"I'm sorry"

"Never let your sense of morals prevent you from doing what is right."

~Isaac Asimov

Yesterday when I was on my way to the bookstore there was a man standing in the middle of the street. Cars and people traveled back and forth around him like he was there but wasn't there at the same time. Like a strange post or rock which you have accepted existed but have no desire of acknowledging. I walked closer and closer to where he was standing.

When I just about past him I could hear that he was muttering something and something pulled me so I turned around and asked him, "what was that?" He said something again, it was almost delirious, or maybe I was really tired, or maybe both, the point was I still didn't know exactly what he said. I lingered there and looked at him. He had a large duffel bag that spilled over his shoulder to his back, his eyes were tired and his scruffy beard untamed, he was missing an arm. People pushed past me and I stumbled a few steps back, still looking at him.

I don't know how much time had passed between the moment I turned around to the moment I barely made out the words "please, I don't need much, however many would do." I heard a voice say softly almost immediately after he paused for a comma in his sentence, "I'm sorry."

It was mine.

I heard the hesitation in the syllables as they quivered out of my lips. Why did I apologise? I just did. Like it was reflex. Like I was programmed to apologise whenever I see or hear people ask for help that I assumed I wouldn't be able to assist them with. But could I really not help him? Was I really in that position where I couldn't have spared a dime for a lost man because I needed that very dime to survive another day? Even if I had no money in my pocket, which I did, I could have sat him down and asked him who he was, where he was going or what he was going to do. I wasn't in a hurry, I had time to spare, I could have helped him in other ways if money really was a problem. But I didn't. What I did was apologise. As if that one word would have made a difference, as if it would have consoled him or suddenly make his problems go away.

There are probably those out there who would have done the same thing I did because handouts is not the answer to anything. "Oh he was probably dangerous anyhow" "if you indulged beggars, they'll become lazy" "he'll probably just use it for drug money" and other bogus rationalisations started running through my head as I felt myself turn to walk away from the man. What if none of those justifications were right? What separated him from me? I've had handouts given to me my entire life. My parents still give me money and I've done jack for them. Not everybody's parents have the luxury of giving out pocket money so what difference is it when you ask a handout from some strange passerby on the street from asking your parents to pay for driving lessons? Who was I to judge anyone like that? But I walked away, stepped one foot in front of the other, and I left him there, still muttering to whoever would listen, still standing in the middle of the street without anyone crashing into him, still present but nonexistent.

"I'm sorry."

What use is regret or remorse if one never uses it to better their ways? This is not the first time I've felt such guilt and yet I continue to do it every chance I get. I don't understand why I can't seem to pull my own weight and just be a decent person. Why is it so hard to be kind to others when it gives you so much satisfaction and relief? What sense of gratification does anyone really get from acting like a complete douche?

I went to the bookstore and couldn't find what I was looking for. Some tragedy that was.

I could have helped him, but I didn't.