I picked up a woman recently. I’m 61 years old. I reckon she’s close to my age, one way or the other.
Braking to slow my coast downhill, I passed this woman making weary progress with a knapsack on her back and filled plastic bags in each hand. It had just started raining, a light rain with the temperature in late May delivering an unseasonable chill.
I made a U-turn, pulled up beside her and rolled down the window. “Excuse me if I’m being presumptuous,” I said, “but may I help you get where you’re going?”
“That would be nice,” she responded, although the exchange did not seem to perk her above the threshold of weariness. She opened the back door and put her bags on the back seat. After she got in the car, I offered, “When I saw you carrying the bags with it starting to rain, well, that just seemed like too much.” She nodded with a bit of a smile.
I drove her up the hill a few blocks. The hill grew steeper. I drove her up the steeper hill. Nowhere near a house, she said, “This is where I’m going.” I pulled over and stopped.
The terrain dropped off into thick brush, steeper than the steep road. It hadn’t occurred to me that she was homeless. This poised woman (or was she deflated?) may be someone’s grandmother.
There are many reasons why a person would be walking, even a person carrying a load of stuff. I don’t know what sort of cluelessness had kept it from occurring to me that this was a homeless person. I have, it seems, little direct contact with homeless people. It doesn’t quite count that I pass near some who fit more convenient stereotypical images.
Realizing the generic identity of this woman that I had picked up and dropped off flustered me. As I scanned the curvy, narrow road for cars and scouted a 180 degree turn, I didn’t really notice how quickly she pulled her bags from the back seat. A couple of cars passed. Such a steep, narrow road. I didn’t really notice her disappear.
Coincidentally the next day, I read an “Other Voices” column in The Union by Thomas J. Streicher (5/26/11). He was describing “The attempted economic cleansing of Nevada City.” He referred to the Divine Spark program that is currently serving more than a hundred homeless people. He wrote, “I am not seeking your donation. I am asking you to go directly to the people who need help in your community and give them a sandwich if they’re hungry, or offer a ride if you see them walking.”
I guess I did a good thing.
I guess. It didn’t seem good enough, although now I’m in a position to do the next good thing.