A few months ago I was startled to see a man standing on the end of my driveway, hands in pockets, in the early fog of my morning commute. He scared the hell out of me and wore an oversized floppy raincoat. As I walked to my car, I said, "Good Morning?" as in "Can I Help You?" or as in "Please Don't Kill Me, I'm Nice."
He just smiled and waved at me, backed away slowly, and started walking. As I drove past him, shuffling on the curb, I realized he had Down's Syndrome and was significantly older than I thought.
I was a bit unsettled about it, but figured he lived in the neighborhood and meant me no harm. Why he was standing on my driveway, as if waiting for me to come out of the house, was a mystery. I'd not really seen him before.
Since then I've seen him often walking around town, looking disheveled and thumbing for rides.
I didn't see him all summer, but he recently cropped up on my driveway's end, again, just hanging out. A few days ago he asked for a ride to Seymour's, a little coffee shop around the corner, but I shook my head no. Then he shuffled away, waving at me as I passed him on the side of the road.
Sometimes I wish I could be that person, the one who gives rides to people, the one who isn't afraid of that kind of connection. I sort of miss the liberal recklessness of my early twenties.
I can honestly say I wouldn't give a strange man a ride anywhere, but part of me wonders where's the harm in a man with Down's Syndrome who needs a ride a quarter of a mile on a rainy morning?
I wonder if I'll have this dilemma every week for the rest of my life in this house.
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