Loud rapping at the top of the small escalator, on the old, mottled stone floor. Transit riders, hearing the commotion, turn to another series of stairs. It is dark up there. I am tired, climb up.
She is at the top, agitated.
Black wool coat, skin pale as glazed porcelain, hair so black light disappears into it, mid-length, curly. Eyes half-closed, a bluish light. She smacks the white-tipped cane hard, like a weapon, this baton-feeler of the terrain of the ground of the subway tunnels. "Where's the exit? Why won't anyone help me? Where's the ticket-taker?" She is hitting the cane perilously close to the top of the escalator when I guide her away.
"What are you looking for? A train?"
"No! I want to get out of here! Why won't anyone help me?!"
She is on the wrong floor. She becomes more flustered when she discovers she was given wrong directions. I guide her to the elevator, press the button. When the door opens I guide her in, press the button for the upper floor. All the while I tell her what we are doing. I ask no questions of her. After we ascend and the doors open, I take her to the exit, and, holding her shoulders, point her to the way out. I worry about her vulnerability, and wish I had time to ensure she gets wherever it is she is going.
My bus arrives 5 or 10 minutes later and as we pull out of the station I see her, having only gone perhaps 500 yards on the sidewalk, hair flying wildly with her flapping coat in the high wind, tapping the sidewalk with staccato jabs, finding her way despite.
That she cannot see
is clear.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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There's wonderful humanity and most especially empathy here, thank you. It is often so hard for people with any "disability" to really express the mix of frustration and desire for freedom and independence in a way that people with "the advantages" can understand.
ReplyDeleteoh, brenda! your heart so tender, her determination so great -together these tell an interesting and meaningful story about life, survival, support, trust, community. :)
ReplyDeleteThis happened a few months ago... and I've continued to wonder about her, her life, how she made out that day. A life of fierce independence, yes, and also one of needing to ask the help of strangers constantly, which can't be always easy...
ReplyDeleteBless you for helping her! I have seen that mixture of frustration/independence/dependence. I can only attempt to guess what it must be like.
ReplyDelete