We were so inspired by this guest blog post from writer Mary Beth Perrin (penned four months ago on her Tumblr), which reminds us how showing kindness can open us to new worlds and opportunities for joy, that we’ve decided to make it the first entry in what we hope will become a new series on the CULTURE community: “Random Acts of Kindness.” To submit your own personal and true story of a Random Act of Kindness, see our submission guidelines at the end of this post.
This afternoon on the train from New York Penn to Newark it was, as usual, crowded with work-weary commuters and people going to the airport. I see an elderly woman being jostled and scolded “Get out of the way!” as people are getting off at Secaucus.
The woman sits. Secaucus is not her stop. I end up standing, as I usually do, between the cars to stretch my legs after sitting all day. The woman is suddenly there ,asking the conductor in broken Eastern European English Where Newark is, and how does she get to Union. The train is still full. He has 100 more tickets to check. I can tell he wants to help. He and I make eye contact.
“I am going on the train you need to take you to Union. I’ll help you,” I say.
He is visibly relieved. We can tell, beneath her shouty demeanor, is a sweet, sweet lady. I explain that I will get her onto her train and make sure she gets out at the right stop. Then I show her to a seat in the air-conditioned car, and that I will get her when It’s time. Five mins later, it’s time. People are not so angry now. People are sweet. They are blocking those rushing ahead with their briefcases so I can step in, take her hand, and lead her off the train, safely over the gap and onto the platform at Newark.
The crowds are tight and no one on the platform can know what has just transpired on the train, but it’s like they can tell. She holds tightly to the back of my loose button down shirt as I lead the way through the crowds to the stairs where no one guffaws at her slowness. We go through the station and up the escalator to the platform we need to catch our train. I can tell she is hot and tired. I look for a space on a bench. There is none.
“It’s ok,” she assures me. “I like to stand.”
I nod, “Me too. It’s good to stand.”
We nod silently together and watch a pigeon walk funnily. Another rush of people come from a train, fresh-arrived. She watches amazedly and sighs, “So many people. So many.” She pulls out a train schedule and I explain it to her as best as I can, leaving out just enough articles so she’ll understand.
Our train pulls up. I find her the best seat in the vestibule nearest the door, and without having to go up or down stairs. Then she tells me a little about herself. She is from the old country of Georgia and takes care of elderly women in their homes, mostly in New Jersey. One of her ladies, her “most favorite one of all of them” is 88, and although she is an American, loves her Georgian style home cooking. She tells me how she goes to Brooklyn, to Brighton Beach to get just the right ingredients to make it the way it is best. She opens up one of her heavy bags to show me some perfect, ripe tomatoes that smell like the sun. I inhale deeply and tell her, “That’s one of my favorite smells.” She plucks 2 from the vine, puts them in a crumpled plastic bag, and insists I take them. “You eat today. Will make you feel alive.” I tell her I will. I will eat them today, and with a little salt. She pats my hand and smiles.
“Yes, you know. You know.”
It’s her stop. I help her up, I walk her to the door and am glad to know there is a taxi waiting for her there. She calls it from the platform. I can tell from the conversation, they knew her well.
“I will be in the place. Yes. Yes. That is the place. Thank you.”
Before the doors close behind her, she turns around, smiles, waves and blows me a kiss.
I cannot make this stuff up. It was a good ride home.
Follow Mary Beth Perrin’s Tumblr or visit her website at http://marybethperrin.com/
Do you have a story of a random act of kindness? Share it with us, and we’ll send you a free book from North Atlantic Books of your choice! Send your stories to publicity@northatlanticbooks.com. Stories should be less than 1,000 words total (we suggest between 400 and 700 words). We will title it appropriately.
