Just Passing By

I see him almost everyday for the last two or so years.

Like clockwork, I would see him waiting by the bus stop each morning, and in the early evenings when I go home, I see him cautiously cross the busy intersection. I know that his house is just a block away. I’ve seen him more than once as he enters the house as Bamboo and I pass by.

He always carried a back pack. He also likes wearing khaki pants and dark shades.

He doesn’t know me. We have not talked before, not even to say hi. Yet, he fascinates and inspires me.

You see, he’s blind.

A couple of months ago, while I stopped at a red light, waiting to turn left,  he crossed in front of me. Using his cane, he felt his way across the street. But for some reason, he veered a little to the right and couldn’t find the crosswalk button. He spun twice, extending his cane as far out as possible, trying to find the crosswalk post. I could tell he was getting frustrated. As he became disoriented, he ended up in the middle of the road. By this time, I was in front of his path again. I was terrified for his safety so I stopped my car, hoping the other drivers will see my car first and slow down. I wanted to get out and lead him safely to the side of the road, maybe even walk him to his house. But something kept me in my seat. Would he be offended if I, a total stranger, offered my help? Should I just get out there and risk getting him upset? If he shoos me away, I’ll leave him alone.

I guess I noodled on this dilemma a second too long because he finally found his way back. Just for good measure, I inched my car slowly and turned his corner instead of going straight. I wanted to make sure he made it home safely.

I thought about that incident all evening, marveled at how self-sufficient he is, commuting everyday, probably to go to work. I imagine that he works at some non-profit organization to help others like him. I am awed by the fact that he carries on with his life, without the gift of sight that most of us take for granted. There have been countless times when I thought about writing him a note and leaving it in his mailbox to tell him how much he inspires me. That of course is silly, right? What if he lives by himself and he doesn’t have anyone to read my note to him? Should I try to learn Braille so I can write him in a way he can read?  What if he’d take offense to that gesture?

Here I go again with my what ifs! If I paid a dollar every time I wondered what if, I would be penniless and homeless by now. Maybe someday, I’ll let him know how his life touched mine.

For now, I content myself with the sight of him, every morning and every night, with his shiny cane to help him find his way. Knowing that he’s kept our little routine comforts me. My secret friend is well and he’s getting on just fine.