As usual, I was sent as Hermes to her work to deliver the goods. As I was walking out the back door, I heard my twin dogs, Midnight and Knightmare, raising all hell outside due to some guy that was stumbling along the side of the street. Now, seeing this guy walk, my first impression was: "Whoa, paraplegic!" One of his legs kinda turned in, and he swung his arms out in huge awkward arcs to steady his lopsided gait. Then I considered the possibility that he might be drunk. That's when he fell, splat on Cecilia's driveway. (Cecilia's my epileptic, highly paranoid neighbor from across the street that hates George W. Bush with a passion. Seriously, you'd think she was his ex-wife or something.) The lanky man sat there, panting for a few seconds, all the while grabbing his left leg. Even through my dog's incessant barking, I could tell he seemed about to break down. So I hastily put my wallet and lentils in the car, hopped in, and backed out of the driveway. All this time, I was considering whether or not I should give this guy a lift. I mean, I knew nothing about him or his condition, but he seemed to really need the help. In my mind, I could hear 'Ama's scandalized voice, spewing out her usual bout of advice when it came to hitch-hikers: stear clear unless you're looking to get jumped and stripped of your belongings. I drove very slowly, unsure of the route I was to take - pregnant older sister or crippled stranger? - and finally decided on the latter. I mean, it wouldn't hurt to try to help the guy, could it? So I went straight and pulled up next to him, rolling down my window as I went.

"Excuse me," I called out in English, prepared to switch over to Spanish in case the guy didn't understand. He paused in his gait and lifted his head a little to look at me. "Sorry, but... do you need a ride or something?"

The stranger's eyes widened in disbelief and he straightened up as much as he could and replied, "Please.... please... I'm in a lot of pain... I broke my foot..."

I was stunned, but tried not to show it. "Come on in, then," I told him, moving quickly to unlock the passenger door.

"Why are you helping me?" he demanded as he got closer to the car. I turned to him and stared, blinking in surprise. Well, what kind of fucking question is that? Wasn't it obvious? He needed help, didn't he? "Why are you helping me?" he repeated. "No one else has."

I just shook my head and opened the damn door for him, and he stumbled into my Toyota in an exhausted, crumpled heap. Then he began to cry.

I tried hard not to stare, but I don't think I did a very good job. Observing the guy carefully, I saw his teeth were narrow and yellow, and rotted in some places on his bottom jaw. He was very thin, with wispy light brown hair and a bald spot. His skin was starkingly white, probably from the pain. His arms, however, were toned if not very muscular. I watched him cry for about two seconds and patted his back. "It's okay," I told him softly. "Where do you live?"

"A block... just a block away," the man gasped. Then he looked up at me all teary eyed with gratitude and something that looked like awe. It made me wanna squirm. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, trying to get a hold of himself. "It's just... I'm in a lot of pain. I broke my foot..." I merely nodded and turned my eyes back to the road. "Please don't think it's an act," he added hastily. I never had, and meant to tell him so, but he was lifting his jeans up a little to show me the gauze around his ankle. His foot was swelling fast. I winced. "I've been walking... for a very long time now," he went on. "Since Trenton."

Trenton?! Whoa! That had to be about -

"Nine miles," he finished bitterly.

Nine miles!

"Nobody helped me..." he muttered, and then he turned to look at me again. "But you did! You did!" Then before I could think, he had gripped my hand in his very, very tightly, so my Chinese Dragon ring was digging into my bones and he was probably getting stabbed with the silver spikes around my wrist. I didn't pull my hand away, and he didn't let me go. Not until he had pointed out what street he lived in and what house. As I pulled up, he squeezed my hand even harder as tears kept spilling out of his eyes. He finally let me go, did the sign of the cross, told me "God Bless" more times than I can count, and opened the door to the car.

"Do you want me to help you to your door?" I asked. I had asked him if he wanted me to call a doctor, as I had my cell phone with me, but he refused. He also refused me helping him to his door, claiming to be fine now that he was home. Then before exiting my car he changed his mind, grabbed my hand again, kissed it, and gave me a hug. "Feliz Navidad," he told me, obviously meaning this as a touching gesture, for he wasn't Mexican but Anglo, and I smiled and told him, "Feliz Navidad. And don't thank me, that's what neighbors are for." He beamed at me and left my car at last, not without shaking my hand again and promising never to forget me and what I'd done. "That's one block I didn't have to suffer," he told me. "Because no one would help me, but you did! And that helped me, that healed me... in here." He put his hand over his heart, and with those parting words, he was gone.

I could keep going with this now, about how dehumanized society has become that a man had to walk nine miles to his house with a broken foot and no one would lend him a helping hand, and on the eve of Las Fiestas de la Virgen, at that. But 'Ama told me to take it the positive way, and to thank God for giving me the opportunity to help this man, if even for one measly block. And know what? That's just what I'm gonna do. In what he kept telling me over and over again, I do believe he was right. I really am blessed.

previous - next