People are looking at us. Not us. Me. I look suspicious. A white man driving a car full of black kids. In the most segregated city in the country. But statistics do not make people; people make statistics.
The girl in the front seat? A few nights ago she was crying on our front steps. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there. Kevin asked her what was wrong. Megan sat down and the girl pressed into her, eyes squeezed shut, as if wanting to be absorbed. Someone else’s mother called out. The girl walked over to her. “She just can’t find her mama,” the mother said.
The boy in the back seat? The other night he was holding his baby sister. “’Sup Ben?” He nodded, implying that holding a baby was now cool, because he was doing it. This is the same boy who recently rode his bike right in front of my car without looking. I imagined hitting him, holding his little body in the road, saying, No. No. No.
The boy sitting next to him? A couple days ago he asked, “Could you bring out the hoop?” I followed him to the garage, unlocked it, reached for the handle to lift up the door and stopped. “I’ve got to get a glove to lift it up,” I said, remembering how thin and sharp the handle is. “It’s fine, I’ve got it,” he said, gripping the handle and yanking upward. “You’ve got thick skin.” I told him. He smiled and held up his hand. It was bleeding.
“Does everyone have on their seatbelts?” I ask, checking the rear view mirror. I don’t see any kids. I lower the mirror and three little faces look back. While they are in my car I will keep them safe.
Often it takes the broken to reach out to the broken.
ReplyDeleteMMmm. I particularly enjoyed the touch with the mirror, as if for a brief moment these kids were in your mind the whole time. Your positioning of details with the first boy, I think, is spot-on--life in his hands, vs. life in your hands.
ReplyDeleteYour last sentence made me cry.
ReplyDeleteYou have a way of putting things that very few people are capable of.
ReplyDeleteI can just see these kids lined up in your back seat, trusting you. thanks for painting this picture for us.
ReplyDeleteThanks Ben.
ReplyDeleteSuch a skilled portrait artist you are. I could see each child clearly; I'm glad you made them put their seatbelts on. Now you just need one of those "precious cargo" bumper stickers. :>
ReplyDeleteThis is from my mother, Sandra Zanardi:
ReplyDeleteI finally had a moment to read Ben’s blog. Wow, beautiful. Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out how to post a comment. So please tell him, it really touched me.