The kindness of strangers

I hope it's come back to them

Two or three years ago, driving the scooter, whizzing around a sweeping curve overhung by a large tree, enjoying the drive. It must have been a warm day, because I was wearing my new sleeveless red dress.

A little farther down the road, I pulled over to the side to check my phone; did I want to check the time, or was I expecting a message or a call? That part, the reason, is gone. But stop I did, and after likely patting my pockets I reached into whichever tote was in rotation that day to get it.

As I did, two men on a bike pulled up next to me, the pillion rider holding out… my phone. My complete bewilderment probably showed on my face, because he pointed behind us to the curve. “You dropped it back there,” he said, or something like that; it may have been in Nepali. I was still processing this, with confusion, beginning to thank them, but they were already speeding off, leaving me staring blankly at the phone I didn’t even know I’d lost.

That new dress was blessed with pockets, but I realized then that they weren’t very deep ones, and it must have fallen out with the tilt of the turn.

Some things just stick with you: the befuddlement, the gratitude, which I wish I’d had time to properly express. Something they neither needed nor were looking for. Having performed a kindness, they were off.

It was a gifted phone, secondhand but still more valuable than any that had come before it (yeah, I was late to the whole smartphone, thing, too). It needed a few repairs earlier this year, but is still going strong, and very often while using it I’ve thought of those strangers. Many, many times, in fact. I’m quite sure I would never recognize them should I run into them again—the encounter was over in seconds.

But I still think of them, with gratefulness, and hope that their consideration in going out of their way for a complete stranger—picking up a phone, chasing me down the road, leaving without even wanting thanks—has come back to them in some way.