Close Proximity

-1993-

A beat-up dark olive-green big car from the 70s with a missing a rear window circles around the entire parking lot. It stands out. I watch it as it circles. Then it abruptly stops a few feet from where I am bell ringing. What? Why? Two men get out and shuffle by me to get to the pay phone on the other side of me. One guy glances my way. They take their time. The men look shifty, scruffy, jittery, and up to no good. I’m nervous, they’re too close for comfort.

One man is slightly in front of the other. They are in close proximity to each other. I wonder if the man in back is concealing a gun. The man in front seems under duress. It doesn’t look right. Something’s going on. The men are acting nervous, jumpy, suspicious. Then they’re laughing and joshing and looking around except for the one.

As I watch them, I’m baffled and concerned. I am too conspicuous. I’d rather not be there. The one makes a phone call, and then the two return to the car. The man (a hostage?) is shoved into the rear seat. The passenger in front moves to the rear seat to sit next to him and presses in. They’re all laughing now, but one is not. He is strategically positioned between two guys in the rear seat.

Next, they drive away. All the guys with smug expressions on their faces except the middle one. My mind is thinking, what is this? Is it a kidnapping, drug deal, or coercion? I believe it’s bad news. I can imagine all sorts of reasons for their conduct. I feel I should tell somebody, it might make a difference for that one guy.

Another employee is out gathering shopping carts. I ask him if he noticed the car, which he had. He and I discuss how something seemed off. I unhook my kettle and take it inside the store. At the service counter, I report the dubious activity. Store personnel seem unconcerned like it is normal fare. It continues to bother me.

An Encounter

One of the people I’d seen in my stint as a bell ringer was an acquaintance from the youth group I’d attended as my younger self. He and I had never really got on. He was not that fond of the Brumbaugh girls (we were on different wave lengths), although he liked my brother. He was older than me by a couple of years. We’d never had a conversation, ever, but now he seemed different. I greeted him when I saw him.

He returned the greeting, then said, “I heard about your sister. It’s sad about Lois,” in reference to my sister’s death three months before. I already knew he’d been hurt by life. I’d heard that he was unhappily divorced. I knew his ex. She and I and a couple of others had made a trip to Oregon years before, during the time period when the two of them were just starting to date. She was my younger sister’s age. We talked.

He shared how his wife had left him and had also left the church they had attended with their two kids (where she had a deaf ministry). He was troubled by her behavior and choices. He was sad about her leaving the church and quitting her ministry with the deaf. He said his ex was not walking with the Lord nor living as she should. He was concerned for his kids. I’d been down that path and knew the heartache. I felt his bitterness.

I looked at him, and I said, “D____, I don’t know if you know, but I’ve had some hard times in my marriage, too. Similar things to what you’re going through. I know how much it hurts.” He nodded his head. He was listening, so I continued. “R____ is still your kids’ mama. She’s raising your children. Pray for her. She needs your prayers more than anything. That’s one thing you can do. You will get through this.”

For a moment in time we two had connected at the universal point of pain. He had seemed receptive. He didn’t rush away. I don’t know what he thought, but I was amazed and delighted that we had talked and bridged a gap that had existed between us. Pain has a way of bringing people together. We all understand or can commiserate when there’s shared commonality of suffering. I knew that this was one conversation ordained by God.

As a bell ringer, I helped the elderly by opening doors for them. I greeted shoppers by smiling at them. I chatted with customers who were friendly. I opened doors here and there. The little tikes liked talking to me. I tried to smile, be helpful and cheerful. I learned to be creative to make the day go quicker and better.

I’d say, it was worth it.

But there was one group that confounded me. They were the disabled. I politely opened doors for them, but some seemed insulted that I had. One young man in a wheelchair never looked at me. Instead, he grabbed the door out of my hand and dashed inside (that store’s doors weren’t automated in those days). I was just being courteous, and his actions seemed rude.

I was confused by their reactions. I didn’t know if I should open the door for them or not, wheelchairs included. I didn’t want to offend anybody. Then I asked my friend’s mother, Bess Rudin, what she thought. Her first husband was disabled. I thought she might have some insights. Well, she did shed some light on the subject. Bess said to me, “A disabled person wants to be treated like everybody else.” Her advice helped.

One more post about bell ringing to go (and it has gangster stuff). Stay tuned.