I’m heading towards the Park when I see a newspaper delivery man I bump into most mornings.
“Good morning,” I said, same as every day, and same as every day, he doesn’t respond.
So me, being a little on edge say, “Wouldn’t it be nicer to start your day with a bit more cheer? Must you be so rude?”
He ignores me, getting back into his van.
A doorman who witnesses the exchange, or lack of, said, “Just so you know, he’s mute. He doesn’t talk at all.”
Wow, did that stop me in my tracks, no pun intended.
“I had no idea,” I said, “no wonder he never answers me.”
“All we know is, he shows up every day, rain or shine,” said the doorman, “and another delivery guy said it happened when he was a kid, if I remember right, in Somalia, hurt by a family member that did somethin’ to his vocal cords.”
Being someone who knows all about abuse and having a disability, starts to cry.
“Sorry Miss (he called me Miss, vanity never far), didn’t mean to upset ya.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said, properly ashamed, “but I just learned a lesson I hope to get this time.”
“What lesson is that, if ya don’t mind tellin’ me?”
“That we truly, though we smugly think so, don’t really know anything.”
I accept the paper towel he hands me to blow my now, unmasked nose, no longer out of joint, just red and humbled.
I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves.
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