En route to a show at First Avenue in downtown Minneapolis, a friend and I decide to park halfway and then take a bus.
“Easier than parking downtown!” say I.
Then again, maybe not.
Waiting for our bus, we chat with a man named Steve. One leg artificial, the other wrapped in an Ace Bandage, Steve has the appearance of a too-young-for-VietNam vet. Friendly and talkative, he continues to engage with us on the trip downtown.
Getting off the bus on Nicollet and 7th, I manage to trip, ending up sprawled on the sidewalk. My friend helps me up and to a nearby bench, as my left ankle rapidly puffs to double its normal size.
Having gotten off at the same stop, Steve walks over.
“Wow, that looks bad. You need to head to the emergency room,” he says.
We had reached the same conclusion.
As we arrange for a Lyft driver, Steve unwinds the Ace bandage from his leg. Handing it to me he says, “Don’t worry, it’s clean. You need this more than I do.”
Rather than a concert at First Avenue, I spend the evening at the Abbott-Northwestern ER. My ungraceful fall results in ligament tears on both sides of the ankle, as well as in the ligament connecting tibia to fibula in the calf.
Twelve weeks recovery,” says the orthopedic doc.
But the residual glow of Steve’s open-hearted generosity continues to defeat the shadows of temporary discomfort and inconvenience.
May he receive a thousand times over the goodness he shared.