It was a warm, sunny day when I took a stroll around my neighborhood. I came across the familiar route I had sauntered through many times before, flushed with neatly-trimmed green bushes along the sidewalks, leading to the dark olive and cream colored house ahead. But this time, my gaze met an unfamiliar sight. A new family was moving into the house, rolling their cardboard boxes on the wheelchair ramp. Ah, that old rickety wheelchair ramp. But there, my memories immediately snapped back to the old man who, for many years, used to roll up and down to get between his front porch and yard.
There was something to him that made me hide in fright whenever I saw him in the distance. Perhaps it was his airy cough that vibrated through his lungs. Perhaps it was his peculiar demeanor that I glimpsed every time I trailed behind my mother. There was probably a story embedded behind every line etched deep into his face, but all that concerned me was how they made him look like a scary statue. I imagined his voice to sound like a deep rumble resembling a dragon coming out of its cave or a cold, raspy whisper that sent chills down spines.
As such, I made every effort to prevent our paths from crossing. There were two routes from home to school, but I always preferred the longer one because I could avoid passing by the old man’s house. I would duck behind the green bush to cover my view from him if I really had to go on the shorter path.
This one-sided hide-and-seek continued for months. In a matter of time, it was Halloween, my favorite holiday then. The late afternoon was just beginning to transition into nighttime. Anxious for candy, my friends and I dashed out of our homes, knocking on door after door, only to be faced with overwhelming disappointment upon realizing the adults had not returned from work. We wandered across the entire street, until we stopped right in front of the old man’s house.
Surprisingly, he was already there, sitting on his wheelchair on his front porch as usual with the front door slightly opened. He dressed up looking like Dr. Nefario, donning a white T-shirt, black pants, black leather gloves, and black safety goggles, all while clutching a straw basket full of candy bars on his lap.
My friends eagerly walked out toward him, who placed candy into their baskets. But I lingered behind, hesitating.
“Mei mei, he won’t bite,” my sister nudged me, as she returned.
In a blink of an eye, I found myself standing in front of the old man, with my hand reaching out in front of me. “Oh, hello. What’s your name?” The old man’s face was decorated with a jolly smile and a pink-tipped nose as he dropped in pieces of chocolate. “You can call me Mr. Smith.”
I couldn’t believe how close I was to him. I waited for a dragon-like rumble to come out of his belly or a raspy whisper to come out of his throat but it never did. All I heard was a gentle and soft, high pitched voice. I opened my mouth to reply to him, but not a single sound came out of my mouth. I stared at him with bewildered eyes for seconds, until my sister dragged me off his driveway to continue.
Back at home, I peered at the candy he gave me. I will talk to him the next time I see him, I told myself.
The next morning I glanced in the direction of his house on my way to school. But the view of the house was covered by the presence of the flashing red and blue lights from the ambulance. This time, the porch was empty.
He’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll say hi to him then. Day after day, I secretly hoped to see him rolling up and down his wheelchair ramp, but he never did. Tomorrow, I told myself each day, until I finally overheard the shocking news from my neighbors that Mr. Smith will never return.
He entered my life silently and left just as unexpectedly. I missed out on making a friend, I never got to face my “fear”, I never found out what he was truly like before judging who he was. What stories were behind each crease in his face? Why did he love to gaze in the direction of the school during afternoons? Where did his love of Halloween and Dr. Nefario stem from?
Eventually, I came to accept that, even though he may be gone, he imparted an important lesson that still resonates with me today: your greatest fears could become your greatest friends, but only if you give them a chance.
My mind wandered back to what was ahead of me. I walked closer to the house, smiled and waved at my new neighbors. “Hello!”
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