Keith’s voice was slurry but insistent. “I’m pretty sure I know where we are. Joan, make a left at the next intersection by the light.”
Keith sat in the back seat next to Wendy, Ron’s wife while Ron sat up front with Joan.
Joan insisted that Keith shouldn’t drive home. Joan would drive the four of them back to Park Slope.
Joan stopped at the red light. The intersection was empty, dark with no other cars coming or going. She muttered to herself ‘Where the hell am I’.
Keith repeated, “Make the left here. I think that’s right.”
\The muddy yellow street lights barely lit up the avenue. Joan waited and waited but the light still hadn’t changed. Finally, the light turned green. She turned into another dark street, past boarded up low rise abandoned houses. Joan stiffened behind the wheel. Once gain the BQE was closed and they were driving through a Brooklyn known only to Keith, sort of.
All was quiet, tense as they drove ahead, alongside a subway elevated line.
Joan asked, “OK. What did you think of Peter Luger’s. On a scale of one to ten what would you rate our dinner there?”
Ron answered, “I’d give it a 7. His wife Wendy immediately chimed in. “Seven? Are you kidding. I ‘d give it a 4. Given what dinner cost I would rate it even lower.”
Joan responded, “I agree with Wendy. The avocado dip tasted like it looked, green glop and the steak, their signature dish, was tough, grey lifeless. We could have done just as well at Outback Steak House at 1/3 the cost but have to admit the pomp fries were terrific.
“What do you think Keith? What did you think of dinner?”
Keith didn’t answer he had fallen asleep with his head on Wendy’s shoulder.
Joan asked Ron, “What was the damage?”
Ron answered, “Guess.”
Joan thought a minute. “Probably just shy of $300.”
“Nope” was Ron’s answer. “Try $350. What a bust”
Joan continued driving slowly down Flatbush avenue. Silence filled the car.
Suddenly, a kid ran past the front of the car. Behind him an empty garbage can rolled noisily into the street. As the kid streaked past their car he slapped the trunk.
Suddenly the street up ahead was aglow. A huge golden arch hung from the night sky. Joan stopped the car at the red traffic light at the corner next to a MacDonald’s. Wendy, Ron and Joan looked out at the brightly lit restaurant.
An old guy was standing next to the front door of MacDonald’s with a paper cup in his hand, panhandling. The outside tables alongside the restaurant were mostly empty. A group of adults and kids had just gotten up leaving their plastic plates with their ‘left overs’ including some half-eaten hamburgers, fries, and a fried fish sandwich that had barely been touched.
Standing nearby was a woman and a small boy and girl watching the family leave the table. The woman pushed the kids towards the vacated table and motioned them to sit down and pointed at the plates of uneaten food. You could almost lip read “Eat up’.
Joan stared at this scene. Ron spoke up, “Joan, Joan, the light has changed. Go already. “
Joan sat stunned behind the wheel of the car. Ron, in a loud voice, repeated “Go”.
Joan drove slowly away and then brought the car to a halt alongside the curb.
She said, “I am driving back. That was awful. I want to, have to, give that woman with the kids some money so she can buy dinner for the three of them. Awful. Awful. What a horror for them. I just can’t keep going without thinking back, going back there. “
She started to make a U turn when Wendy said, “Joan, let it be. I know what we saw is terrible but I think it might even embarrass the woman if you handed her money to buy her family dinner.”
Joan stopped the car. “I don’t care. Embarrassed so what. I can’t not do something.”
Keith had woken up and joined in the conversation. “Oh Joanie, at it again. I know you want to help but I think we should get out of here. I should have driven and maybe it was a mistake to take this route, but here we are. Pretty sure that in about half a mile we can get onto the Hamilton Expressway and then it will be only about another 4 miles to Park Slop.
Joan sat silent, looking down to her lap. Ron patted her knee and then kept his hand there and squeezed. “Look Keith is right. If we could send her the money without having to go back …well …and it isn’t that simple and also going back could be dangerous.”
Wendy spoke up. “Joan, I have a suggestion. “How about sometime in the next day or so you can drive back to the MacDonald’s and leave some money with the manager who can use it to feed some folks who are hungry? What do you think? Hooh.?”
Joan whispered to herself “Maybe. I can do that but in the meantime I can’t get that picture out of my mind, the woman and her two kids eating what was left over by total strangers. I’m not going to be able to fall asleep tonight?
Reluctantly, Joan pulled away from the curb and headed in the direction of the Hamilton Expressway.
Joan drove to Wendy and Ron’s house. As the couple left the car, Keith, now fully awake said, “Another great evening with the dynamic duo. Always fun even when the food isn’t. It’s the company, right?” Wendy leaned down and whispered into Keith’s ear, “Ten to one Joan is not going back to the MacDonald’s with her donation and don’t forget stay safe.”
Comment
Momentary guilt, caring, imagining, in the context of the immediacy of an impoverished neighborhood. The image will shrink in size become less vivid, become blurry and in less than a few hours will become an abstraction. So much of what we think and feel is context-dependent like the abstract concept poverty has lost its real world meaning.