A Reversal of Kindness
By Ann von Dehsen, September 10, 2020 — I live in a second-story small apartment, with a small balcony that overlooks the small street of Sartain. A few weeks ago someone discarded a small sofa on the sidewalk across the street. I was sitting on the balcony a few weeks ago when an apparently homeless man on his bike approached the sofa. He first removed the cushions and then searched the couch as we all do when looking for spare change. Success! I watched him put a few things in his pocket. I could see him through the railings but he couldn’t really see me. So I continued to watch, mesmerized by his careful actions.
He took one of several bags from his handlebars and placed it on the stacked cushions which now were about waist high as he stood. He first removed a bottle of water using it to carefully wash his face, then his long hair, and rinse out his mouth.
Then he took out some hand sanitizer and cleaned his hands. After spreading out a paper napkin on the top cushion he removed two styrofoam food containers and a four-pack of small yogurts, and two pint-sized cartons of milk. He opened the styrofoam containers and appeared to combine the contents into one container. Then he tucked another napkin bib-style into his worn flannel shirt, produced a wrapped bag of plastic silverware, and used the knife to cut the sandwich into small pieces. He began to eat slowly and seemed to savor each bite often looking up to the sky with a big smile. Before moving on to the yogurt he folded the now empty styrofoam containers into tiny squares and carefully put them back in the bag.
As he began to eat the yogurt I stood up to go back inside the apartment and he happened to look up and see me responding with a wave and a smile.
I said, “Good Morning, it’s a beautiful day.”
And then he responded with a phrase, with some words that have stayed with me ever since, “Would you like some food? I have plenty.”
Well, it was such an unexpected act of kindness. I said, “Thank you so much, I’m fine. Enjoy your breakfast.”
He said, “Don’t worry I will,” with a smile again.
From inside my apartment, I could still see him and watched as he finished the yogurts and drank the milk folding down those cartons as before and placing them in the bag. Then he removed and carefully folded his bib napkin and paper placemat and put them carefully in his pocket as he adjusted his long rope belt. Finally, he carefully put on his mask, took care to brush off the top cushion in case he left any crumbs, and hopped on his bike heading down South Street as I silently wished this kind and dignified soul well.
