Kindness

They sat with their backs to me, chatting intermittently while they waited for the train to arrive. She was older - maybe a decade more than I - a grandmotherly type with white hair pulled up into a bun, her short, slightly rotund figure tucked into a full length tan rain coat, her feet puffing a bit over the tops of her comfortable shoes. He was Asian, young, slim and rather tall, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black leather jacket, his short black hair neat and trim, his glasses octagonal and frameless.

I couldn't hear their conversation from where I sat on the far side of the lobby, especially when the freight trains rumbled past the huge glass windows facing the double tracks beyond the platform outside. But I could see their faces when they turned to speak to each other over the empty chair between them. There was lots of smiling and nodding.

"How kind," I thought. Here is this mannerly young man, so polite, taking an interest in this stranger, offering to help her move her bag, listening to her stories with genuine interest - not just a brief interchange born of nicety, but a bona fide and ongoing conversation. Does your heart good to see the positive side of diversity and cultural exchange.

After the two minute warning about the arrival of the Empire Service Train 280 bound for Syracuse, Rome, Utica, Schenectady and points east, the station attendant came out from behind the gun proofed and barricaded ticket window and offered to assist the lady, and the young Asian man also jumped to her aid. Again, I was pleased to see their eagerness to be of service to the "elderly" - thinking that I would someday want such assistance as I travel, and hoping I would find equally kind help.

It was only after we boarded the train that I realized the woman had a broken arm and actually did need assistance, not because of her age, but because she couldn't carry her bag. As we waited for the train to pull out, she leaned across me to look out the window on my side of the train. "I just want to say good-bye to my grandson," she explained in a melodious southern drawl. "I have been visiting and now I am headed back to Ge-ahh-gah."

I glanced out the window as she waved her good-byes, and sure enough, there was the nice Asian fellow grinning up at us. I'll be darned. Way more to that diversity angle than I had realized! I glanced at the brave woman now settling in across the aisle from me, realizing she would have a long ride to get home, and with a broken wing. How difficult it must be for her to leave her family behind. What was that young man thinking putting her on a train! (though admittedly I suspect she was afraid of flying, hence the willingness to endure the long jolting trip).

Not ten minutes after we pulled out of Rochester, her cell phone rang (kudos to her!). It was obvious from her conversation that her charming grandson was checking up on her. He must have had a direct link to the phoneline letting people know whether the train was ontime for the various stops because everytime we stopped at a station from Syracuse straight through to Schenectady, he called her and regaled her with a story or put someone else on the phone to chat.

I imagine he kept it up until she arrived in sunny Georgia, good for him. It was as close to traveling with her as he could get. That's on beyond kind. That's downright thoughtful.