Corners

I always look both ways when I cross the street. You never know what’s coming your way, and I just don’t want to be caught unprepared. I guess that’s how I make just about every decision in life, weighing all the options and in most cases erring on consistency rather than spontaneity.

I often meet the crossroads of my life with a certain calculated safety mechanism that prevents me from veering too far off track. However, I feel that the street corners of my life are telling me to step out in ways I’ve never done before.

It’s not that I won’t look out for oncoming traffic or won’t take hold of someone’s hand (because crossing the street is always safer in pairs). But I feel that taking that leap across the divide can be done with less caution and trepidation, and I’ll land just as surely if not more grounded than had I taken baby steps across the asphalt.

I recently stopped at one such street corner in my neighborhood in downtown Schenectady. As I approached the front steps of an older home, I saw the familiar face of a young woman who earlier that week had visited the shelter where I work. I remembered the young woman having entered the doors of our building with a defeated and exhausted expression.

There were no available beds at the time and I was asked to drive her to the Department of Social Services. In the short drive down Broadway to DSS I asked the young woman a few friendly yet neutral questions, hoping to alleviate the anxiety overwhelmingly apparent in her eyes. She had been crying all morning.

A few days later, on a bright Saturday afternoon, I encountered the young woman again at a street corner as I walked back to my apartment. Unlike our last encounter, she seemed relaxed and unburdened, sitting on the stoop of a friend’s house.

I knew it was her and I assumed that she would recognize me also. I felt compelled to say hello, knowing that if I just passed her by she would think, “There goes another case worker, too busy to see that I’m human.”

Wanting to avoid that characterization, I approached her and cheerfully asked, “Didn’t I see you at the City Mission just the other day?” She searched my eyes quickly and shook her head, “No, I don’t think so.”

Having met her gaze directly, I knew it was the same young woman. However, she denied having known me. I was stunned and confused, and apologized for having mistaken her as someone else. I continued to walk down the other side of the street, struggling with what had just happened.

Was it really her? Maybe she just didn’t recognize me. Or, worse, maybe she was ashamed to admit how she knew me. It dawned on me that perhaps she very well knew who I was but refused to acknowledge in plain view of her friend that she had gone to a homeless shelter, and worse, stayed long enough to be known.

I was mortified. Why did I feel the need to say hello? I could have just as easily continued past her, keeping my eyes forward and crossed the street. I could have prevented that incredibly awkward encounter and avoided embarrassing her in front of her friend. But I did stop. I did say hello.

I had nearly forgotten about the encounter when a few weeks later, the same young woman returned to the shelter. Another staff member was about to leave for a meeting and asked me to speak with her. I came out of my office with a clip board and an intake form, but it was she who recognized me this time.

“Didn’t I see you on the street corner?” Without any other details, I knew just what she was referring to. “I didn’t recognize you. I’m so sorry.”

She had returned and this time saw a familiar face in me. She had returned in need of housing and this time we had a bed. She had returned yet her cheeks were not as stained with tears as they were before. This time she had been brought by a friend who knew she needed a safe place to stay. There was less desperation yet her need was evident.

I’m glad I stopped at that street corner. I’m glad that I acknowledged who was there. I’m glad that I took the risk of saying hello to someone who at first rejected our acquaintance. I’m glad that this particular end of a road, while initially confusing and fraught with hesitation, proved to be a doorway of returning for this young woman.

While I may attempt to cross from one side of the street to the other in unsurprising and predictable ways, I don’t want to overlook who I pass along the way, because it may be a missed opportunity for one or both of us. I don’t want to shy away from stopping and asking for directions, even if it seems obvious where I should go.

I also don’t want to think it irresponsible or even slightly dangerous to stop traffic momentary to bend down and pick up a shiny penny. And if the penny I find is tails up and I leave it face down on the gravel, at least I took the time to check.

And finally, if I were to create a road sign at that very street corner where I recognized a familiar face, I would paint in bold letters “Pedestrian Crossing, May Change Direction Suddenly and Most Likely Make Mistakes, But Still Moving Forward.”