It was my housemate's birthday when I decided to finally stop procrastinating and go find him a birthday present. I had no idea of what to get him but I figured South Street would give me some ideas.
I was in luck because on this fine Saturday, there was a street festival. Two blocks of South Street were blocked off to cars and there were many tents full of art-y things and food. While I mentally gagged at the sight and smell of animal corpses, one of my beloved vegan places, The Loving Hut, was making smoothies. I decided I would get some vegan, cruelty-free, contact solution from Whole Foods first, then a present for my friend, and then a smoothie if I had any extra money.
On my short walk to Whole Foods, there was an elderly man playing the violin on a street corner. He was sitting on a chair meant for a child, but he was small enough to fit. There weren't many bills in his case. Only two in fact. He wasn't playing anything in particular. He looked a bit sad. I kept walking.
After getting my contact solution from Whole Foods, I went back to the festival but couldn't find anything my housemate might like. I was about to get a random book due to my lack of ideas, when I spotted a very small table with just two people and several small craved stones. One person was craving words or designs into soft stone for a little line of people, while the other person was taking the orders and answering any questions. I requested a craved stone with my housemate's nickname and waited for only seven minutes while the artist craved the orders in front of me and then my own. It was mesmerizing to watch him at work. When he was finished, my gift was wrapped in newspaper and I still had $3 left. Just enough for a smoothie.
With my mission complete, I walked back to the direction of a reward smoothie. On my way, I passed the old man playing the violin. He still had the same amount of money in his case although nearly an hour had passed. He looked awfully sad.
But I still walked towards the smoothie stall. With my steps, I thought about how $1 for the violinist would mean more to him than a smoothie would for me. I thought I'd save the extra money for seed money for playing the ukulele out next time. I also knew that if I didn't walk back and give this man the money, I would regret it all day, and probably longer than that.
So I walked back.
I put $1 in the man's case. I don't remember exactly how he reacted.
Ten steps later, something caught my eye in a window shop and I stopped in the shop to look at it. Just one minute later I walked out of the shop and the old man was across the street from his post, looking forlorn, and two young guys were running away. One of them had a red hat on and his hand was in his pocket. I quickly crossed the street corner and asked the man, "Did they steal from you?" The old violinist nodded grimly. It was so obvious! Why did I waste time asking?!
I ran after the guys, but the sidewalks were crowded particularly because of the festival. When I got dressed that morning, I realized how badly I needed to do wash when I had nothing to wear by my lowest cut shorts and my raciest, highest-cut, most uncomfortable pair of underwear. When I couldn't find a belt, I just put on a longer shirt because I thought, "I'm not going to being doing anything strenuous today." Now, I was running down the street with my raciest pair of underwear hanging out. Fantastic.
Then, I saw the red cap. The two guys were walking. We were four, maybe five blocks away from the incident. What was I going to say? I hadn't thought this far ahead.
"Um, did you steal money out of and old man's violin case at the street corner a few blocks back?" I asked.
"Who? Us?" One of them asked in a high tone. Fun fact. People talk in an octave higher than their usual speaking voice when they are lying.
"Yes. I thought I saw you running away from the case a few blocks back."
"It wasn't us." The red-capped guy answered. The high-pitch continued.
I worried to myself, "Maybe it's not them and they are talking in high voices because I'm blindly accusing them of something..."
Without further questioning, the red-capped guy continued, "I have a few dollars," he said pulling out two dollars from his pocket, "but it's mine."
It's them. This is an-"I have it, you can't prove it, and there's nothing you can do about it."-thing. I don't like it. Additionally, I was afraid that at any moment they were going to shout out, "RACIST!" Which I'm not, but I still feel these individuals shouldn't be free from my awkward questioning based purely any hardships I know they've faced because of their skin color. Because I believe in equality, I believe that all people are equally responsible for their actions.
"Well," I said, trying to appeal to their guilt, which I felt confident they had, "This old man has been playing for at least an hour and two guys just stole two of the three dollars he had. If you each gave $1, it would make up for his loss."
"Why should we give out hard earned money to help
him out?! It's his problem and not ours!"
"Well, maybe you could help me find the people who did do it."
"No."
"Oh...ok." So I walked back empty handed.
I suck. I'm a terrible vigilante. I did not kick ass at all. I had doubts but I was still so sure it was them! How can two conflicting thoughts co-exist with so much contention?!
As I crossed the street to the corner where the street musician had packed up and was gloomily walking away, I ran to catch up with him, pulling out two dollars from my pocket.
"Here." I said handing him the two bills. I wanted to let on that I tackled the thieves to the group in a gallant, sidewalk battle, but without any words, we both know that isn't true.
"Thank you." The street musician says is deep, undefinable sincerity. I can tell that he doesn't speak much English, but this he knows and this he feels.
We part and I leave South Street struggling to keep my belief that people are generally good at heart.
I think about how crowded the sidewalks was and how everyone else saw what I saw but no one else did anything. I wonder how could two people a few years younger than me steal from an old, frail man playing for spare change. I try to guess what was happening on the other side of the street that the man felt he had to abandon his post. Maybe the guys didn't see the old man and wouldn't have taken what wasn't theirs had they had all the information. Maybe the guys had rough childhoods and don't have the same positive upbringing that has been blessed upon me. Maybe they're just bad people. No, that can't be. Maybe Karma will get them...
"No matter what I do, people will still do bad things to each other! I can't fix everything! Why can't I fix everything?!" I think to myself in angry frustration.
But because I walked back, that man had three dollars instead of none and I wasn't someone who saw something happen and did nothing. I did try. I did.
Maybe the old man will have more faith in humanity, have a better day, and have more to eat or whatever. Maybe those two guys will think twice about stealing from someone again. Maybe dealing with my awkwardness was enough. Maybe everyone who saw me run after the guys will be someone who does something next time. All of these things are possibilities because I walked back.
