Buono Pasqua

Easter Sunday.

I'm only slept a couple of hours because I went to bed at 6 this morning. I went to a friend's wake for his late sister yesterday, and by the time I got home at 2 a.m. I couldn't sleep, so I did laundry at the 24-hour laundromat.

While I was doing laundry, I managed to speed through the latter half of The Da Vinci Code, so by the time I got home at 4 a.m. I had about 60 pages to go. I simply couldn't put this book down without finishing, so I did precisely that.

I went to bed, knowing I accomplished two things very difficult to do (on a Sunday) for me: laundry (weekend traffic,) and finishing a book.

(...)

About 3 hours later, my phone rings. It's Boss, wishing me a Happy Easter, but in Italian.

Now I'm awake and the bags under my eyes are protesting. I am of a more adventurous mind, however, and have decided to do something unprecedented in all my Sundays: get up.

I don't think the holiday has anything to do with my sudden interest in wanting to enjoy this day.

But I'm feeling pretty religious after last night's wake and the book, so who knows.

(...)

I met some nice people at last night's gathering. My friend Arthur has surrounded his life with some pretty great folks. You can just tell that all the people in his life have good natures within themselves. I went there to dispense a few beverages, but ended up staying all the way through cleanup. I watched as Arthur's friends just kept the party going, serving food, taking plates, cleaning up. It was a little congested and confusing at times while Arthur and his mother doled out requests to the help, but things had their own way of settling in to a natural groove.

Between serving drinks and helping myself to the most amazing collection of food (yes, baked mac & cheese was there,) I just sat down off to the side. People just started talking with me, and I listened. Each one had a smile inside themselves that was hard to miss. They had some great stories, too. By the night's end I had met 6 new people, but felt like I'd known them for years and we were just catching up.

It's interesting about Arthur. He's one of those people who are so giving in their lives. You can see that his generosity comes from his upbringing and that he enjoys bringing people together. It's a refreshing sight to see especially when it comes to the way our world is today.

(...)

Normally I don't give money to people who ask, but last night was an exception. I'm getting ready to get back in the laundromat. It's 3:45 a.m. Only three people, including me, around, with the exception of the two police cruisers around the corner and the random passerby.

As always, as if out of nowhere, out comes this guy from around the corner. I've been in this scenario a million times since I've lived here. These people (not really homeless or in need,) have improved their approach over the last few years. You can tell by the look in their eyes that they're talking to you. And the "Excuse me," is also a dead giveaway. Now, you've turned and acknowledged them, because they have been so polite, giving them the chance to tell their sob story.

Now, I'm a bastard. I had decided a while ago that instead of just giving money to everyone who asks or to no one at all, I'm gonna weigh my decision to donate on whether or not I believe their story. It might have something to do with my appreciation for acting, but it's been my stance ever since. That, and after you keep seeing the same few panhandlers every other week, the whole thing gets old. Quickly. I remember a New York Post expose last year that found a woman who wrapped herself in a blanket on the city streets in one photo was found jogging Central Park in the next. And her panhandling skills apparently yielded enough dough to furnish herself in a nice Upper West Side apartment. Her discovered income was in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, and my distaste for people preying on the good nature and generosity of others was firmly established from that moment on.

So I decided to give this guy a shot. He was well-spoken, albeit a semi-drunken stupor. Dressed in worn, but not homeless, clothing, he then launched into a pretty lengthy story of his demise. Apparently, he was a just-returned soldier from Iraq, who had been the victim of a thieving hooker. Now a truck driver with only his identification, he required me to buy him a ticket to Upstate New York in order for him to get home and report for work. His elaborate plan to enlist my help involved me taking his commercial driving license as collateral for his fare, then mailing my reimbursement, provided I mail him back his id.

Now, like I said, I'm a bastard. But I'm not stupid. His story was a good one, despite a lot of things that didn't make any sense at all. But I was not about to put my life in any jeopardy on account of trusting some random dude, regardless of whether he was a soldier or not. And I wasn't about to question the validity of his alleged service to our country. That would be cynical and smart, but rude in a way. I also realized that exposing my money to a stranger was a pretty stupid move on my part.

So I decided to give him a dollar. "And how long would I have to wait for this dollar?" he asked. "Just a minute," I said. "I need to use the bathroom."

So I did. Then I gave him what I promised, thinking about how I was going to defend myself if things all of a sudden got weird. When he left, I felt a tinge of relief that he was gone. It was almost 4 a.m. and I was in the middle of a deserted Brooklyn parking lot, with only the attendant of the laundromat looking on. To be alone again was a relief.

(...)

So now I guess I'll get up and try to enjoy the rest of this day. Seems like a good day to visit The Bridge.