around the corner

Around the Corner

There used to be this long alleyway a little girl had to pass everyday on her way to school, which wound round the back of two apartment blocks and was rather dark and musty-smelling. She dreaded passing by that way as it was in the poorer part of town, and the houses were rather shabby looking with graffiti on the walls and the people had what seemed to her, nasty, sneering looks on their faces. To her, it was a horrid journey, but she had to do it, as going the other way would mean an extra thirty minutes of walking. So the little girl would just hurry along the alleyway, which was littered with decomposing refuse and smelt awful, keeping her eyes lowered.

This was how she spent five minutes everyday, but to her it seemed much longer. The child was not rich, but the poverty that surrounded her made her feel uncomfortable; she disliked the smell, look and feel the little alleyway gave her. That was why she always looked forward to reaching the end of the alleyway, to lose the stifling feel that the two towering apartment blocks gave her. At the end of the alleyway, she could choose to turn left or to turn right, as there was this huge storm water drain in front of her. But to many people in the town, this was not a choice, but rather something born out of habit. Around the right corner was the poorest area of the town, where run-down apartment blocks with no central heating stood, an area which was a melting pot of criminal activities once the sun set. Nobody from the other parts of town with any self respect would venture into that area and they didn’t welcome the residents there either, so it was just as well that the storm water drain separated them. Of course, our little girl did not venture into that area as well, she always hurried on her way after turning the left corner, breathing a sigh of relief as she left behind the darkness and headed into the sunshine.

Her little routine went on undisturbed for quite a while, until one day when she turned the left corner only to see a wrinkled old man sitting there in a heap. From his clothes and behavior, he looked like he came from the poor area, and her elders had always told her to beware of people like him. He had stringy white hair, patchy and stained clothes his skin was oily and his fingers grimy. Before him were pairs of shoes and tools resting on a coarse white flannel cloth, and she deduced that he was a cobbler. She did not notice that she was standing rooted to the ground staring at him, her mouth slightly agape, until he turned his eyes on her. His eyes were an intense shade of bluish-gray, and when the light shone on them, it made them look all the more peculiar. To the little girl who had never seen such a sight before, it was terrifying. To her, after all the stories she had been told, this man seemed like a monster. And she was frightened. Tearing her gaze away from his, she hurried on, sweat beading her forehead, and with every step she took, she increased her pace until she was running, streaking along the pathway as fast as her pudgy little legs could take her. She could hear shouting behind her, calling her, but she ignored it, she just wanted to get away from that horrid man. Only to trip over a bump in the path and fall, scraping her knees in the process. Pain ricocheted through her legs, and what made it worse was that she could hear heavy footsteps behind her. The horrid old man was following her! She struggled to get up and suddenly felt a pair of hands clamp around her arms. Pressing her eyes shut, she gasped in fear.

Only to hear a kindly voice say, “Here you go, get up. That’ll teach you to watch where you’re going next time.”

Looking up, she saw those pair of eyes again. His hand stretched out towards her and she shrank back in fear. His fingers slowly unclenched to reveal a purse, her purse to be exact. Checking her pockets, the little girl snatched at her purse and was about to leave when she sneaked a peek at the man’s face again. His eyes were crinkled in a smile, a toothless smile. At that moment, those almost translucent eyes seemed almost friendly, and he looked like a harmless old grandfather, like many of her friends had. He did not seem like a monster anymore. And so our little girl gave him a smile too, and hurried on her way.

The next morning, the little girl went on her usual journey to school albeit a little earlier, with a little bundle under her arms. The alleyway did not look so foreboding anymore, but still she looked forward to turning the left corner, though for a different reason as she wanted to see the old man again. And just as she thought, he was sitting there again, with his wares in front of him, slouched against the wall. Grinning she stepped forward and placed her little bundle in front of him, and stood back expectantly. The old man looked up at her, his wrinkled face stretching into a smile, and he pushed the bundle towards her.

“My child, I may be poor but I don’t deserve such charity. For I did nothing worth receiving your payment.”

“But you helped me yesterday,” she protested

“It was what I had to do, a kind deed wants no payment.”

There was a pause, before the little girl continued, “Then if I ask you to polish my shoes, will you take it?”

The old man only smiled, and nodded silently in reply. So she took off her shoes and squatted there politely while she waited for him to polish them, before putting them on again and trotting off to school.

As such, from that day onwards, the little girl always made sure she had dusted up her shoes on her way home so that the old man had reason to polish her shoes and she had reason to give him the little bundle the next morning. She looked forward to this chapter of the day, when she could squat there and listen to the many tales the old man had to tell, watching him polish her shoes, his face lighting up animatedly as he told his stories. Just as she had guessed, this old man was from the poorer part of town, but he did not seem like those awful characters her elders had described to her. He seemed nice, almost normal, like everyone she knew. It was not long before her young mind came to the conclusion that they had been lying to her. She learnt how he became poor after the recession, almost thirty years ago, and moved to this part of town, how he could not find employment because of that status, how he learnt how to mend shoes, as well as stories of his neighbourhood, which to the little girl seemed like any normal neighbourhood, except the people were poorer and lead what seemed like exciting lives as compared to the many office worker adults she knew. She absorbed all these information eagerly, for they sounded so different and refreshing to her, in her sheltered and protected cocoon. And the old man relished telling her these tales, his face aglow as he re-enacted his experiences to her. Their friendship grew and thus, every morning, there would be a little girl squatting around the corner by an old cobbler, listening to him as he polished her shoes and told his stories, a little bundle resting by his side.

This was how our little character spent her mornings before she went to school, as spring turned to summer and summer to autumn and autumn to the beginnings of winter.

The last leaves had fallen and the tree branches were bare and knobbed. Leaves of brilliant amber and gold carpeted the ground and an icy breeze had begun to whistle around the bare branches. Wrapped up in warm clothing, the little girl hurried on her way, the little bundle under her arm. Eagerly, she made her way through the alleyway, and turning the left corner, she expected to see her friend, the old man there, as he had been over the past year, with his shoes, tools and grimy cloth, his posture as slouched as ever. But the spot where he usually sat was empty, the breeze picking up the leaves and rustling them about. Puzzled, she gently sat down by the spot, laying down the bundle gently. He was always there before her, never late, so what was wrong today?

She never did find out, for the next day, she went along with the bundle under her arms as usual, only to find the bundle from the day before still resting there. But she continued bringing the bundle with her every morning, hoping that her friend would come back some day. But he never did.

The little girl wept for him, and after a while, even stopped carrying the bundle around. However, she never did give up hope of finding him around the corner, so everywhere she went, as long as there was a corner, she hoped to find the dear old cobbler sitting there waiting for her.

What was in the bundle you ask? Well, will it be surprising to you if I say that it was just a couple of cookies wrapped in a cloth? But to the little girl, to her innocent child’s mind, it was a precious gift to one she considered a friend, even if the friend did not accept it without polishing her shoes. And to the old man, one who was much ostracized and snubbed by society, this little girl was a welcome distraction from the hardships of life, for to a lonely person, such company was a gift. He lived his life again through her, and enjoyed it when she found it exciting, for to him, his had been one wretched existence. The little bundle seemed like a key to those conversations, but he would not accept things without a reason, so he did what he did best: clean her shoes in return for that right.

You never know who you may meet when turning around a corner, but whoever it is, you can be sure that there is a reason that they are there. Never discount people at first sight, they might not be what they appear to be on the surface, and since you were given the chance of meeting, you should give the person a chance too. You never know when a small gesture is enough to heal a broken soul. Our little girl did it, and you can too.