Relying on the kindness of strangers

As she walks down the sidewalk, her face is always tilted up toward the sun and her head sways back and forth to a tune that only she can hear. She walks slower than most people in New York City, as many people often put their heads down as they pass by her on both sides while listening to the tunes blasting from their ipods.


My commute to work is 16 blocks uptown from 56th Street to 72nd Street. I pass her nearly every weekday at different points in our collective commutes, depending on how early or late we're both running to get to our destinations. I've seen this woman with the short salt-and-pepper-hair as north as 72nd Street, and as south as 65th Street.


Cindy - which is what I call her, as she's told me that she's not allowed to give out her name for security reasons - is generally hard to miss, as she's usually carrying a large backpack and lunchbox over the shoulders of her bright red jacket. Yet, she's never without her red and white walking stick because her commute takes her several blocks downtown, and one block west of 9th Avenue to Central Park West, which is where the school for the blind is located. Every day, Cindy walks at least eight blocks to school across at least eight cross streets.


This is significant because Cindy doesn't have a seeing-eye dog or someone who walks her to school every day. That means that every single day, at least eight times a day, Cindy relies on the kindness of strangers to help her cross each street on the way to school. And, man. Does. That. Take. Courage.


The sounds of New York City can be terrifying. You can't piss off a cab driver more than by thinking that you can make it across the street before they get to the intersection, even though they have the green light. And they'll let you know just how mad they are with a loud, long horn honk as they whiz by you at speeds that should be illegal in large, pedestrian-heavy cities. People are always talking on their cell phones in their own little worlds as they knock into one another like bumper cars on the way to their individual destinations.


Since she can't see the white "walk" signals, Cindy steadily makes her way down each block and stops only when she feels her walking stick skid across the bumps in the sidewalk at each curb that are designed to help people in wheelchairs stop. It's here that she raises her left hand and repeats, "Can somebody help me? Can somebody please help me?" until someone stops.


She then asks to hold the individual's right elbow with her left hand as she navigates across the street with the walking stick, and is always happy to make small talk about the upcoming holiday or the weather. When she feels the familiar bumps that signify that she's made it to the opposite curb, she always yells back a cheery, "Have a nice day" or "have a happy holiday" at the good Samaritan who was kind enough to stop and help her across the street.


While I have seen some people walk right by Cindy as she's asking for help - as New Yorkers are often in their own little worlds or in too much of a rush to lend a helping hand - more often than not, the first person who gets to her as she stops at the curb is the one who ends up helping her safely cross the street.


And I am ashamed to say that I was once one of those New Yorkers - in too much of a rush to stop and help. As I glanced over my shoulder to make sure someone else stopped to help her, I felt an intense shame that I couldn't shake until I saw her again and got to make it up to her; even if she didn't know I felt I owed her. I mean, how selfish was I that I couldn't take 30 seconds of my time to help someone so courageous do something they need to do - cross the street - but can't safely accomplish without some help.


Although I still regret the decision I made in that moment, I soon after made a decision I know I won't regret: that I would never again pass Cindy - or anyone else who I see in need of some help - without doing what I can to make their day a little easier. Props to every New Yorker who doesn't need to feel guilt over not helping someone because they always do the right thing.