That I hate.
The limits of my power
Tied to my gender.
Fear for my personal safety
Keeps me from helping
The Strange Ones
As much as I want.
An older man is often seen walking along the highway. I have often given him rides. Where he lays his head at night often changes. His story is never the same. At first he was friendly, and worried about his appearance. Apologized for not being clean even though his clothes were spotless and he smelled of peppermint.
But he has angry outbursts. The last ride I gave him filled me with concern - for both him and myself. I no longer felt safe with him.
These last few days his stride is as erratic as his moods - unsteady in mind and feet. He angrily yells at every car that passes without stopping. He looks haggard and ill. I almost pulled over to him today. But instead parked across the street and watched from behind the door of a store. I watched him pour water over his face, and yell at the sky. Flag down cars and give them the finger as they passed. I inquired from locals, "where is he staying?"
"At a campground." they said.
A terrible three day storm is coming. Flash flood warnings, heavy rains.
He needs a hot meal, a dry place to sleep, and maybe medication. I call 911 for a wellness check before driving away.
He never looks up at me, just holds up his fist. The tip of the middle finger extended to a sky as omnious as his mood.
