The long way home

And I thought this only happens in story books. An ancient and long-forgotten myth about the days of chivalry and knighthood, fair maidens, dragons and round tables.

I helped an old lady cross the street.

Yep, you read that right. And no, I didn’t get punched, pursed, cursed, keyed, locked up or arrested, and yes, she did want to get to the other side. How could this happen to an ordinary guy in our very own enlightened 21st century? Well, don’t blame me. I was walking to work with my ipod pumping Rage Against the Machine’s ‘Wake Up’ full throttle into my thick blue veins when I catch, through the corner of my all-seeing eye, a shrunken, shriveled old lady trying to say something to me. She was pale as the moon and obviously hadn’t seen the light of day since the last time anyone bought a Michael Jackson CD. This isn’t a history lesson we’re talking about here, it’s an archaeological find.
In New York City, and this couldn’t be emphasized enough, single old ladies are the true terror of the town. More ravenous than the Crown Heights blood gangs hungry for Mexican pizza delivery boys and more cold-blooded than a Komodo Dragon playing the Stanley Cup finals, these ladies send a real big chill down the spine of the Lord of Darkness himself. Try to step out of a subway car at rush hour and you get ribbed like a meat packing district at 4AM. And don’t dare even think about standing in their way! You’ll get run down and steam rolled flatter than a Metrocard until your ID photo looks more 3D than you do. They relentlessly roam my neighborhood, patrolling day in and day out, pushing ahead of you in lines at the grocery stores and making sure all customers are getting their equally fair and just delay. They walk their own world in the shadows of twilight and everyone with just a few more brain cells than Paris Hilton tries to avoid contact with them as much as it is humanly possible. These are not your sweet old pie-baking southern ladies or even just an average pleasant New Jersey security grandma. These gals spell inescapable agonizing death to anyone who dares cross their path. So to cross the path with one of them? It’s no surprise that I never even witnessed such an event much less participated in one. It’s as secret and mysterious an affair as a Masonic initiation ceremony.
Queens boulevard, AKA the Boulevard of Death, is a well known 8 lane road that is as close as you can get to a superhighway without actually being in one, with local routes and cars speeding by at 100 MPH, you can tell you’re on it by the number of beached SUV’s helplessly rolled over on their back on the banks of the road, wheels floundering in the air like condemned roach legs. It takes one of these pepperpots about 20 minutes to cross the road, assuming they can make it in 2 runs as the signals change.
I had to ask her to repeat her request twice before it finally dawned on me that I was suddenly a first hand observer of a centuries old ritual long presumed extinct, and not only am I in the best seat in the house I’m being allowed to participate. Holy Pope! Or whoever it is that acts as Satan’s keymaster these days, you are an extremely holy thing. Seizing upon my confused and disconcerted state she insisted on taking my left side. Who am I to challenge the ancient protocol? And then, get this – she took my arm. AWWWWWW! So sweet, C, can it possibly be that you have a heart beating in there somewhere between your knees? One that actually works! Well, yeah, the truth of the matter is I do. I confess. Damn it to hell! I have a tender delightful and charming soul and lucifer help me, I have sinned and cannot hope to be redeemed. This is the tragedy of my existence, it is my destiny and will be my doom.

It took her much longer to cross the road than it took that chicken the other day, she really was slow (to be fair the didn’t quite make it, it was run over just before it hopped into safety on the other side and got whisked away by 2 guys in a van and a KFC t-shirt) As I was leisurely walking my heroine over I literally felt my life hit the brakes and roll to a slow, steady coast on cruise control, a big change from the breakneck speed it was racing in just a few fleeting moments ago. Time just crawls when you’re having fun!

When we were nearly at our destination I asked her if things look any better from this side of the road. She said that yes, and besides she never does something without reason, she really needed to get there. I told her I never have a reason to do anything at all and she said it just gets so difficult to do that when you grow old, you have many more responsibilities on your shoulders than you ever had before. Who knew? I figured the way I’m shedding them off now I’ll soon have more irresponsibilities than I can ever hope to fit into my busy schedule. Although she was really charming and adorable, I can only hope I’ll be different when I grow up (or down as the case may be). But I was never one to compare ashes to ashes and dust to dust, so I’ll have to wait until I’m dead and cold to find out.

I can wait. It’s what I do.