Que me perdones

I was walking down the street today, on my way from the Casa to a meeting and running late as usual, when someone pulled at my shoulder to stop me. I turned around and there was a young man I knew I knew but couldn't quite place. I was worried about being late and not very focused on who he was, when he asked,

¿Te acuerdas de mi? Do you remember me?

As I automatically responded Sí, I did remember him. It was the young man who had grabbed my rear that day going into work, the one I had ran after and let loose my fury on.

¿Qué quieres? Voy retrasado. What do you want? I'm running late, I said, looking into his face. We were standing there face to face like we had that day when I'd confronted him, only this time I was actually seeing him instead of just my own anger and sense of violation. I realized I hadn't recognized him at first because I hadn't really seen him before. This time I noticed one of his eyes had a problem and drifted off to the side. His teeth looked a little unkept.

Que me perdones. That you forgive me.

It was all he said.

Sí, I responded and wondered why it mattered. I never would have noticed him again if he hadn't stopped me intentionally.

He broke into a big smile. Gracias! and gave me a shy half embrace.

And that was it. He turned and left. The whole encounter must have lasted a minute or less. Blame it on the pregnancy hormones, but I felt tears coming to my eyes as I hurried away. I was moved as much by his action as by my own sense of seeing this person, really seeing him, for the first time. We are all so vulnerable.