The Less Fortunate

A couple weeks ago, my brother told me something nice he did for a homeless man while he was out riding around downtown on his motorcycle. He was stopped at a red light where each day there are a couple of homeless men standing on the corner of a high-traffic intersection. This one man in particular stood on the sidewalk, staring at the line of cars with his "God Bless" sign in hand. First in line, my brother fished for a few dollars out of his pocket and handed it to the man. He was, of course, overly grateful. What my brother did next makes me all fuzzy inside.

He asked the man if he liked rock music. The man said yes. My brother blasted one of the local radio rock stations for the next minute or so that he was "parked" near the homeless man. The man nodded in approval and the two shared a special moment. They weren't a student and a homeless man—they were two men who appreciated the same music.

Which brings me to "the lady on the steps." There is this woman that, if I am lucky, I get to drive past her a couple times a week on my way to work. I take the back roads when I leave my house and drive through some unsightly neighborhoods. "The lady on the steps" lives in a house on the outskirts of these backroads. I started seeing her on my morning commute a couple months ago. She sits on these concrete steps, randomly placed at the end of her front yard near the street. She just sits there. I don't know if she's waiting for a bus, or a friend to pick her up and drive her somewhere, or if she just likes to sit outside on cool mornings and take in the fresh air.

I find her completely interesting. And yet I've never spoken to her or interacted with her.

Her house is extremely small. Probably the size of a two-car garage and kitchen combined, if that. It's white and has a screen door. But, not clean white. Stained. The yard looks as if it's never been properly taken care of. There are no cars in the driveway or on the lawn. In fact, now that I think about it, a driveway may not even exist on that property. The woman's appearance almost mimics that of her house. She looks worn. Her clothes are always a bit ragged. She wears a bandana on her head. She looks to be in her sixties. Her face is stoic, but speaks so loudly.

On the mornings that I see her I smile. I look forward to seeing her. No, not because I'm a twisted person and I like seeing others struggle. Because I have a feeling deep down inside that she is a caring woman with a difficult past that shaped her present, but she's trying her best to make the most of it. Next week, I'm going to either bake something myself (which is beyond dangerous, so maybe I'll rethink that one) or go buy some fresh-baked muffins or pastries or something breakfast related to stop off and give to her. Maybe some flowers, too. How could flowers not brighten someone's day, right? It just hit me that her house is right by a supermarket, so next time I see her I will speed on over there and pick the stuff up and bring it to her. Perfect. I'll be sure to give an update on how this goes in a future post.

"There is always always always something to be thankful for." 

- LJ