A Day at the Park

    Where is the strength that so many men posses?  Where is it located?  Is it something you can just summon from within yourself?  Are you born with it?  I'm asking myself these questions as I watch an alley.  An alley where an old man is being beaten by a younger man.  He looks so hurt, in so much pain.  And I feel for him, I really do, but I'm honestly afraid of a man that would actually be willing to beat another man so ferociously for $37.  The blood on his knuckles is, literally, steaming.  And, as I see this, I realize, if I don't leave soon; I'll be next.
    I proceeded to slink slowly away until I was two blocks down the street.  Then I hailed a cab and went home.  I know what you're thinking, "Did he, at least, call the cops?"  I wish I could tell you that I did the right thing, but I didn't.  I didn't usy my cell phone, and I didn't call later when I got home.  Why, you ask.  Because I didn't want to testify against someone.  Not just because of pure inconvenience, but because I was actually afraid of reprisal from that young man or his friends.  Besides, it's not my business anyway, right?
    Well, I suppose I should introduce you to my family and home.  I'm married to a shockingly beautiful woman named Amanda.  By the way, not that this matters, she's a black woman and I'm a white man.  We have a 2 year old daughter named Chelsea.  She is, by far, the most beautiful creature on the planet.  We live in a cramped, second story, two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.  And, for the most part, life is pretty bad from an emotional and financial standpoint (which probably has a lot to do with the emotional).
    Introduction's over and I'm going to continue my story from the cab.  I only live ten blocks from that alley, so it was a quick cab ride, but I wasn't sure how I was going to explain to my wife why I spent money on a cab, instead of just walking my ass the twelve blocks home.  Maybe I just wouldn't tell her; deceit's usually the best option.  All right, my mind was made up, I wasn't going to tell her.  But, here's the kicker, Mandy had raided my wallet earlier in the morning, before I went to work, and I realized this as I went to pay Ahmed, my understanding cab driver.  $3.75, and I had to excuse myself to go get money.  Upon receiving Ahmed's blessing I rushed upstairs, took about an hour to get the door open (you know how it is, when you're in a hurry, the keys never work the first three times).  Finally, I walked through the door to see my wife sittting on the couch watching TV with Chels.  She was obviously close enough to hear me fumbling with the door and, yet, she just sat there.  Before I made it two steps inside I heard:
    "Why is there a cab ouside of our apartment?"
    "Well, it's kind of a long story," I tried to reason, "but, I need some money to pay him."
    "Of course you do.  You can't walk your lazy ass (told you) twelve blocks and now you need Chelsea's food and diaper money to pay for your fat, lazy ass!"
    "What about the money you took from my wallet this morning?"
    She looked at me as if her eyes were daggers and she said, "What, I'm a gold digger now!?  Like I need yo money?!  Any man on the planet would love to pay for this pussy!  But, no, I stay with you... and what do I get in return?!  I get called a gold digger!"
    "It's not like that, I just thought we could us-"
    "Since I'm black, I'm poor and I just need me some that white money!  Right Ken?!"
    And, with that she got up, stormed over to me, reached in her cleavage pulled out a five, and dropped it on the floor.  My reaction; I rolled my eyes. 
    "You need to get outta my fuckin' face with that shit, you selfish son of a bitch!  Pick up yo damn money and pay fo' yo fuckin' cab, you fat piece of shit!"
    I picked up the five, sighed, and walked downstairs.  On the way down I was hoping that I was going to come across some psycho who'd kidnap me and take me to some hole some place.  Maybe then, I'd finally get some sympathy.  When I got to the cab I gave Ahmed his $5 and started to walk away.  But, I heard a clearing of the throat and some tapping.  The clearing of the throat, that was Ahmed, getting my attention (I gathered he didn't speak English too well).  The tapping, well that was Ahmed, too.  He was tapping the faceplate on the meter.  you see the kind and understanding Ahmed had left the meter running, the tally was now $5.50.  I told him that the $5 was all I had (which was the truth).  He shook his head horizontally and smiled.  Well, I couldn't go back inside and ask for 50 cents more.  Shit, by the time I got back out, I'd probably be up to $20.  So, I did what any respectable man would do; I took my cheap Sanyo watch off (that my wife had given to me last Christmas) and gave it to that sweet Ahmed.
    "I realize you probably don't want this," I said, "but it has to be worth more than 50 cents to you."
    He looked at me for about ten seconds, then smiled, shook his head vertically, and took off down the road.  What a nice guy, that kind, sweet, understanding Ahmed.