Everyday Stranger

The Kindness of Strangers

Blanche and I would never have been friends. We have nothing in common. In her “Streetcar Named Desire” world, she tells the attendant that she has “always relied upon the kindness of strangers”.

Well, I haven’t. "Pay It Foward" just seemed like a nice ideal, nothing that could survive popular application. I have never understood the motivation of people, and in my bruised and distrusting way I have always assumed (with the natural aggression of a hardcore pessimist) that anything that needs to be done must be done alone. In that way, I have made sure that no one around me is exposed to any slight vulnerability that I may have, no secrets that I harbor about my fears, secrets, dreams and hopes.

It’s a lonely existence, but I get by ok.

I don’t accept help from people, in general. I don’t ask for it, either. But there is one occasion that stands out in my mind as an example that, although I want to delude myself and think the worst about people, there is goodness out there that someday I am going to have to accept.

When I left my husband, I had only my 1980 VW rabbit convertible, my clothes, and my two cats. Everything else was gone. I drove away from where I was living in North Carolina to Dallas, which was a town that I knew and figured I could find work in. I felt enormous pressure to get away, to get there, to leave that part of my life behind. I thought that my husband might come after me (and he did, shortly after, and not in a “knight in shining armor” kind of way. More like a “The Shining” kind of way). So it was that I drove like a demon possessed to try to get to my new life, to lead my life as quickly as possible.

I had finally made my way into the Eastern border of Texas, and still had several hours to go. I was dressed in shorts and a tank top, and had only $100 with me. My lunch was a packet of Twizzlers and a Diet Coke. I stopped at a small town a little ways into Texas, and got gas.

As I got out of the car, I noticed that the warm weather they had in Arkansas was not present in Texas. The wind was cold, almost bitter, and while the gas was pumping I got back into my car and slid on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. When the gas was done, I went into the station and paid for the gas. I got back out to the car.

And it wouldn’t start.
I tried and tried and tried. But it wouldn’t turn over at all.

I went into the gas station, and the attendant, a kind woman with big, bouncy dirty blond curls and a cigarette smoker’s voice, told me her brother-in-law owned the garage in town, and could come get the car. He showed up in a few minutes with a tow truck, and I piled into his truck with him while he towed my little car.

I sat inside the service station with a Styrofoam cup of lousy coffee and a heavy heart. He came back in shortly, and sat down. His shirt said “Billy” on the pocket, and he had a very dirty Dallas Cowboys cap on.

“Well, ma’am, I have to say that it’s your alternator that’s the problem. We have a spare alternator we can use on your car, but they tend to range into about four hundred dollars.”

I don’t know much about cars, but I do know what an alternator is, and I know that they cost big money.

“Are you sure?” I asked hoarsely. “Are you sure that’s the problem?”

He smiled, and stood. “I’ll go check again, and then we can see what options we have.”

He left, and I felt the tears come down. This was all so fucking impossible. I had finally gotten the gumption to end my marriage, to escape into my new life, to become what I thought would be a better person, and look what happened. It was a sign, I thought. A never-ending round of life.

A long time went by, and finally Billy came back in and sat down on his desk, just across from me.

“I’m real sorry, ma’am, but it was indeed the alternator. We went ahead and replaced it, since your car was not going to start without a new one.”

I started crying again. I dug into my jeans pocket and removed the crumpled bills I had, a grand total of $87. I showed it to him.

“I’m so sorry, but this is all I have. You have to understand, I just left my husband. He took all of our things and all of our money. I am driving to Dallas to get away from him, I have to get away from him or he’s going to wind up beating the life out of me.”

The tears kept coming down, and I took the cuff of my UTA sweatshirt to remove them angrily. I kept the money on my hand, exposed, my Scarlet Letter. I felt so stupid, crying like this. Like Billy gave a shit. I was a fucking hysterical woman in his office, a typical damsel in distress, and it made me so angry.

He got off his desk and knelt beside me.

“Ma’am?” he asked, removing his cap. I noticed the crease-mark his hat had left on his brown hair. “Are you a Christian?”

Oh no. Now he was really going to lecture me.

“No, sir.” I replied softly. “I’m not.”

He smiled. “Well, I am.” He replied. He took my elbow and eased me out of the chair. With his other hand, he folded my fingers over my $87. He walked me towards the door, and as I got there, he took my hand, turned it over, and placed my car key in my palm.

I looked up at him, not understanding.

“What…?” I asked, tears still coming.

He smiled. “Take care, ma’am. And God be with you. You drive safely now.” He replied, and turned around and walked whistling into the garage.

And I stood there and looked up at the sky. He had just fixed my car for free. At no small expense, either.

And so it was that I drove to Dallas, in a working car, and with $87 in my pocket. I don’t remember the name of the town now, I only remember the cold chill and the kindness of the garage. And the reason that it came back to me recently was I saw, with my posts last week, the kindness that strangers from all corners of the bits and bytes world have. Strangers that come out and reveal that they are friends, and believe in you.

And it’s then that I realize I can’t live without kindness after all.

Blanche, can I buy you a drink?

-H.

PS-I am off to London and Amsterdam, so my blogging may be hit and miss for four days, but I will be around. I am visiting two good friends (and happily get to spend some quality drinking time with Dear Mate, who is there this week) in a "cheer Helen up" campaign.

Oh, and while in London, I aim to have my friend take a picture of me-I plan on joining the "Blogging Nekkid" campaign. Stay tuned for posted pics...

Posted by Everydaystranger at November 24, 2003 08:32 AM | TrackBack