Something To Think About
As I hopped off the bus just outside Victoria Square today, I was confronted with a decision that I found difficult to make. Before me sat a man, aged in his late fifties, perhaps sixties. His left arm hugged a street sign, while the other held his knee. As he sat, he rocked to and fro, the coins in his right hand jingling.
I stopped for over a minute and contemplated whether to assist this man who so obviously needed help. Should I help him or should I not? What if he was faking it? All sorts of predicaments came to mind.
Perhaps this man was a schizophrenic murderer. Maybe if I helped him, he would stalk me. The more I thought about it, the more negative my thoughts became.
I bit my lip and continued to walk to my next bus stop, only to bump into a middle- aged lady dressed in a suit. We stopped and looked at each other in silence. Our eyes averted to the gent, still sitting on the footpath. I looked at her once more, my eyes asking her whether we should help. She looked me up and down. In one fleeting moment, I knew her response. She didn't need to say a word. Holding her head high, she walked passed him, her heels tapping the cement, as if in a march.
'Do you need any help sir?' 'Is there anything I can do for you?' 'Would you like me to call an ambulance?' I kept thinking of ways to approach him. While I stood there oblivious to those around me, he turned his white tipped head and looked at me, his blue eyes pleading for help. Embarrassed, I turned my head and kept my eyes glued to the ground, and walked to the bus stop.
I stood there, the man's pleading eyes embedded in my mind. I should have helped him. Guilt found its way into my heart. I should have helped him. There were no two ways about it. I saw a man helpless and hurt clutching his knee in agony, yet I refused to help him.
I leaned forward and saw three people helping him to his feet and walking him to the tram. Two, a male and a female, were aged somewhere in their twenties, and were dressed in faded jeans and tops, while the other was the tram driver himself.
I looked at the ground, only this time it wasn't guilt that found its way into my heart.
It was shame.