Philadelphia Freedom

City Day

There are city rules that say you keep walking. You do not engage. I learned at early age street smarts. I started taking trains by myself before I was a teenager. I knew not to stop; I knew not to talk to strangers. I knew which bridge not to go under. If someone is begging, they very well may be running a con. If someone asks you the time, they may be trying to steal your watch. You can't help the poor with money-- they'll likely put it in their arm. Carry a cross-body purse or, better yet, a backpack. Hair in ponytails can be problematic- consider braids or twists. Musicians playing on the street are running a scam because they're not good enough to get hired. If you see someone ranting to themselves, they are likely very dangerous. When someone says, "Excuse me, can I ask you a question?" Pretend you can not hear it. Whatever they say will be some nonsense. Keep walking. Men who stop to compliment you want one thing-- and they'll steal it if you let them. They do not deserve your time or attention.

I say all this to explain that when you read this and read gullibility or stupidity. I want you to consider instead that there might be something else at play here. I am quite sick of this new American narrative that living a life as a helper is an intellectual deficiency. When I tell you how I live, I tell you not to boast but truly because we have to do more together.

Yesterday, I drove into the city. I'm still a little nervous about public transportation in a pandemic. I rounded City Hall. I can probably never quite explain how much I feel gazing upon that formidable landmark. I feel a connection to my grandmother, who once worked there. I feel connected to all my former clients at the bail fund who had good days and bad days there. I feel connected to my childhood self, rounding it with my father taking us to see the parade. I feel connected to the teen version of myself walking without a coat back from work to return to my dorm at Temple University. I remember the drives to the Ballet in my twenties. I remember the relief of my thirties, where I could get lost anywhere in the city with the kids, and that building reminded me I knew where I was and how to get us home.

I pulled around the corner of 13th and JFK. I averted my eyes from the homeless man begging on the corner. I decided a few weeks ago I can no longer give him my money. He is risking his life at this particular intersection, and I know I'll feel guilty if it happens on my watch. I notice instead a girl crying. She is sitting on the curb, half laying at times. I can't tell if she is a girl or a woman, but she is small like my Ana. I watch as everyone passes her by. There is no way for me to get to her. It would take twenty minutes; I didn't have time to backtrack a path to her. I watch, I hope, I beg the "universe" to look out for her. And I hope. I don't know her pain. I can't tell her age; I know I can do nothing for her. I gesture hope.

I smile as I pass a cute young Asian couple holding pinky fingers instead of hands. One is wearing a sundress, the other a mustard-colored cap. I think they are in love, and I close my eyes for a second and hope that these two young women are protected in the world. I have to hope for them and their love because I know they are battling a world of hate.

I watch an older man in a suit and Phillies hats trying to navigate the curb. I imagine he once power-walked, but now he looks like he might stumble. I smile at a fierce-looking woman who looks too tired to wait any longer for her bus. I see a woman who walks like she owns the world, in a pair of Jordans and bedazzled mask. She is cat-called but shakes her head and walks. I see that man who always notices me on the corner of 13th and Locust because I once gave him two cigarettes when he asked for one. I asked him that day like I ask everyone who asks, sure, but you have to do something for me. Later today, you will notice someone needs help that you can give. Will you do something nice for that person? He said, "I will." Every day he nods, and every day I take this that he too remembers his promise. I let the woman with the dog cross even though the man in front of me did not.

I pull to the light that almost always stops me. There I can hear crazy calls from the suffering Oracle, who screams on the street corner in words no one really can or would hear. His language is a loop that reminds me too much at times of my fears. I cross the street to the blasting horns of people who are late and think that it is everyone else's fault.

I pull into my parking spot, where the attendant knows I will give him a minute of gripe because I have lost the "early bird special" by five minutes. He stops me to ask if I have children. Our children are around the same age, boy then girl separated by one year. I want to gripe that he should know how much teenage boys eat and that he could cut me a break on the parking. Then I remember how much teenage boys eat and hope somehow that extra ten dollars helps his family instead. He asked me as I walked away, "Any more children in your future?" I laugh. "I think that ship has sailed." I think of my babies and how I always thought there would be more of them. I think of all my other "babies"-- the kids who know they too have a "Momma G." they can count on. I go to cross the street to work, and a woman smiles and lets me pass in front of her. Strangers often do little tiny things like this, hold doors, pause to let me pass. It takes one second to be kind. Just one second, and it feeds change.

At lunchtime, I go out again onto the street. I notice a couple, maybe colleagues. They are both dressed well, like corporate sales well. They are beautiful; I notice the heels she is wearing. I walk behind them, enjoying a peek into their existence. He measures his steps to keep with her. Such a small detail to notice in a person but so telling. They enjoy one another but do not touch. They are both beautiful, and each was carrying a small portfolio binder. I can tell by the looks between them that they are both very engaged in their conversation. They both look so dry-cleaned and fabulous that I want them to be in love.

I have lunch at a regular spot where I am forced to sit facing the door. I notice a tiny adorable woman. She is trying to push the door open, and it is heavy. Her partner rudely tells her, "Push, babe." She looks back with a shy "I'm trying." Instead, of helping he repeated, "Babe, come-on push." I think you fool. You don't deserve her. I'm situated in such a place that people feel like they have to acknowledge me when I enter. I make the required small talk. I eat and read poetry on my phone. I look up words that I might not fully know. I see the beautifully dry-cleaned couple again, only now they are linked arm and arm. I find so much joy in knowing they are falling in love. I think again of the young Asian women I saw in the morning. I hope someday they will feel like they can walk down the street expressing their love as openly as this couple.

I leave the restaurant. I hear the guitar music before I see the man. I think maybe today I should walk by. Instead, I justify today was a cheaper lunch than some days. I reach into my wallet and pull out a few ones. When I drop them in his empty bucket, he responds gratefully while still strumming. I say my favorite thing to say to street musicians, "Thank you for keeping the music alive!" I walk past a woman struggling with her walker. I remember the days when I, too, walked with a walker. I remember how much strength arms need to have to compensate for legs. I walk on the grate so that she won't have to and smile as I walk by. She notices and says, "Thank you." I want to tell her how strong she is and how brave it is to walk this city with a walker. I realize she thinks I'm special for just noticing she exists. How can this be? At what age do we stop noticing people? What deficiencies we have as humans to not notice a woman like her!

I cross the street past the screaming Oracle, and I think, how does his voice have the energy to keep screaming? What kind of crazy gives you the ability to keep talking when no one is listening. And how do I get some of that crazy so I can finally finish a novel?

I cross paths with an older couple. The kind of love I most like to see. I think of my grandparents, my Great Aunt and my Great Uncle. I want so badly a piece of whatever that takes to hold the arm of great love, both shuffling along in support of one another. I hope then for me, too. I pass the worker man with his painted pants and dreads pulled into a band. He is out so often on my breaks. I wonder how he gets any work done. I have graduated from a look to a nod, to a "Hey, Bae." He has graduated from a glance to a smile, to a "Good afternoon." I wonder how many "Bae's" cross this man and laugh just a little of the irony of being a stranger's "Before Anyone Else."

When I leave work, a young woman smiles and lets me pass. The man on the corner with the dogs calls a "Hiya Honey." Another man almost walks into me. A woman carrying a crying child looks like she, too, might cry. I smile and nod a mom look, "It happens to all of us." She looks grateful and shrugs one of those. I give up, but we'll be okay shrugs, motherhood is so full of. A woman stops to ask me directions. I offer what little help I can give. She thanks me gratefully. I notice a father walking with his daughter. She must be the most loved child in the world. He is engaging so much with her, and she is dressed in a bright yellow dress and pink shoes. Her pink backpack is too big. But when I smile, looking at her, his returned smile says, "I know, right? I get to be her Dad!"

The man at the parking lot sees me coming, "This is you right, Mama?" He hands me the keys, which somehow miss my hands. He stoops to pick them up and tells me to have a "beautiful night." As I drive through the city, I notice two men holding hands as they wait for their food. I notice a man touching the small of a woman's back to lead her presumably to their reservations. A FedEx driver pulls in front of me and almost runs over an older woman with her large gray poodle. She seems surprised when I let her pass in front of me. I notice a short man stop his large date from getting hit by a bus. I notice a group of the most beautiful healthcare workers eating outside a restaurant. They are enjoying one another so much I can't help but smile. One woman smiles brightly and points me out to all of her friends. They all turn and smile. Maybe I look like a patient or a nurse, or maybe, I too like them, look like hope. I go down streets of people hustling. I hear sirens; I hear horns. I notice the tired. I notice the hungry. I notice the woman clearly on a date, who is angry by the jerk who didn't think I was driving fast enough, so he sped up to pass me on the bike lane and almost hopped the curb to hit her. I hope the rest of her date goes well. She looked like she took extra care today. I hoped by the end of the night; her wrinkled pants-wearing date was worth it.

We are taught to stop engaging. I engage in a moderate level of risky behavior by being open in the world. I won't ever know if these small engagements mean anything to those individuals. What I do know-- is they mean something to me. I have to believe we teach the world how to treat us. I have to believe we can all make small sacrifices for the betterment of humanity. I may never have the money to start a foundation; I may never be able to make someone's dreams come true. I likely will not fix the problems that face my beloved city or even live up personally to the call for "brotherly love." But as sure as I will seek to see the beautiful architecture, the lion statues, the gargoyles, the cornices, the stained glass, the steeples, the statues, the flowers, the dogs, so too, I will notice the people. Will you?