alexzanda's o.p.i.

 

 

A NEIGHBOR IN THE HOOD

Part 3

continued from blog post of February 1, 2013

 

 

 

 

 

This hand belonged to the man that enquired about the plagued man’s bus-stop.  The same and only guy that bothered to aid the burden-bearer heap the half paralyzed man to a seat in the bus.

 

 

 

One man bore the burden of taking the half paralyzed man to the bus while another man would bear the plagued man’s burden to disembark from the bus.

 

 

It was a struggle that was somehow heart-lifting to watch.  With care in the helper’s voice instructing the plagued man how to move, the herculean task of moving a half-paralyzed elderly man from the bus to the bus-stop shelter was successfully concluded with him seated on the elevated passengers’ walkway. 

 

The bus conductor called out to the plagued man’s helper thinking that all he wanted to do was just help the plagued man disembark and then continue with the bus.  But the helper remained by the plagued man’s side as the bus drove off. 

 

 

The neighborly passenger would ask the plagued man about his destination and who could be contacted.  The plagued man just could not handle the process of putting thoughts to words as in the middle of providing these details he lost his ability to speak.  Then concerned passengers at the bus-stop waiting for their ride would encourage the helper to search the plagued man for a phone which he found.  And he would further search the bag on the plagued man for an identity which he also found and noted that the plagued man’s name is Sunday.

 

 

Sunday, plagued with paralysis to the left part of his body, the brain inclusive, the front side of his flowing native dress drenched with spittle from continual drooling, was fortunate enough to regain his ability to speak and call out a name that would be found on the phone for his helper to call.     

 

 

The call was made by his helper and he later communicated to other concerned passenger that help was on the way.  And before help would come, the helper had gone to a close-by shop, bought a white handkerchief with which he cleaned up the drooling from Sunday as if to make him presentable for the person coming for him. 

When Sunday’s cavalry would arrive, the helper, the neighborly passenger, confirming that they were Sunday’s relative, would not even wait to give his name or accept a “thank you” from them. 

 

He just hurried away from the scene as if he was not supposed to be there, as if he was just a neighbor in the hood that had to badly be somewhere else.    

 

Was it a coincidence that someone not related to a man in such a bad condition would be so helpful in the form a neighborly passenger?

 

Don’t look to me for an answer because I am just a storyteller telling what was witnessed with the hope that whoever reads this would ask just one simple question: “can I ever muster the will and grace to be a neighbor in the hood?”