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The street is busy which comes as a blessing to you. No one has time to stop to check on a stranger, certainly not one sitting on the side of the dirt road, crying. Occasionally someone will glance your way but they don’t stop, footsteps quickening as they continue on. It doesn’t matter; there’s nothing they can say that would make it better. You want people to care but there’s something about others’ kindness that makes you feel like a burden. Something about caring in return that scares you.
Rubbing your tear stained cheeks, you catch a glimpse of white out of the corner of your eye. A voice sounds before you can look up.
“Are you alright?”
A man is standing almost in front of you, just slightly to the side. There’s a gentle smile on his face and you feel like his eyes would reflect the same except he has no eyes; a wide strip of white cloth covers the place where they once were, though you can see two sunken pits beneath the cloth.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
He steps closer as someone passes by. The smile is still on his face though you think it seems sad now.
“You’re crying.”
“No, I’m not.” You don’t know why you lie. Maybe it’s because you’re embarrassed, maybe it’s because you think he’s being presumptuous.
He gives a light laugh and shakes his head.
“I’m blind. I can still hear.”
“Oh.” You watch him take a careful step closer once more. “I didn’t think I was that loud.”
“My hearing is very good,” he says. “Are you okay?”
You can see the concern on his face in the way his eyebrows contract, the downward tug at the corners of his mouth. You can also see the group of people about to collide with him. Reaching out, you grab his wrist and pull him out of the way. He must’ve noticed a split second after you because he doesn’t resist at all, already preparing to move.
“Are you?” you ask, part honest concern, part desire to throw his question back at him. You’re not okay but what does it matter? Why can’t he leave you alone?
And isn’t it ironic that you’re feeling this way when deep down all you want is for someone to care?
“I’m fine.” Carefully, he takes a seat next to you.
“You’ll get dirty,” you say, feeling your throat contract. There’s no reason for him to show so much worry towards you, to inconvenience himself, but he is. The tears start up again despite your efforts.
“I don’t mind.” His hand hovers for a moment as if trying to determine where you start and stop before coming to rest on your knee. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”
The crying is worse now and you hate it.
“It doesn’t matter.”
There’s no hesitation in his reply:
“It does.”
“But it’s not your concern.”
Again, he gives a small smile followed by a shake of his head.
“It is. If someone is hurting, what else can I do but try to ease that?” he asks, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
The sincerity in his voice makes you pause. Asking for help, people offering their kindness, it’s always made you feel strange. Like you were taking advantage or burdening. That even if they say it’s okay, they don’t really mean it. The dirt from the road is already clinging to his white robes and his hand is still gentle on your knee. It’s hard for you to believe this man doesn’t mean it. Your shoulders shake as you put your head into your hands.
“You can cry.” He must have noticed the way you were trying to hold it back. “There’s no shame in it. You can let me help.”
“I don’t want to be a burden to you.”
Moving his hand from your knee, he touches your arm, using it as a guide to wrap his own around your shoulder. You don’t try to resist though the idea crosses your mind.
“Kindness is never a burden and neither can you be one,” he says as he pulls you into a hug. It’s as gentle as his words. “Tell me.”
“I—” So much is caught in your chest, you don’t know what to do. That’s always been the problem; the world can be cold and dark and you feel helpless, unable to be helped. “I want help. I want to help. But I’m scared to cause anyone trouble. It's too much.”
He tightens his grip and you feel him nod, cheek bumping against the top of your head. It’s still so light, like the first spring breeze. Comforting. You put your arms around him and return the hug.
“It can be hard to accept help or to find a way to help. Sometimes it hurts but everyone should have help, don’t you think? There, you’re alright.” He pats your head as he speaks. “It’s no trouble to be kind or to let others be kind to you.”
You press your hands against his back, finally feeling your tears slow. You can’t remember a time when you truly felt as if you weren’t a burden for reaching out but it’s impossible to ignore his sincerity. It has been from the start.
A sigh escapes him.
“All we can do, sometimes, is be kind and help.”
You feel like there’s something personal to the words that you don’t quite understand and you hug him harder.
“Are you okay?” you ask, this time meaning it completely.
“Yes. I was just thinking that I understand why you’re sad.”
“But you still want to help.”
“Of course.”
Again, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his voice. You think he’s right; to be helped, to let others share their hearts with us isn’t always easy. Neither is reaching out to help when the world isn’t always kind in return. But what else is there in the face of it all?
“Thank you,” you say, leaning back.
He smiles, hand moving to your shoulder and then touching your cheek with the back of his hand, wiping away the drying tears. You don’t move, afraid it’ll throw him off.
“You’ve stopped crying. I’m glad. Will you be okay?”
You nod and then realize he can’t see the action.
“I think so.”
“I agree,” he says, finally moving away. He picks up his sword and stands with you following suit. He’s taller than you would have guessed. You have to crane your neck slightly to look up at him.
“Where are you going to go? Are you going to find some other sad person on the side of the road and make them feel better?”
That gets a laugh from him, light and crisp, before he inclines his head in your direction.
“Maybe.”
As you watch him fade into the distance, soon nothing more than a spot of white, you think that it’s a good thing there’s people like him in the world.