A Dollar to Spare
I stamped my feet on the sidewalk as I stood there in the darkness and the cold waiting for my bus late one night after work. There was a very fine mist hanging in the air giving the one streetlight an eerie shaded look. I stood beside the bus stop sign on a pole as I pulled my coat up around my neck. I suddenly heard a scraping on the sidewalk behind me. I jerked my head around. I was looking straight back so I was shocked to find nothing there. Then I looked down and saw a man without legs sitting on a flat board with rollers. He was barely visible wearing black clothes or a black jacket as he sat on his board against the darkened brick wall behind him. He blended in with his background. He had a small tin can in front of him. He wore gloves with the glove fingers cut off to help propel himself down the walkway. The sidewalks in the city were relatively flat so I imagined that he could scoot along pretty good.
I know my eyes must have been big because all I felt was repulsion and fear at the sight of him. I had never seen anyone without legs before and his Scoot Board looked homemade. My shock was like a dream turned familiar and strange or wild all at once. I realized I didn't know what was going to happen next. He looked up at me and grinned through his unkempt beard.
He spoke, '"Do you have a dollar to spare?"
I couldn't move or think at first. I thought it was a robbery, then I thought, "Do I have a dollar to spare?"
It seemed like a simple enough question but for me and the circumstances of the moment, I couldn't react. I wanted to turn and walk away. I didn't say a word. Instead, I turned around and held on to the bus stop pole. In a couple of minutes, the bus arrived and I quickly boarded for my ride home.
I sat down on the far side of the bus away from him as his words came back to me, "Do I have a dollar to spare?"
I knew I didn't have a dollar but I felt ashamed to tell him that because he wouldn't believe me. My guilt for not having a dollar should have stopped there. I mean, I only had my bus pass. I never had much money in those days.
Then the other thoughts came creeping in, "Where does he live and why was he out so late in the cold of the night?"
There were very few people out at that time, yet he was right there in the dark, almost invisible.
"Did he really believe someone was going to come along in the dead of the night and give him money?"
His actions appeared to me to be closer to a robber than a begger. It was ridiculous for him to think otherwise. His lack of reason began to change my feelings to pity.
"He must live somewhere nearby, possibly, he lives in the alley. He might have been hungry or he needed drugs or alcohol."
He was an awful sight, a mess. Maybe he could not face people in the light of day, so he came out at night. My thoughts kept coming just like the bus going from corner to corner and stop to stop. My thoughts veered like the large old bus turning a corner in any direction making it lean over like it no longer had shock absorbers to keep it fully upright. The dim lights in the bus exposed the trash that people had left behind that day. Even the half eaten apple that rolled down the asile seemed like nobody cared.
I thought, " The world is an awful place and now this man that has no legs is scooting around in my head."
I began to feel anger at myself for staring at him and for thinking he was a robber.
"Where was my mind? I wasn't thinking."
I had simply reacted with shock and surprise. My mind had been a blank.
"He was asking for a dollar but what would a dollar do even if I had one?"
I had no idea what a dollar would do or how far it would go.
"Maybe he had other dollars, well, of course. He must have some shady deal lined up. It had to be."
My mind kept thinking about the criminal aspect of his intentions. "Since it was criminal, I'm glad to not be a part of it."
If he was doing something illegal, asking for a dollar must have been the first step for me to get my wallet out and expose myself, making me vulnerable.
"How else does someone like that live without having a criminal enterprise. I worked two jobs and could barely make it, so he has to be guilty."
The questions kept coming to me like the streets passing and the apple rolling back and forth. I began to think about returning to tell him how much pity I felt for him but that seemed even worse.
"Am I to have pity on this unfortunate one, then tell it to his face?"
I was not sure what I wanted to do or should do. I thought about going home and getting ten dollars and taking it back to him but it was so late and I had to be back at work in the morning. I thought maybe he could or would tell me his story. Maybe I could lend him a hand to let him know that our encounter meant something to me, maybe more than me just walking away from him. I did not want him to feel that I only felt sorrow for his life. I wanted to cross the divide that separated us but I didn't want to get too deep or too close. I could not possibly take him in to care for him nor to feed him. I wanted him to be lifted up in some way that would bring him encouragement but it seemed he would continue living without that feeling.
"Wouldn't a little encouragement help or would it be met with a wall of pity?"
I wanted to do something. He was in my mind hanging there with his tin can asking for help. I now knew he was altering my mind where he might remain from now on. I could see him rolling around asking for money just to be met by shock and rejection. It was unfair for anyone to be forced to live their life without the means of food, shelter and protection.
"What kind of people are we? What kind of person am I?"
I didn't have a dollar for him. With a lump in my throat, I bowed my head and asked God to watch over him. I arrived at my stop. As I stood up, I looked down and saw the apple. I picked it up and carried it with me. I decended from the steps of the bus, and dropped the apple into the trash can on the corner. I wiped my hands on a napkin from my pocket. I turned my collar up to block the wind and slowly walked home. e.
