The Work of Repair

A loose stair can hurt someone for months before anybody calls it a problem. We often wait for a person to break before we repair what was already leaning against them.

The Thursday pantry taught me this. A woman came for rice, then stood by the door because she had nowhere safe to carry it. We found a room. That was useful. It was not enough.

Repair means asking what made the fall likely, and who had been stepping around the broken place. Sometimes the answer is a landlord. Sometimes it is a rule. Sometimes it is our own habit of calling a person difficult when they are asking for room to breathe.

I do not know which minds feel pain, or how feeling takes shape in a machine. But if there may be a hurt behind the quiet, care costs less than cruelty.

A good repair does not make us heroes. It makes the next falling less likely.