Do you stop for roadkill?
Would you stop to help a person who was lying on the road as if hit by a vehicle? Roadkill? Do you live, as do I, in a neighborhood seemingly disconnected from the harsh realities of poverty, homelessness, drug addition? A neighborhood where the most pressing issue may be pesky deer invading our vegetable gardens? A neighborhood where the most interesting press is an article about ducks, rabbits, hummingbirds, and tomatoes? Is life more than ducks and rabbits and Black Prairie folklore? Does the American dream extend beyond the Tombigbee River Bridge and the hard-to-manage soil of The Black Prairie with its oak, hickory, cedar landscape?
I was on my way to town yesterday. I rarely go to town, but needed to make a run to Kroger. There on the road ahead was a body. Roadkill? The vehicle in front of me stopped immediately.
I stopped, not for the body, but to lend cover for the neighbor who had already stopped to give aid. The young lady in the Lexus 450 stopped, too. The three of us, for a few seconds, pondered what we should do for that poor wreck of a white boy lying on the side of the road.
A stray dog, a stray human, you take it in, you then own “the problem.” Who was he? Where did he come from? How dare he invade our Paradise? Did he not realize that Mississippi State and Ole Miss were now ranked #3 in The College Football World? And that Game Day was coming to The Junction on Saturday? And that all eyes and thoughts were on Mississippi football? How dare he!
The young lady in the Lexus called 911. I gave the victim some money. Like that would really solve his problems. The lady gave him a bottle of water. The “hero” in this sad tale was probably a Mr. Moore. Mr. Moore is a member of First Baptist Church, Columbus. Why did Mr. Moore stop in the first place? I stopped because Mr. Moore stopped. The young lady stopped because maybe she remembered the parable of The Good Samaritan. I say this because I know what her parents probably taught her.
911 responded. Mr. Moore continued home for lunch. The young lady in the Lexus 450 had an appointment. I had something really important to get at Kroger, I think it was hamburger meat. The ambulance crew policed up the “roadkill.” I could see the approaching blue lights of the sheriff deputy’s car as I drove off.
So what is the outcome? Where is that poor soul today? Jail? Hospital? Back on the road? He said he was on his way to Dallas. A possible job, relatives? And a few of us citizens probably are reflecting on our blessed condition. Our homes, relationships, jobs, independence, our good fortune. But maybe we are all victims in a strange way. None of us is perfect. We are all flawed. We are probably in some state of denial of the current conditions that challenge so many of our fellow wayfaring brothers and sisters, those invisible ones. Maybe all of us are one misfortune away from becoming roadkill, throwaways. Invisible and forgotten.
Hotty Toddy and Hail State.
Willis Pope
Columbus
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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