The Old Road

I don't usually talk to strangers, but there I was, hobbling out of the bar, barely steady on my cane, when this kid came up to me. Young fella, polite enough, looked like he had his whole life ahead of him. Hell, I was like that once. Long time ago, though. Back before the car hit me.

I don't remember exactly why I stopped him. Maybe I felt like talking to someone, or maybe I was just sick of the way people looked at me, like I was already in a wheelchair. The kid didn't seem like that. He had that kind of kindness in his eyes. Not pity--just something softer. I must have grabbed his arm, because the next thing I knew, he was helping me walk, keeping me steady. I wasn't always this weak. I used to be strong--real strong. And back then, nobody helped me unless they wanted something in return.

"Guess I might be getting that chair soon," I mumbled, though the thought of it made me cringe. The government hands out things like they're doing you a favor, but they don't give you your life back. He said something like, "I hope you get it," and I chuckled, though I don't think he got what I was laughing about. Yeah, sure. A chair'll fix everything. Right.

I wasn't always this way, you know. I used to run with a rough crowd--Hell's Angels, or at least guys like them. Did some things I'm not proud of, but you get in deep enough, and it's not so easy to climb back out. People look at me now like I'm some crippled old man, but they forget I once worked with men who could break your bones and make it look like an accident. Or maybe that's just what I tell myself to feel less pathetic.

"I used to work for gangsters," I told him, maybe trying to impress him or maybe just because it was the truth, though he probably didn't believe me. No one ever does. But why would he? I mean, look at me now, leaning on some kid just to make it down the street.

I didn't tell him everything, of course. I didn't tell him how it ended--the part where they hit me with that car. I knew it was coming, too. I was messing up. Got too cocky. Thought I could play their game and come out on top. I knew too much, or maybe I wasn't useful anymore. It's hard to say. All I know is, one minute I was walking, the next I was on the ground, my leg twisted at some impossible angle, and the gang was driving away like nothing happened.

Anyway, now I talk to students about the dangers of that life. You know, try to scare 'em straight. Sometimes they listen, sometimes they don't. But you gotta try, right? Even if I know half of them won't. Same way I didn't.

We passed by this guy--a black guy, looked tough but quiet. The kid glanced between us, maybe thought we knew each other. I did know him, sort of. We'd crossed paths a few times, but we didn't get along. There was something about him--maybe it was the way he looked at me, like he was seeing past the bullshit I told myself, seeing all the stuff I didn't want to remember.

The kid kept walking me to my building. Seemed like he was in it for the long haul, or at least until I got home. I figured I might never see him again. That's how these things go, right? People help you for a minute, then disappear. Not that I cared. I'd been alone before, and I'd be alone again. Always am in the end.

We made it to my building, and I thanked him, though I don't think he knew what he'd really done. He'd held me steady for a moment, but he didn't know what it was like to carry all the weight I'd been dragging behind me for years. I wondered if I should tell him more, about the things I'd done, the people I'd hurt. But why? He wasn't interested in all that. He was just doing his good deed for the day.

He walked off, and I stood there, watching him disappear around the corner. For a second, I thought about calling after him, maybe asking if he wanted to hear the rest of the story. But what was the point? He'd already done enough. Besides, there's nothing left to tell that anyone really wants to hear.

I went inside, climbed the stairs slow, each step a reminder of the life I used to have, and the one I was stuck with now. I'll get that wheelchair soon enough, I thought. Maybe the government will come through. Maybe it won't. Either way, it doesn't really matter.