Throw caution to the wind
The story I wish to recount to you today is long. It’s a true story about a woman I named Kolby who, driving without a driver’s license, was involved in a minor traffic accident. I stopped to help her with translation but found myself judging when I was in no position to judge her.
In turn, she could have ruined my giving heart, but, happy to say, she failed. What she did do, though, is cause me to think of her every time I walk down that corner.
***
Ripple Effect
It could not go unnoticed– that sky– it was a glorious blue canvas with a generous scattering of fluffy clouds. I inhaled greedily and in no time felt like an inflated balloon languishing in the air. I remember thinking that if Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s Little Prince were with me that day and asked that I draw him a sheep, I’d do great by simply directing his majesty’s attention to the sky.
“There’s your sheep, Little Prince,” I imagined myself saying to him.
But then he’d probably turn to me and say, “Where I come from, everything is small. That sheep is too big to live on my planet.”
And he’d be making a great observation.
Thinking that made me smile.
I descended from the clouds, and my feet walked me down the slope that affords me an almost eye-level crisp view of the sky.
Buses don’t come up to my quiet residential area, so we either drive or walk. I chose the latter.
Just as I turned the corner onto the traffic, I ran into two distinct groups of police officers– there had been an accident between a cyclist and a vehicle with Y-plates.
Now, assuming you don’t know what Y-plates are, let me clue you in. The American Armed Forces have bases in different locations here in Japan. One such base is in my area. I do not know why their license plates show a ‘Y,’ but I know to expect someone from The Base to be driving any such vehicle.
Often, these drivers do not speak Japanese, and whenever I feel I could be of assistance, I stop to offer support.
Politely, they refuse my help, saying that The Base Policemen are on their way as we speak and thank you for asking but that they are okay. That lightens my concern for them every time, confident that they’ll reach a satisfactory resolution to whatever it is that happened.
Seeing the two sets of policemen at the accident scene that glorious morning informed me that everyone was in good hands. And so I continued on my merry way.
An Old Memory Trickled down
Then I blinked, and there was Kolby in my memory. The Kolby I’d met on this very spot months before.
I did what I could for her that day and wished her well as I left.
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave
when first we practice to deceive.”
~ Sir Walter Scott, 1808; poem Marmion
On that particular day — the day I stopped to help Kolby — I had been sitting at my desk for hours, but the words were scarcely coming. So around 5 o’clock, I donned my walking shoes, locked my front door, and realized how hungry I was.
As I approached the same corner, I saw a Y-plated vehicle parked on the side of the street. The driver was in tears, and so I stopped.
“Come here,” I told her, offering my arms to this complete stranger, “whatever it is, it will be resolved. I know.”
Her body was rigid at first, but the more I patted her back, the more I felt her give in to my embrace.
Slowly she pulled away and reached for a tissue from inside her bumped-up white van.
My stomach growled, hungry.
I swallowed hard and looked around.
One policeman, his brows drawn close, stood inspecting documents. A few yards away, another took notes as he talked to a young man (who I later came to know as Taro), standing next to a mini-scooter.
The policeman with the documents called me over. “Do you speak Japanese?” he asked.
I told him I did, and he started telling me that he couldn’t make sense of the documents Kolby had provided. (Kolby is not her real name).
I turned my attention in Kolby’s direction for a moment; she leaned on the side of the van, paging through a file and sniffling loudly. The poor sister!
“Please tell me what this means.” The policeman’s voice brought me back to myself.
And so it was that I became the translator on the scene of a minor traffic accident where two moving vehicles bumped into each other, and thankfully, no body parts were hurt.
An aside: Note that here in Japan, mini scooters, like bicycles, are allowed to overtake a vehicle from the left side.
Bafflement
I couldn’t understand the purpose of the documents, so I inched close to Kolby to ask. Her explanation was long and confusing.
“Is your base policeman coming to help?” I asked. I really wasn’t liking what I was starting to suspect. I wanted to help, but I felt this was too heavy for my shoulders to bear. I wanted the base policemen to come like they always did.
“Not this time.” She sighed. “They’re not coming.”
Gasp! News to me. I thought the base policemen always came when they were called in. Hmm. Poor, Kolby.
Wait. Had she even called them? I didn’t ask.
Kolby spoke rapidly as if trying to convince me that the man on the scooter sped up suddenly and bumped into her from the back just as she was turning left from the main road to go onto the street — my street too, the slope — that would take her home.
Then Taro (not his real name), the young man on the two-wheeler, spoke, insisted the hit had come from the front as she turned left into him without indicating she needed to turn. I blinked, and my stomach growled.
The policemen measured and remeasured and talked between themselves. They held out flashlights and closely looked at the bumps and scratches on the back of Kolby’s vehicle.
The black marking on the back of the white van measured precisely to the height of Taro’s bike handle.
Coincidence? Maybe.
Proof? Not so.
I saw it, nodded; Kolby’s snickered and pumped out her chest.
“But that mark is not new,” I translated to her.
“Oh, but they’re wrong,” she contested, “that mark was not there this morning.”
I translated. That’s all I could do.
The policemen sympathized, I could feel it, but they were looking for certainties, facts.
“I saw him… from my side mirror… but he was farther behind me,” Kolby insisted. I gave her a pat on the shoulder as we all moved to the front of the van.
Again they measured and observed closely.
The markings there were consistent with the markings of the dent on the back cover of the scooter’s tire.
“And this dent is new,” I repeated just as I heard the words spoken.
Kolby’s face puffed like a blowfish, and I saw the rims of her eyes grow red. I held her close and patted her back.
The policeman called me over to confide in me that Kolby was driving without a driver’s license.
I was shocked at that revelation. Impossible, I thought. This sister must know that in any developed country, driving without a license is a punishable crime. I sauntered over to Kolby to verify what the man of the law had told me.
“I dropped it off at the base to get it renewed.” She averted her eyes when she said that. “That’s why I was driving so carefully today.” Her eyes still couldn’t meet mine.
Gasp!
Big sister that I am, “What were you thinking, Kolby?” I scolded between clenched teeth. “You know that you…” I stopped myself.
I felt like telling her more– that what she did was wrong. And to distract the officer with I don’t know what kind of important documents he wasn’t able to decipher on his own — when all he asked to see was a valid driver’s license … oh, the gall!
I had to stop myself from saying more because I was starting to judge her. And who am I to judge?
This was becoming a moral issue for me.
Kolby paced, walked away from me.
When she came back to where I stood, she did something she probably thought was what I would have wanted for my ‘trouble.’
“Can I call to talk with you tomorrow? Perhaps you’ll let me buy you lunch for inconveniencing you like this,” she said to me.
“Oh, girl, you don’t owe me anything. I would have stopped to help anyone, anyway,” I said. And I really meant that.
“Here’s my number; call me.” She insisted, so I took out my phone to jot it down.
She recited the number, and I dialed it.
“Did it go through?” I asked to confirm. (Did. It. Go. Through?)
“Yep,” she assured me. “We’re good.”
By and by, the policemen asked that we drive to the police station for them to photocopy her English documents. I went along in case they needed me further.
There, Kolby asked me to write my home address in her notebook. After all, we lived in the same area. I did. And for good measure, I jotted down my cell phone number. Again.
“Since there is nothing so well worth having
as friends,
never lose a chance
to make them.”
~ Francesco Guicciardini
The photocopying complete, the policeman leaned close to requested I ask Kolby to call someone who could vouch for her to come to the police station. And as is their custom, he thanked me politely for sticking around.
I translated.
Kolby looked at me, square on, asking me to be that ‘someone.’
I shook my head no.
I had only just made her acquaintance.
Since her husband was out of the country, Kolby called a Japanese friend of hers. She drew me close into a hug, promising to call me the next day. She squeezed, and her appreciation felt genuine.
I bowed to the policemen, waved to Kolby, and walked myself to a restaurant to get something to eat.
***
It’s my nature to always try to see the good in people. And what I give, I give wholeheartedly. Dear readers, I do not know what came out of this, but I trust that things were set as straight as they could be.
I don’t judge, and I rationalize things this way:
I do not need to know everything.
I cannot fix everything.
I do not argue.
“Sometimes you will never know the value
of a moment until it
becomes a memory.” ~ Dr. Seuss
When Kolby didn’t call me the next day or the days that followed, I dialed the number on my phone. A different person answered, and he did not know a Kolby.
Of that day, I am grateful to be where I was, do what I did. I do not know who I helped out that day, but I want to believe that I helped.
To Kolby, I send happy vibes.
To the policemen, I send happy vibes.
This is not a rant. I have nothing against the Y-plated numbers. What this incident has done is shown me the insincerity of some people. Something like this could dissuade people from stopping to help, but we cannot let that happen. I throw caution to the wind on this one; it’s a loss for Kolby.
I sincerely hope that we continue to behave with integrity and that all our encounters lead us to become better humans, no matter where in the world we’re stationed. Like it or not, we are all ambassadors. Like it or not, what we do matters in the grand scheme of things.
THANKS FOR READING.
I Wish You Miracles.
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