A glimmer of hope

On a night of slippery roads, a kind stranger saved me

During the evening news on a Wednesday in mid-March, I prepared to leave my house. I half-listened to the TV. A reporter spoke with a man on the street who complained about how the world was in such bad shape and how nobody could be trusted nowadays.

I glanced out the window. There was a light dusting of snow on the streets. The meteorologist hadn’t predicted any bad weather so I kissed my husband, Jim, and drove off in our Chevy van.

I followed my usual route to my writers’ group in Squirrel Hill.

The meeting was intense. That is, until one member’s husband called her and said the roads were getting slick. I jumped up, got into the Chevy and crawled along through an inch of snow. I’ve always been a scared rabbit when driving on snow or ice.

At the corner of Wilkins and South Negley, I clicked on my left turn signal but hesitated. I could have gone straight, which might have kept me on flat roads. But I didn’t dare deviate from my normal route. I have an awful sense of direction and would surely get lost. Who knew what pitfalls I might encounter?

So I drove along at a snail’s pace until I reached the crest of the steep Negley hill and peered down.

Vehicles slipped and slid and some had stopped. I said to myself, “I am not going down that hill and I’m not turning around. I’m staying right here.”

Then I turned into a deadend street and parked.

I dug into my purse for my cell phone. Wouldn’t you know that I forgot it! I never, ever forget my phone, although a friend of mine disputed that when I told her the story afterward.

I sat for a moment but not for long. Getting out of the van, I looked around at the big, beautiful houses, walked up to one and rang the doorbell. It was 10:45 p.m.

No one answered so I started to make my way back down the driveway. From the house, a man’s voice called, “Why did you ring my bell?”

“Because your house was the only one with the lights on,” I answered, coming back up on the front porch. Then I explained what had happened.

I asked the man whose name I would later learn was Raul if I could borrow his cell phone. I called Jim. The voicemail came on. I called a second time. Still no answer.

Raul and I discussed phoning a taxi, but he had a flip phone and neither of us knew the phone number. I decided to walk home. which might take an hour on the slippery sidewalks.

Raul suggested that I wait on his front porch while he went back inside to talk to his wife.

A few minutes later, he pulled down his driveway and told me to get in his car.

As Raul took the route that I should have taken home, he initiated several interesting conversations. As we approached an area of the East End, the roads became miraculously better. It almost looked like it did when I first left home.

When we reached my house, I offered to pay Raul for his trouble. He said that he would be very insulted and then waited until I got safely into my house.

I yelled at my husband to listen to my messages. He explained that he’d been watching basketball and “Raul” had shown up on the screen so he’d ignored it.

“I checked our street and it was clear,” Jim said. “I assumed all the roads were.”

I couldn’t stay mad at him.

The next day, he took me to pick up the van and I left a thank-you card in Raul’s mailbox. But it wasn’t enough to express my gratitude.

So I will pay Raul’s act forward by reminding anyone who agrees with the man interviewed on the news that, no, you are wrong. There are kind people in the world, like Raul. People who can be trusted. People who offer a glimmer of hope in this cynical world of ours.