I opened the car door, tossed my bag in
I was just about to slip inside when
An older man, 60 I might guess
limping down the sidewalk paused to ask:
"St. Mary's Hospital?"
My head snapped up
"What?" I asked.
"St. Mary's Hospital. Is it this way?"
I frowned
"Yes," I replied.
"Do you know how much farther?"
"About half a mile. Why?"
He raised his hand up, wrapped in white
red stain seeping through
My breath caught
"I've cut my finger, and I think I may need stitches."
Then he turned and limped away
"Wait," I called. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"
He nodded, hardly turning around.
I asked again, "Are you sure?"
Should I offer him a ride?
It's only a minute out of my way.
He didn't turn or nod then, just continued on
His steps were slow, erratic, but determined
Should I offer him a ride?
I watched his back recede
Should I offer him a ride?
I could no longer hear his shuffling feet
Should I offer him a ride?
Should I offer him a ride?
I didn't. I got in my car and left. And cried.
Because I wouldn't offer an old hurt man a ride.
This happened this morning. I was too afraid to offer a hurt stranger a half-mile ride to the hospital in my car because I am female and I was alone. If he had been an old woman it would have been different. I felt (and still feel) horrible, because my decision was informed by fear, and the fact that I have been sexually harassed by various men recently. Those are things that I have always said would not inform my decisions. Today I was tested, and today I failed.