Put A Hand Up
I've gotten to where I can almost anticipate when I'll see her.
There's an elderly black woman in a wheelchair who often sits on the front porch of her house, wheeled up next to her avocado glider, upper body framed by the flowers she has growing in front of her railing. Her house is on Avalon, a street that leads me right to my ATM beside the Piggly Wiggly.
About two years ago, I noticed that when she was out, and I drove past, she got this instantly elated look on her face and would raise her hand high and wave at me. I wish I could really convey her expression: She looks like she is enjoying her day so thoroughly that she can barely contain her glee and has to share it with someone. From the first time I saw her do it, it was immediately infectious and I flung my arm out the open car window on the instant, matching her zest.
I'd estimate that we've shared about 20 waves in the past two years.
It reminds me of the kind of greeting often shared between passing folks in the countryside where I grew up (excluding those who did it perfunctorily). This seems slightly out of place, hyper-intimate and -sunny, shared between strangers, in the middle of a city where anonymity and ignoring can become the more likely norm.
I don't know if she waves at others, too. But I know that happening to sight her usually warms any mood I'm in, charges my chest with optimism. I know I return her lifted hand and grin well, faithfully, the two of us like comrades sharing a very specific enjoyment, of not much and everything at the same time.
On my drive to work this morning, I needed money for vending lunch. And she was there. And I think I got my hand up before hers this time, which seemed to tickle her all the more.
There's an elderly black woman in a wheelchair who often sits on the front porch of her house, wheeled up next to her avocado glider, upper body framed by the flowers she has growing in front of her railing. Her house is on Avalon, a street that leads me right to my ATM beside the Piggly Wiggly.
About two years ago, I noticed that when she was out, and I drove past, she got this instantly elated look on her face and would raise her hand high and wave at me. I wish I could really convey her expression: She looks like she is enjoying her day so thoroughly that she can barely contain her glee and has to share it with someone. From the first time I saw her do it, it was immediately infectious and I flung my arm out the open car window on the instant, matching her zest.
I'd estimate that we've shared about 20 waves in the past two years.
It reminds me of the kind of greeting often shared between passing folks in the countryside where I grew up (excluding those who did it perfunctorily). This seems slightly out of place, hyper-intimate and -sunny, shared between strangers, in the middle of a city where anonymity and ignoring can become the more likely norm.
I don't know if she waves at others, too. But I know that happening to sight her usually warms any mood I'm in, charges my chest with optimism. I know I return her lifted hand and grin well, faithfully, the two of us like comrades sharing a very specific enjoyment, of not much and everything at the same time.
On my drive to work this morning, I needed money for vending lunch. And she was there. And I think I got my hand up before hers this time, which seemed to tickle her all the more.