Do Unto OthersAn old man got on the bus today about halfway through my commute. He wasn't sure that this bus took him where he wanted to go--he named only a retirement complex--and the bus driver (a very kind soul) didn't know. A passenger did, and he got on, painfully. I didn't notice him much at first beyond that it took him about four times as long as anyone else to board, this after the conference about whether this was really the route he needed. So along we went. He could have got off on the main road just before his complex, but didn't; or the passenger who knew the man's destination could have asked the bus driver to make an unscheduled stop just in front of it, but didn't; so when the bus turned into a sidestreet to continue its route and made its first stop there, and the old man didn't stand up, then we all noticed something was amiss. The first Samaritan told him this was his stop, and someone else sitting next to him pointed out the building. Meanwhile the bus driver has stopped the bus for as long as ever it might take. The man exited the bus but slipped on the ice and tilted back into the doorway. He seemed completely disoriented.
Thoughts of my own granny scurried through my mind and prompted me to my feet. "I'm going with him," I called to the driver so he wouldn't drive away, and donned my coat and pack and left the bus.
I walked him home, half a city block over ice, a twenty-minute trek for which he wore only a tweed jacket and no gloves for his swollen red hands. If I'd realized how long it would take I would have made him wear mine, but I didn't think. The sidewalks were ill-plowed, as usual; Denver snow usually melts before it forms anything too treacherous for the able-bodied. He wasn't. I suspected he'd had a stroke that affected the left side of his body, because he dragged one foot and dangled one arm, and I didn't get much of his speech. He thanked me continually as we staggered along. If the sidewalks the city--or the shopping center on the corner--was responsible for were bad, I was shocked by the condition of the parking lot at the assisted living place which was, furthermore, on a slope. I wondered what kind of a place this was, but as soon as we came through the doors, a desk attendant was all over him, saying where have you been, we've been worried, we sent the car, etc. I got the impression he wandered away after a medical appointment or something. Then I walked myself home, profoundly grateful for what remains of my youth, for my good health and physical shape. I don't want to be infirm.
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