At Bethesda

‘Do you want to get well?’
What sort of
stupid question
was that?
I ask you!
I’d been like this
for thirty-eight years now
and suddenly
some total stranger
comes up to me
and asks me,
‘Do you want to get well?’
What did he think I was doing
at Bethesda
for heaven’s sake!
So,
I gave him
rather a sharp reply.
As soon as
I had said it
I regretted it.
I didn’t mean it to sound
the way it came out,
And,
to be fair,
this man
seemed
genuinely concerned.
After all,
he had bothered
to stop,
to bend down,
to talk
to me.
And the way
he had looked at me.
I can’t describe it
but
he seemed to be looking
right at me,
right inside me.
Maybe
that was why
I had reacted
as I did.
It was very uncomfortable
having someone
see
the real me.
Maybe
I was a little ashamed.
There were things
in my past
I wanted to stay hidden;
hidden,
especially,
from this man,
whoever he was.
And anyway,
did I really want to get well?
Of course
the answer should have been
a resounding
yes, yes, yes.
But
what would it mean?
What would it cost me?
Where would my security be?
What would I do?
So many questions;
so many doubts,
but
too late
to voice them now.
This man
was still looking at me
and
I think
he knew my thoughts.
In fact
I’m sure
he knew them.
Without hesitation
he told me to get up;
to pick up my mat;
to walk.
And I did!
Just like that.

So much to adjust to;
so many new sensations.
I couldn’t take it all in
at first.
And then,
when I looked round
for this man
he had gone,
disappeared
into the crowd.

I longed to know his name.
Who was he?
Where had he come from?

I do hope
that
I meet him
again
one day.


© Kathleen Wilks