Give A Helping Hand

We were all standing at the bus stop, eagerly expecting the arrival of the 5 o’clock bus, just like we did every day after work or school, in the crisp September air. The warm breeze carried a hint of coolness, hinting at the transition from summer to fall. Yes, some schools’ day ends around 4:15 - 4:25, just as the afternoon sun casts long shadows.

The fading sunlight painted the clouds with shades of orange and pink, creating a breathtaking backdrop. The soft breeze rustled the leaves, whispering secrets in the air. Adding a touch of joy to the tranquil atmosphere, the distant sound of children’s laughter echoed through the streets.

Amidst the earthy aroma of freshly cut grass, the scent of blooming flowers intermingled. A sense of calmness washed over, as if time stood still, inviting reflection and serenity.

As usual, everyone was in their own world—some were listening to music through their headphones, others were scrolling through their phones, covered, while a few were simply lost in thought, staring aimlessly into the distance.

A man, standing close by, intently hid his eyes below his red trucker ball cap, careful not to make any eye contact. This is our world, peas in a pod, but distinctly separated in ideals, emotions, and values.

A muted, shared anticipation filled the atmosphere. Those of us standing, we waited for the bus’s arrival to sit and rest. The rest of us sitting, simply wanted to get on the bus to get to our destination.

As usual, exhaustion weighed heavily on me, my eyelids drooping and body yearning for rest. A low hum of conversation filled the space from across the road with an occasional burst of laughter. But then, out of nowhere, a simple yet extraordinary event unfolded, shattering the mundane rhythm of our wait.

An elderly lady, her frail figure stooped, slowly emerged near to the edge of the bus stop, a melancholic expression etched on her face as she clutched a faded photograph in one hand. A wave of sorrow washed over me as I witnessed her carefully and slowly switch the photo from her right hand to her left hand to pick up her groceries.

In addition, I observed her feeble attempts to carry the heavy grocery bags, her hunched shoulders straining under the slight weight, and her weary eyes revealing the burdened soul within. Suddenly, a young African American man, likely in his mid to late twenties, appeared seemingly out of nowhere, his purposeful strides echoing softly against the pavement.

My face lit up with delight as I spotted him–it was Wayne, the person, and regular bus rider who always had a warm smile and a contagious laughter, radiating joy wherever he went. He offered his help with a warm, genuine smile that could light up the gloomiest day. The perfect remedy for a suffering soul.

A fleeting glimpse of sorrow crossed the elderly lady’s eyes as she hesitated, her face growing heavy with the weight of her pride and independence, before reluctantly accepting his offer. A single tear welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision, and a faint smile struggled to break through the heaviness in her heart. Sometimes it’s difficult to accept help, even with the possibility of honest intentions.

Not only did Wayne effortlessly lift her grocery bags, but he also entertained her with a lighthearted conversation. The sound of their laughter filled the air, their shared amusement breaking the silence, as they walked towards the nearby bench. Observing them, my heart swelled with tenderness and compassion, treasuring the elderly lady’s vulnerability and grace, and feeling a surge of pride for Wayne’s spontaneous act of kindness. A silent curiosity filled my mind, causing a smile to appear on my face as I wondered about the connection between the elderly lady and Wayne. Feeling a warm, joyful exuberance inside, I collected my thoughts and packed them away to keep them safe and sound.

We all watched, silent witnesses to this authentic act of kindness. It reminded us of the powerful impact slight gestures can have, how they can ripple through our shared human experience. It wasn’t grand; it wasn’t flashy, but it was real and deeply touching. After Wayne ensured the elderly lady was comfortably seated on a bench, he rejoined us at the bus stop with a humble and unassuming demeanor, as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary. But the moment lingered in the air, creating an unspoken bond among strangers who might never meet again.

Just before the bus arrived, I approached Wayne and thanked him for his kindness. I explained to him that the elderly lady clutching a photograph had lost her husband, the man in the photo she was carrying, to cancer just a month ago.

Wayne’s eyes filled with empathy, and he nodded solemnly, understanding the depth of his small yet significant gesture. As the bus finally arrived that day, we all boarded and left with lighter hearts, carrying a bit of that kindness with us, and finding inspiration to create a small ripple of our own in the vast ocean of life. I’m reminded that we never really know the miles walked in one another’s shoes nor troubles carried, so an unselfish and spontaneous kind word or act goes a long way.