
stranger had come over to the trunk.
Once
again, the caring stranger hovered respectfully nearby, ready to assist if the
ladies required his help. But as soon as
he saw they had it all under control, he stepped back even more. When he started to leave, the woman with the
wheelchair thanked him for his offer of help.
My
bus arrived at that moment, so I have no idea how round 2 of getting the
wheelchair into the trunk played out.
But I boarded with a heart full of appreciation for all I had witnessed.
I’m
grateful to the caring stranger for coming over to proffer assistance. It was also kind of him to stay in the event
the women ended up needing assistance. I
also appreciated that he didn’t just go in and start physically getting
involved; he offered and then let them decide.
He kept up a quiet conversation with them, and his mannerisms and
demeanor had me wondering if he, too, had firsthand experience with someone
navigating life with limited mobility.
I
also appreciated the care the women took with their older gentleman-- the
energy of which felt so palpable.
Then, at the end, the way the woman offered her thanks to the caring stranger— the warmth of it. They hadn’t needed or ended up using his physical help. But he had come over, respectfully offered, and stayed with them physically and energetically. Her hands, and likely her mind, were still primarily occupied with the needs of the situation. And yet, she was present enough to extend a personable thank you as he left.