belief

Coming home from work tonight, I strolled along beneath the pyrmaids of street lights, earphones plugged in, music playing, lost in thought. It was a pleasant evening for February, with melting snow and the ice gradually becoming slushy puddles to be carefully navigated at the risk of sodden feet. Nearing Crescent Street, opposite the local convenience store, an elderly lady with a cane was crossing the street. At the corner, she fell. She simply lost her footing and slipped, and down she went onto the curb.

I snapped myself out of my post-commute reverie, removed my earphones, and picked up the pace. I got to her as she haplessly attempted to get to her feet. I couldn't be sure if she had injured herself, so I took her gingerly by the elbow and shoulder and helped to gently ease her upright, asking if she'd hurt herself, if she was okay. She seemed shocked, possibly embarrassed, mumbling and testing her legs. By then a woman and, presumably, her young son had come over and were also assisting. All of us asking if she was all right. The kid holding her one arm and me holding her gloved hand. She squeezed my hand so tightly, as if not wanting me to go. So I stayed, and waited, and she gathered herself. She released my hand. Surprisingly, there was still alot of strength in that grip. A concerned female postal worker decked out in winter gear observed nearby. And, that was it. As I continued on my way, down 31st Avenue toward home, I didn't bother to put my earphones back in. I glanced back and saw the lady with her cane, moving along Crescent. It appeared that she was okay.

I want to believe in the basic goodness of humanity, but it's so difficult sometimes. We're assailed by graphic, discouraging images of war and greed and intolerance and hatred in so many aspects of the media and mainstream life every day. Leaders soak their lies in blood. Terrorists find savage means to their warped ends. Indiscriminate, inhuman murder. The trauma of addiction and disease. Neglect and ignorance. Maybe there's a chance for all of us, though. Just the feeling evoked helping that old woman triggered that response. It was a tiny incident, two minutes of my life, and I returned to where I'd been and where I was going.

That humane, sentimental feeling of the Good Samaritan - of helping someone in need - flooded through me. That the other people on the streets came over to assist warmed me. The fact that for a brief moment in all of our divergent lives, strangers connected for one small purpose, and then we moved on. I just hoped that the elderly woman had family, friends, or neighbors who looked out for her as these people did on the street.

Hey, I'm no saint. If you ever meet anyone who knows me, just ask. But, yes, I want to believe in the basic goodness of most people. It is an inavoidable fact that there is deviance and hate and emptiness. But I believe that selflessness and compassion can triumph over narcissism and spite. That sympathy and tenderness can trounce rancor and malice. Sometimes it only takes the smallest of incidents to intensify that ember of hope that lies buried beneath layers and years of defenses and doubt. And when that feeling comes, it's something you want to share with a world gone wrong.

Hope is a spark. Hope is belief.