Reaching Out WC 287

Reaching Out
WC 287

Reaching out was the wrong thing to do, I guess. I should have realized…

I just wanted to help. I always want to help even when no one wants my help. Even when I should not help, like now.

“Quit sticking your nose into other people’s business, Simon,” I've heard on more than one occasion.

Do I want to help, or do I want to feel special because I helped?

There was never anyone there for me when I was growing up, so maybe I’m always compensating. My mother died when I was a baby, and my dad was always drunk. Maybe I need to prove that I am a better person than my father is, which wouldn’t be difficult.

I don't know what drives me, but I do know my nose is probably broken. That's what I get for trying to help. Great, here comes a cop!

“Sir, excuse me.”

“Yes, officer? How can I help?”

“I understand you were in the vicinity when that homeless man went berserk.”

“I don't know anything about it.”

“What happened to your nose?”

“I fell.”

“There are witnesses that place you at the scene.”

How do I tell him that the crazy, homeless man is the father I haven't talked to in over twenty years? How do I explain that I've watched my dad from afar and done nothing to help him…until now? And to what end?

“I don't know anything about it. I’m just passing through, officer.”

“If you do think of anything, call this number.”

He hands me a card.

“Sure.”

I walk down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. I drop the card to the pavement and vow to never look back.

I look back.