Lost Opportunity

      Why do I do it?  Why do I help him? I think as I drive away.  What do I get on my side of the bargain?

        I weigh the pros and cons.  Let’s see: he takes some of my time, but not too much.  He takes some of my money: but only that twenty I gave him.  Does he take some of my ego too?  That must be where the feeling of trying so hard to help him and getting no return comes from.

        Let’s think what do I gain?  I gain friendship, that’s pretty important; lord knows you can always use a friend.  I gain a feeling of giving back and shed a good amount of the guilt I have piled up deep within the confines of my mind.  The white man’s burden if you will.          

         Luis is my friend.  Luis is broke.  Luis lives in the center of the city next to the town I live in.  Like so many others akin to it the city used to be a factory city.  Hats were the game.  Now they’d be lucky if kids were still playing games.  Not the virtual kind. 

         I live in a privileged town next to the city.  It’s close to New York City and attracts the well-to-do.  When their laying towns I wonder if they decide where all the rich people are going to live and where all the poor people are going to live beforehand, as a prerequisite.

         Luis is one of, if not the most intelligent person I’ve ever met.  He can word anything in just the right way to make it funny.  I’ll always admire that.  I have trouble relating to people.  What comes naturally to Luis I struggle with.   

          Luis and I drive around the city for the first time.  I’ve always had difficulty getting around the gridlock of streets but Luis knows the way.  Take a left here, take a right there, get in this lane.  I have to keep up with his directions. 

         We stop at a clothing store for Brazilians.  Luis speaks to the lady at the counter in Spanish.  I know some Spanish from high school but I can’t kid myself, I don’t understand a word of what they’re saying.  “Más lento” I think to myself. 

          Luis owes money all over town.  We stop by a Dominican market where his cousin works.  He has been lending Luis cigarettes for months and Luis has decided to start paying him back. 
         “He’s been giving you cigarettes for free?” 
         “Yeah.”
         “That’s pretty nice.  He doesn’t expect you to pay him back?”
         “No, but I’m going to.”
         “That’s pretty nice.”   

         We go to Luis’ place.  He has an apartment through an organization that offers housing to people that have just gotten out of the hospital, Interlude.  It’s funny how you recognize faces from different places.

         Inside, the apartment is pretty empty besides a television, a couch and a guitar. Oh nice a guitar, maybe we can find level ground.  I pick up the guitar and start to play.  Luis is impressed with my talent.

         Luis puts in his earphones and starts listening to music, “Dominican beats” he says.  He takes the guitar from me.  He puts on a solemn face and begins to play.  One note is all he plays.  Over and over again.  The site cracks me up. 

        When the humor resides I become a detached observer and begin to crack up again.  Despite my animated expression Luis keeps on his sober, contrived face. 

        “That’s pretty good man.”
         “Thanks man.”