By 5:30 in the afternoon the city air was hot and thick with a gritty moisture that tasted of oil and exhaust. The old man struggled for breath as he made his unsteady way up the incline of the cracked sidewalk. Each step came with a grunt of effort punctuated with the hesitant tread of an uncertain footfall. It was not walking so much as it was a series of many single footsteps between pauses.
Drab faded cinderblock apartment complexes flanked either side of the street, where a few antiquated air conditioners rattled and clanked a losing battle against the heat, and children played sluggishly around the parked cars. A man was attempting to open a fire hydrant with a large monkey wrench near the crest of the hill ahead but none of the children seemed interested or had perhaps already given up waiting.
There was nothing hesitant about the pain climbing up the old man’s left leg to flare in his hip. His fingers twitched for a better grip on a cane that was not there. That metal…thing sat at home in his bedroom closet, hidden in the dark. The garish tool would have helped make the climb easier, but then that was exactly why he left it behind, wasn’t it? This thing here, what he was doing, he would do this on his own. Besides, a cane might attract the attention of an unwelcome hand of support to his elbow as he walked, and the owner of that unwanted hand might well decide they would both feel better if they helped the old man through the intersection at the top of hill.
It was nearing 6:00 by when he reached the intersection, and rush hour pulsed through the traffic lights. There were heavy thuds in his chest as the old man waited for his heart and lungs to catch up, clutching an empty broken newspaper bin for support, watching the sudden blooming appearance of the cars as they crested the same hill up which the old man had just labored.
He watched these cars for some time, even after the chest pains subsided. To the north, opposite the slope of the hill, the street ran on in a flat gray expanse to the downtown hub shimmering in the heat. Starting two blocks away and continuing in a stretch to a distance farther than the tired eyes of an old man could see, regular lines of east-west traffic cut the street into distinct blocks, but at this intersection with a short street of potholes and tar patches on the west side and nothing but a blind alley too narrow for most cars on the east, the stream of north- and southbound cars moved with the assurance that their progress would not be interrupted by cross traffic. The momentum gathered from the climb of the northbound traffic carried them through the intersection in a flash of blurred metal and color.
Every few minutes the lights pointing east and west did blink through yellow to red and back to green for cars that were not there. More than a few cars accelerated through the changing lights, some making it through just before it turned red, many well after.
A day would come when someone would find a way to make the intersection safer. Maybe they would put in a warning light halfway up the hill, or raise the existing traffic lights so they could be seen further down the hill and give cars more time to prepare. Maybe someday, not today.
The east/west lights, where the faded crosswalk lines cut across the murderous northbound lane, were green now. Next cycle, he would go.
The timing could work. The old man would be in the middle of the lane when the light turned yellow, if he moved at the right pace. The cresting drivers would see the light before they saw him. Assuming he made it that far. With any luck he wouldn’t even have to walk halfway. An unbidden image of his son and daughter-in-law flashed through his mind. Would they be looking for him yet?
Never mind. He could do this.
The lights changed. Cars started forward across the crosswalk. At the first gap the old man stumbled off the curb and into the street. The chest pains thudded back into sharp reality with the first step. He could do this. He didn’t need anyone’s help to do this.
His hearing had worn away to nothing a long time ago, so the clear sound of a car motoring up the hill, just out of view, must have been loud. A big engine accelerating with a throaty growl and plenty of horsepower, by the sound of it. His feet wanted to turn back or trip him, but he stood in place as the black truck leapt into view and bore down on him, as the driver slammed the brakes and the machine fishtailed a fraction of a second before skidding to a stop perhaps four feet short.
Thud. Muted pain as his heart starts again. Everything is numb. He can’t make himself move. Those helping hands that always seemed to be there no matter how many times he pushed them away were nowhere to be found. He was just an old man standing in the street, until the driver honked. A small sound escaped his throat that may have been the beginning of “Sorry,” before the horn blared again. By the time he reached the other side a line of cars had stacked behind the truck.
The old man waited until the line was gone before considering his next move. Maybe he could try again. The next driver might be on a cell phone and slower to react. Traffic was still heavy, maybe even heavier than it had been when he started up that hill. Maybe the sun would reach just the right height and blind the drivers at that crucial moment.
Maybe he should just go home.
Whatever he did, he would have to cross again. It would be nearly impossible to time it correctly crossing from this direction. The nearest lane ran level for many blocks to the north, where approaching traffic could see him well ahead of time. And making it to the far lane while the light was green would require crossing the first lane as the light changed, when traffic just started creeping forward.
No, once the walk signal changed he would cross and try again from the other side.
A small finger poked the back of his pants behind his right knee.
The young boy was maybe five years old, with dark brown eyes that stared out from just under the rim of tangled black hair shining in the late afternoon sun. His cheeks were round and chapped, much as they would if he had been crying. The wide brown eyes were scared.
“Do you know how I can get home?” the boy asked in a small raspy voice. His poking finger still pointed outward.
“I don’t know where home is,” the old man grunted in response. “Where is your home?”
The boy shook his head. “I was supposed to take the bus with Ellie and I thought it was our bus but then I ran after it and it left and Ellie wasn’t following me anymore and I kept yelling for her but she was gone and I didn’t know where I went to.” His voice climbed higher as he spoke. The old man started to say something but by then the boy was starting again with a new breath. “I’m not supposed to talk to people who I don’t know and I know that but I asked someone because I was scared and didn’t want Ellie to tell on me and I wanted to get home and he said it was that way so I started walking forever and I’m lost!” The last word was nearly a scream.
The old man jumped in while the boy, finally, sucked in a breath. “What’s your address?”
The boy squeezed his eyes shut to better see into his memory and recited carefully, “One-one-four-nine Euclid Avenue.”
The old man checked his own mental map and pointed across the busy street. “Euclid is three or four streets down. I don’t know where on Euclid home is, though. Do you live near anything?”
Confused blinks from the child. The old man said, “Do you live near a store or a school or firehouse or something like that?”
The boy shut his eyes again and thought. “There’s a big clock on a movie theater,” he said doubtfully.
That theater was a place the old man knew. It sat near the parking lot of a small strip mall. At one time the grounds on which that mall stood had been a section of a city park, much like the one he knew years ago, where he used to take his wife to walk in the leaves and drink in her smile. After she died and he moved here, the old man spent many shaded Sundays in that park thinking about how her hair had smelled in the sun. “Just take a right on Euclid when you get there. The theater isn’t far.” He looked away, across the street again. For some reason looking at the child made the pain in his chest more acute.
“I’m almost home? Maybe I won’t be in trouble! I hope mom lets Ellie take me to the zoo again because I won’t ever get lost again.”
Wait a minute. “You walked from the zoo?” the old man asked. The only zoo he knew was five miles away. “The one with the talking elephant at the entrance?”
The boy nodded. “Did you know they have the biggest snake there in the whole world?”
“You should probably get home now. Your mom is probably worried,” the old man said. Pain in his chest that he didn’t understand. This small boy made it five miles in the city on his own?
“Yeah,” the child said with obvious guilt. The walk signal blinked on again and the old man looked ahead, waiting for the boy to cross. When it changed back they were both still waiting. The boy looked up at him.
“Aren’t you going to go home? Don’t you want to see your mom and tell her you’re OK?”
The boy nodded. His voice was small when he asked, “Are you going to cross?”
Thud, thud behind his sternum. “Yes. Yes, I’m going to cross.”
A small hand crept into his grip. The old man jerked his hand away. “I don’t need your help!” he shouted. “I can do it on my own!”
“I can’t,” the boy said. “This street is big. Can you help me?”
The old man blinked, and the small hand slipped into his once more. It felt soft and very warm. Small fingers gripped his thumb.
He tried to say he that he couldn’t help, that he was too old, but the words were dry and they stuck in his throat. Instead the old man wrapped his grip around the boy’s hand and they waited for another chance to walk.
They stepped into the street together. The warning signal flashed before they made it across the first lane. They were too slow and stood in the dead center of the street when the lights changed. The northbound lane, where the line of cars dropped out of sight below the top of the hill, moved forward and trapped them. Young fingers gripped old fingers in a panic.
His pulse accelerated. They couldn’t move. Then a gap appeared and the old man pulled them into it. He could hear the car coming up the hill, and they stumbled to the curb as the car thundered past behind them, close enough to flatten his shirt against his back with a blast of wind. The driver leaned on the horn until long after the car passed.
“Thanks!” The young boy was running towards home before the word left his mouth. The small handprint was still warm in the old man’s hand as he watched the boy grow smaller in the distance.
Traffic was thinning by this point and the air seemed to be cooling. How long had he been out here, waiting? If he didn’t get home, his son may decide to call the police, or at least get it into his head that it was time to start joining him on his walks. The old man glanced at the intersection and started down the hill. Maybe he would come back tomorrow, or during the weekend. Maybe. He made his ponderous way down the hill, holding the warmth of that little hand in his fist.
09/12/2023
09:37:57 AM