My Mumbling Thoughts

I don't know what it is, but for some strange reason I tend to attract old people. I'm not sure if I have Good Samaritan written on my forehead somewhere, or maybe it's just because they think, hey! That nice girl looks like she'll help me! but I can't rid of them.

Just the other week when we were having some of the nicest weather that London has seen in weeks, an old lady who was standing at the edge of the street was waving me over. I was walking with Alex who was on the phone and mumbled to me, 'just keep walking. She's crazy.' But I couldn't help myself. She was looking at me dead in the face and continued waving to me in a rushed panic.

I walked over to the old lady who was dressed in a heavy winter coat, a hat and mittens. She had a slight tick as well and couldn't help her head from shaking every so often.

Please don't let her be crazy. Please don't let her be crazy, I repeated to myself.

"Hiya. Are you okay?" I asked her.

"Oh thank you, dear. Could you just help me cross the road please? I've just gotten out of hopsital, and I'm too afraid to cross the street on my own."

"Yeah, sure. That's fine."

"Thank you, honey. Thank you so much." She hooked her arm in my arm and we waited for the Green Man that says it's okay for us to cross.

Once we made it safely to the other side, she told me that she was just going to Sainsbury's and that she'd be fine from there.

"God bless you, honey. God bless. And be careful crossing back over. These people are crazy drivers here."

"I will do. And it's not a problem," I said and let her continue on her way to the store.

When I crossed back over to where Alex was, she was laughing at me.

"You're too fucking nice," she said.

A couple weeks before that, I had to help another old lady who was blind and had an accent that made my ears strain just to try and decipher what she was saying. I think she might have been a little bit crazy as well, but it just added to her insane character.

I left work early and was on my way to Kingston to meet up with Helen. I had my earbuds in, as I always do when I'm out and about on my own, and I had a glazed look across my face, which should let people know not to stop me; I don't want to have a conversation with you; I don't want to fill out a survey; I don't want to join that fucking charity. So I was startled when when out nowhere, this arm came flying towards me and caught me off guard. An asian man who was apparently too busy to help this old woman flagged me down. I took out my earbuds and gave him an annoyed look.

"What?" I asked in a pissed off tone.

"Can you help her get to the store since you're walking in that direction? I'm going this way," and he pointed in the opposite direction.

I looked over at the old lady who was chewing on her bottom lip and staring at the ground.

"Are you serious?" I said.

But he didn't even answer. He just walked away and left me there with her.

Fuck. Well I can't just leave a blind woman standing here on the busy sidewalk.

"Hiya," I said in a sweet voice to her. "So you're going to the store, huh?"

"Just to Sainsbury's. I need to get my lunch," she replied in her thick accent.

"Great. Well, let's go to Sainsbury's then." I took her arm into mine, and began the very slow walk leading her around like a guide dog.

She talked and talked and talked, and I just walked and said 'mmhmm' when it was necessary. I found it interesting, though, at how many people would notice that she was blind and quickly got out of her way. We just took a straight path and every one else made room for the two of us. I thought that was kind of cool. And when we finally made it to the store, the man we asked to help us find her lunch (two bars of dark chocolate and a chocolate milkshake), was really nice and patient with her.

Up at the till, she counted out her own money which seemed like three years. It was only £2.30, but she insisted on feeling every single coin in these plastic bags that separated them all. When I offered to help her out, she snapped at me and said that she could do it herself. Fair enough. The woman who was patiently waiting pointed at her and mouthed to me, is she your mother?

No, I mouthed back and shook my head. I just met her ten minutes ago.

She smiled and acted like it was the nicest thing she had seen her entire life.

Yeah, I guess.

After she finally paid for her very chocolate lunch, we made the long journey back to the social services building where I dropped her off. The man (security guard maybe?) that was trying to find her social worker didn't have the same amount of patience as the lady at Sainsbury's, and I could tell he was getting frustrated with her. She didn't know the woman's name. All she knew was that she was a 'team manager'.

I really needed to get going, so after I checked with him that she would be fine and was in the right place, I left. I felt bad, but at the same time I thought that I had gone above and beyond what some people would have done.

But the one old lady that I partially take care of is our neighbor two doors down from us named, Olive. You would think that she was my grandmother, and now I'm afraid that she relies on me too much. When it gets to be time for us to move out, I'm not sure what she's going to do. She's 87-years-old, just had a pacemaker put inside of her and has lived in the same building for over forty years. It's crazy.

I've been helping her out for the past two months or so, taking her trash down for her and occasionally going to the shop for her to pick up a few things that she needs. She always gives extra money to me, but I refuse and give it back to her, sometimes when she doesn't realize it. And I don't mind, because it's not really that big of a deal. However, sometimes I get slightly weirded out when she randomly calls me 'just to chat,' or when she gives us small nick knacks from her house that we have no use for, just because she wants someone to have them before she dies. And when we do chat, the only thing she talks about is how she's really independent, her daughter with schizophrenia and she can be really patronizing about us 'young kids' these days.

I get it, Olive. It sucks to be your age.

Bless her. I realize that she doesn't really have anyone else, and I do try to help her when I can. Momma always says to me, how would you want to be treated when you get to be that age? Well, I suppose I'd want some nice, young girl to help me across the street when I just get out of the hospital, or not judge me when I have only chocolate for my lunch. And I suppose I'd also like that nice girl to listen to me ramble on about the same stories every time we chat and not have her complain when I give her pointless things from my mountain of crap that has been collecting dust since the 19th century.

Or, I'd much rather just be left somewhere in a cottage where I wouldn't bother anyone and let nature take its course.