it's a crowded mall and i see her at the escalator as i approach. there she is, middle aged simply dressed slight and deformed and hovering just proximal to the first step of the escalator down, moving back and forth and never onto that step - one stationary body amidst the other busy ones.
she looks up just i get to that step myself, and suddenly holds out her hand and says, help me. i take her hand and we step onto the escalator together, me in the full assurance of a lifetime of able-ness, and she with her spastic movements coaxed into a forward rhythm by holding my hand. she has a small dry hand, this bird-like woman beside me, which i take again as we reach the bottom and get off together.
thank you, she says. thank you, i say in my heart. you are an angel God sends to remind me that there is beauty in the broken things, and that it is a privilege to see it.
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