SHE THANKED ME...

One foot on the sidewalk and the other, already stepping forward, on the road. The light was still red, but she wavered between prudence and haste. Cars came from both directions, and it wasn’t easy to time the gap between them to reach the other side without a jolt.

When it comes to children or elderly people, my rule is always to wait for the green light, even if no cars are passing. I believe that, in doing so, I both set an example and respect the other person’s freedom to choose as they see fit.

In this case, the woman muttered something under her breath: she was torn between risking it or waiting. She looked at me as if asking for advice. And while I was still thinking of an answer, the little green man of the traffic light cleared the doubt for both of us.

We crossed side by side, and the woman, in a very low voice and staring at the ground, as if it had nothing to do with me, murmured an address without daring to frame it as a direct question.

Without stopping, I pointed her in the right direction. Then, for the first time, she looked at me and explained it was a gym near a square with a church, next to a fishmonger. Naturally, I knew the square but not the gym, and I was surprised by her destination.

She must have read the surprise on my face, because she clarified that she was going to maintenance sessions for seniors organized by "CARITAS" -a nonprofit community organization-. She explained she was already late because she had missed the bus —something that happened every day— and, as always, the instructor would scold her.

Since we had already started talking and I had nothing better to do, I decided to accompany her to her destination, through a small maze of side streets.

We walked at a good pace, and the woman complained of fatigue. I told her we could slow down.

—Where are you going? —she asked, a little surprised that I was giving her my time. 

—Nowhere, really —I answered honestly—. I’m just taking a walk, and it makes no difference to me which way I go.

Since the ice was broken, I asked where she was from. 

—Cali, Colombia —she said with a smile. 

—Good coffee —I replied, just to say something.

She seemed to like the answer: subtle as it was, we had something in common. 

—There are good people here —she said, as if to thank me for my taste for the coffee of her land. 

—There’s a bit of everything —I replied, always mindful of realism.

Caught up in the conversation, I missed the corner where we should have turned. Now we had to walk back quite a stretch. I apologized. She looked at me calmly. 

—It doesn’t matter —she said—. The scolding won’t be any worse for arriving a little later still... 

—That’s true —I agreed. And, remembering her heart, I repeated my suggestion to slow down.

She spoke of coffee varieties. I suggested she should pay more attention to the bus schedule. And so, with inconsequential chatter, we reached her destination.

As we parted, she looked at me with a broad smile and said: 

—Luz María. Thank you very much.

I smiled back and told her my name too.

We were no longer strangers.

I continued my walk, surprised that Luz María had thanked me... for making her arrive even later to her maintenance session!

Then, I realized that, at times, gratitude is not for the destination, but for the path walked together.