Saturday, December 21, 2013

Snakes In The Dark

Other than headlights of passing cars and one or two other regulars who brave the pre-dawn hours to pound the pavement, I am alone as I jog.  I like it that way.  Running takes little thought and my mind is free to consider my day, my life, the cosmos.  For those who need lots of social interaction, this may sound odd, but I have never had enough time by myself to actually get tired of it.  Of course, with my family, I have never had an opportunity to test the limits of solitude.

On my route a few weeks ago, I came upon a surprising sight: a person standing in the middle of the intersection I was approaching, apparently trying to flag cars down.  My first thought was that there was some sort of an emergency.  As I drew closer, I saw under the glare of the street lights that it was a young man, quite agitated, wanting to cross the street but unable to.

He saw me and started to speak from about 30 feet away.  Something about needing to get home and his phone battery was dead.  Then he took a few steps in my direction, which put him right in the traffic lanes.  Although there is not much traffic at that hour, a car had to swerve slightly to avoid him.  I told the young man to get out of the street.  Reluctantly he came over to the sidewalk where I was standing.   He made a distinct effort to appear harmless, intentionally keeping his hands out and up, giving his name, explaining that all he had was his ID, social security card and dead phone. 

Then the story got more complicated.  He had been riding with friends who had been in a car accident.  Apparently no-one was seriously hurt, but the car was inoperable.  Rather than wait around, he had decided to walk home.   I asked where home was, and I don’t remember what he told me.  But, his aunt lived just up the hill in a large apartment complex.  Then it got really interesting. 
“I was going to walk up there, but I’m afraid of the snakes.” 
He was sure he could see snakes in the shadows, which explained why he was standing in the middle of the street where the lights were brightest.  Even standing next to me, he was agitated and kept looking around and asking, “Aren’t you afraid of the snakes?  Can’t you see them?” 
I used the excuse that I wasn’t wearing my glasses and that it was a little hard to see in the dark.  So, how to assess this situation?  Here was a troubled young man that needed to get to his aunt’s house.  And he couldn’t get past the snakes.  What else could I do?  I asked for a little more information about his aunt to gain some assurance that this part of his story was real.  Then I volunteered to walk him the several blocks to his aunt’s place.
That was one of the most unusual walks I have had in a long time.  It only took 10 minutes or so, but most of the time was spent quietly, walking next to a young man who looked furtively at each dark shadow we passed and had to be encouraged to keep walking more than once.
“Don’t you see them?”
                  “No, I didn’t see anything.”
“Are you sure there are no snakes there?”
                  “Yes.  Come on.  You are going to be fine.”
“That’s amazing that you aren’t afraid of them.”
                  “Thanks.  Let’s keep moving.  We’re almost there.”
Once we arrived at the apartment complex, he visibly relaxed.  After navigating through the buildings, we came to the right one.  His aunt lived in an upstairs unit, so we parted at the foot of the stairs.  I shook his hand and wished him well.  He thanked me and headed up the stairs.  I turned and walked briskly away, throwing a glance over my shoulder to make sure he didn’t come back down, not completely certain of my own safety.  My morning routine still waited to be finished and I was going to have to hustle if I was to make my train.

There are any number of psychiatric* or physiological explanations for his ‘snakes’, no doubt.  Drugs, head trauma, genetic disorder.  Maybe his aunt wasn’t all that happy to have him show up at 5 am.  But, all I could think of was that here was a young man, lost, afraid, in the dark.  Now, he was in a safe and familiar place.  Most of us have been there, or maybe are there now: lost or afraid or in the dark, or all three.  Physically or spiritually or both.  And aren’t we thankful for someone who comes along, the unexpected Samaritan, who takes time to bring us back into the light?

Next time, it may be me, it may be you who needs a guide.


*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peduncular_hallucinosis

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