I wish I could better remember the details. This pair of passengers is one of the reasons I first thought of writing this blog. They have been stuck in my head ever since.
But it was a late night pick up, the streets were quiet, The two young men had been doing what friends do, hanging out, seeing the sights.
My pleasantries were met with a trumpeted challenge by the slight figure sitting behind me.
His friend tries to talk him down, but I reassure them both I’m not easily frightened or worried. I’m from Los Angeles. I’m a mother with three boys. I’ve been a therapeutic level foster parent. Take your pick, you’re unlikely to scare me.
We have a spirited conversation, the three of us. The young man behind me, I’m not sure what he was dealing with, other than a traumatic past, but yeah, some of his thinking was a little… disordered. But never crossed a line. His friend skillfully kept him on an even keel, equal parts soothing and challenging as the need arose.
We reached their stop and my passengers walked off into the night. I sat there with tears streaming down my face, wishing that some miracle would keep those two in each other’s orbit for all of time. They need each other.
Wishing someone would keep the caretaking friend supplied with enough support to fulfill his side of the bargain.
Heroes are real. Sometimes they hide in the dark. Sometimes they radiate light.
But they are real.
