. I kept passing back the bagels still warm from their Einstein's oven as I explained to my four young listeners what a Baker's Dozen was. Only half of my listening audience could grasp the concept that 12 + 1= 13, but the younger children listened all the same while they chewed from the tops of their favorite kinds. The woman at the counter must have thought they were cute. Maybe she thought my purse was raggedy, I don't know but for the first time out of several visits to that store, we were given the extra bagel. I began to think of the wasted pieces I'd be clearing out of the van as they all headed in to our warm house. I had to keep them happy for this twenty minute ride to a bank I just can't give up on yet. Out of the way, no longer a direct deposit relationship as that job was years ago, but it was a part of my old life, my old blazed trail that I'd make to get money I had earned. Only now, years later, it really was becoming more a nuisance to keep that account active just by using it in some way once every three months.I'd seen him. He was hard to miss, that is for me anyway. Twenty years of caring for people like him, spending more hours with them than I'd spent with my four passengers all together--I'd seen him. The light changed as we finished our math lesson. It was my little girl, only girl, who first said, "Hey, momma, do you see that dirty man over dare, carrying a bag? His shoe is going to come out that hole." I answered her as I approached the third driveway across the intersection to make my turn. As if by fate, I knew he would also be headed that way. Not to do banking, but I knew there was a restaurant right before our stop that had an awning in the back by the garbage. If my guess was right---"Hey, wook, he's dare again. See him momma?" Yes, I'd told her. The boys piped up now. "Do you think he knows his shoe is falling out of that bag? What is that, Mom? A garbage bag?" My oldest asked as his chewing slowed down. The van had taken the right turn into the long drive passing the back of the restaurant as it then curved more to the right before swinging left to get to the drive through windows. The parking lot had been repaved, thankfully, but this time they allowed for a tiny, tar wetland area that was fenced off. Years ago I had to take my stick shift and go for it through the deep puddles around the more direct curve to the window to do my banking.
The next younger boy said, "He's really dirty. I bet he's one of those homeless people they make houses for, ya know, on Sunday nights before your Desperate Housewife show?" Oh, yes, "You mean on Sunday nights when I say 'Mom is closed' but I hear your foot steps and giggling on the stairs as you report to the others that I'm watching the 'house tear down show' before 'the one where the women wear bras to wash their cars?'" The giggles came as we slowly made our way through the nicely paved but long, winding path toward the back of the bank just so I could deposit ten dollars to keep this old checking account active. The stop line was a football field away from where the drive through windows were. Apparently people didn't like the new, long road so most likely rode the bumper of the banking vehicle in front of them.
I saw him. The drizzle had stopped so his trek began again. As if some sort of small human hounds without quoth, they looked out their windows. Of course the windows were closed but they're not bullet or sound proof so I'm sure he heard, "Momma, look, the dirty guy is coming this way." The only daughter, "Momma, I feel sorry," she said softly before becoming Ethel Merman, "He's so dirty, look, look!" Aw, geez, I thought. I already knew I'd roll down my window when he got close enough but had to stop their banter all the same. No matter how dirty, or how, how all of them over the years became like this man, the walking homeless full of some life story that would make anyone with a heart know, his luck was hard--they are all human and unless they're a runaway murderer, they deserve some modicum of respect. I told all of the reporters, the baby listening too but not as dangerous with his language skills not being up to par at the age of 13 months, "Stop saying those things now. I know he's dirty. He knows it too but he doesn't need to hear all of you say that. What he needs are dry clothes, a better suit case and some food." I let that sink in for just a second as I saw his approach in the rear view mirror getting closer. I'd have to holler to him a bit now as he walked a path away from what was now becoming a quick line of cars behind me. The oldest said "We do have one extra bagel. Do you think we should give him that?" I laughed to myself at his logic, but I had two bagels in mind, myself. The next youngest boy who liked to spy on my Sunday night TV choices blurted, "Hey, we're at a bank. Let's get some money for him and just give it to him, Mom. That will probably help him buy a house and new clothes and everything." I asked all to hush and rolled down the window, doing my best to treat him with respect. I could see the other drivers in line behind me just in the few moments that this whole thing took place look at him, judge him and most likely make sure their doors were locked and deposits held against their breasts. "Excuse me, Sir," I called, "Sir, can you come over for a minute?" The kids were gone. Somebody had taken them or the cat had gotten their tongues. He approached the half open van window slowly, staying 3 feet back as if afraid of me. "Here," I'd already taken two bagels from the bag and wrapped them in a few of the 20 napkins I helped myself to at Einstein's fifteen minutes earlier. "For me?" He asked in shock. "Yes, they're Agiago Cheese. I hope you like them. They gave us too many so I thought you might be able to enjoy one or two." He looked me in the eyes and I saw the battle scars, the horizontal yellow littering the whites and when his mouth opened to say "Thank you," it made every tooth I had hurt seeing visible cavities on the front of his brownish-gray teeth that were left. I said, "You're welcome," as I rolled up the window with the silence just then being broken from the back.
My boy I'd frequently called Sam, for Sam Kineson; he always spoke so loudly that his jugulars would pop, "Mom, why didn't you tell him to wait and give him money? We could have bought him a house, Mom!" No, I explained to the kids. On our way out of the drive thru and heading back toward the light which was green, I was now explaining math again, in a different way. Suddenly a Baker's Dozen math lesson had become a chat about humanity, mortgages, interest and maintaining good credit. Respecting all people as we are all God's children was up there as I said that we didn't know his story so giving him money could insult him. I let them know even "dirty people who carry bags with holes have pride." I wanted to let them know that not all people in that situation are there because they are victims of a bad life or family but of choices they may have made. I added that if we'd given him money, and say he had a bad habit, he could have taken the money intended for food and used it to fulfill that bad habit. The discussion then turned to family as the kids wondered where that man's family might have been. We drove a few blocks before the rest of the ride's tone changed back to how great their bagels were and what were we going to do next.
That was 3 years ago. I haven't seen Desperate Housewives for about that long. I had to give up my 'Mom is closed' bit as the kids got older. Suddenly packing lunches and laying out clothes for the next morning just sort of took over that time slot. Last week my daughter, now a very mature six, reminded us one evening of that man we gave our extra bagel to. I told her my secret. I'd given him two. She shared that one of her friends at school said never to give a person who's dirty or a bum, money. I asked what the girl said, and she shared that this girl's parents said the person would just use the money for 'booze.' I said, "Oh." A few minutes later, after asking to borrow my lip gloss again, promising no sticky suckers were consumed recently, she said, "Momma, what's booze?"
And the beat goes on,---
Got a new one for you---
No comments:
Post a Comment