As we passed over the torn up highway, the woman’s hands flapped about like she was having a fit. Her forehead furrowed as she looked out the window. Please don’t yell at or attack the driver when we don’t stop near Porter Street. Some people get angry when the drivers don’t stop there.
She donned sunglasses and scrolled through her phone. Again her hands moved about. Did she just form an ‘h’ and ‘i’ at her phone? And then blow a kiss at it? She looked like she might cry.
I took basic sign language in grade school forty years ago. If she is signing to think out loud and to say ‘hi’ to a picture on her phone, she must have been deaf for a long time. I felt ashamed for judging her. Making herself unapproachable was protective action. What if this woman needed help? I scribbled a note asking if she was okay.
I held it out to her and she took it from my hand. After reading it, she looked up at me with the most beautiful smile and nodded. I felt better and worse all at the same time. I was glad she was okay, but I still felt horrible for having judged her so harshly.
Now if she spots me on the bus, she smiles and waves.
J K Metz 