As Sweet a Moment as I Have Ever Seen

[xela]

I caught a bus today. The bus pulled up — not, of course, to the curb: it being the MBTA, the driver stopped a good four feet out. I stepped out to wait by the front corner while people left.

A little girl got off, her head coming perhaps midway up my thigh. She jumped down the long final step, probably half her height — and then she turned around, and with that serious expression children wear only when they're about important adult business, put out her hand.

I suddenly noticed that the next person coming down the steps was an elderly lady with a cane. A half-beat later, the bus driver, whose job is to notice these things in a timely manner, caught on and lowered the corner of the bus — with the old lady in the stairwell, gripping her cane and the railing for dear life.

I was trying to figure out how I could offer to help the lady without stepping on the little girl, when she reached out and, with the most delicate touch, took the girl's hand. Brought her cane down to the ground with her other hand, and without of course actually putting any weight on the child, gave the little girl what she so obviously considered the great privilege of helping her down.

After I got on the bus, I watched them as long as I could, walking down the sidewalk together, holding hands, as bound by love as any two people I have ever seen.

---

Until I was six, my mother's Uncle Jesse lived with us. An old man, badly bowed by arthritis, he walked, slowly and painfully, with an old wooden cane. He had infinite patience and endless stories for a little boy, and I loved him with total devotion. When he was feeling up to it, he would take a daily walk to the end of the road — perhaps a quarter mile, but for him, very difficult and very important. I would accompany him on those walks, holding his hand, listening to his stories, basking in his love.

I hadn't thought about it in thirty years or more, but my mom used to tell stories about how I would hold out my hand for Uncle Jesse to steady himself on when he stood. In that little girl today, as through a lens in time, I saw the little boy. I am honored to have been him.

Comments

[sensesurfer.livejournal.com]

:)

[yakshaver.livejournal.com]

Thank you. It's rare for me to write and post something so heartfelt. Not least because when I do, it's often greeted with a deafening silence that leaves me feeling much as I would if I farted loudly at a dinner party. So a little positive response goes a long way.

[hlinspjalda.livejournal.com]

*snif*

[yakshaver.livejournal.com]

Thank you. It's rare for me to write and post something so heartfelt. Not least because when I do, it's often greeted with a deafening silence that leaves me feeling much as I would if I farted loudly at a dinner party. So a little positive response goes a long way.

[hlinspjalda.livejournal.com]

I was being restrained in my written response; actually, I cried for five minutes.

*hug*

[yakshaver.livejournal.com]

Thank you for telling me that.

When I finished that, I washed my face and blew my nose and read it over and said to myself That's the best I have in me. If that doesn't move people, I will never, ever try to write anything serious again.

[sammason.livejournal.com]

Thank you. That's beautiful.

[yakshaver.livejournal.com]

Thank you.

"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."
— Red Smith

I kept thinking back on that moment all day, and literally got up from bed to write about it, because I couldn't get to sleep if I didn't. Didn't some of the Greeks speak of being forced to write under the spell of the muse? I wrote the last half of it through tears, and then was sorely tempted not to post it. As I said to the other two people who responded, it's rare for me to write and post something so heartfelt. Not least because when I do, it's often greeted with a deafening silence that leaves me feeling much as I would if I farted loudly at a dinner party. So a little positive response goes a long way.

And for someone to find it beautiful is really all I could have hoped for.