When I arrived at the restaurant, David was already standing out front. David and Bill were going to take me out for my birthday, but at the last minute, Bill cancelled because he had to take care of his sister, who was on crutches. David said once Bill cancelled, he was going to cancel as well.
“I didn’t know what we were going to talk about,” he said. A college drop-out who does odd jobs for people on our block, David usually left the talking to Bill, who was a little more polished.
“I know you, too,” I told him, as we sat down at a table outside.
As we ate lunch, we talked about people on our block, how Mrs. Washington’s husband was cheating on her and yet she refused to kick him out, how Mrs. Beatrice spoke so rudely to her children, people were tempted to call child services, how a man who planned to run for mayor had just moved in to number 106. I liked to hear stories about the doctor for whom David did maintenance work now and again. Dr. Dora was always having trouble with her tenants, and I liked to hear about it because it made me feel like I was in good company. I had troubles of my own, and I liked to be reminded I wasn’t the only one.
When we finished our meal, the waiter brought the bill. David took it, and said it was his treat. As he looked down at the check, he began shaking his head and smiling. “I knew it,” he said. “It’s fifty dollars.”
He began to tell me how he’d never been to the restaurant, and so not wanting to be late, he arrived 30 minutes early. He was born and raised in New York City, but he spent most of that time in Harlem. He wasn’t that familiar with the Upper West side. With nowhere to go, he sat down on one of the benches located on a greenway that ran along the middle of Broadway.
Soon, he began talking to a man seated a few benches down. The man was waiting for a delivery from the grocery store, and his truck was parked along Broadway. David told him how he had wanted to get his truck driver’s license, but things hadn’t gone as planned, which is often the way it goes.
As he spoke, David noticed an elderly gentlemen walking across two lanes of traffic, heading right toward him. The man was white, about 75 years old, and had a thick mane of white hair and an unkempt appearance, as if he hadn’t bathed or changed his clothes in a few days. The old man mumbled as he walked. He stopped short a few feet away from David and continued to talk to himself as David finished his conversation. When the delivery man got up and went back to his truck, the old man walked toward David.
"Are you hungry?” he asked.
Here we go, David thought. A black man sitting in the middle of Broadway. He must be hungry.
It was the old man who looked hungry.
“No, thanks,” David said.
“I’ve got these coupons,” the man said.
David said he’d seen the two coupons sticking out of the man’s pocket.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” the man said.
“Yes,” David said. He lied.
The old man grabbed David’s hand and stuck a crumpled bill into it.
“Take this,” the man said. “Go buy your girlfriend a meal.”
David said he noticed a five on the bill.
“You sure you don’t need this?” David asked.
“Don’t worry. There’s plenty more where that came from,” the man said.
David said he thought the old man would be happy now and leave him alone. He could tell the man just wasn’t going to quit until David took something from him. As he took the money, David thanked the man, but then he suddenly feared it was a set up and looked both ways to see if anyone was watching. He imagined the man would flash a badge and David would be arrested.
For what, he wasn’t sure.
“I didn’t know what we were going to talk about,” he said. A college drop-out who does odd jobs for people on our block, David usually left the talking to Bill, who was a little more polished.
“I know you, too,” I told him, as we sat down at a table outside.
As we ate lunch, we talked about people on our block, how Mrs. Washington’s husband was cheating on her and yet she refused to kick him out, how Mrs. Beatrice spoke so rudely to her children, people were tempted to call child services, how a man who planned to run for mayor had just moved in to number 106. I liked to hear stories about the doctor for whom David did maintenance work now and again. Dr. Dora was always having trouble with her tenants, and I liked to hear about it because it made me feel like I was in good company. I had troubles of my own, and I liked to be reminded I wasn’t the only one.
When we finished our meal, the waiter brought the bill. David took it, and said it was his treat. As he looked down at the check, he began shaking his head and smiling. “I knew it,” he said. “It’s fifty dollars.”
He began to tell me how he’d never been to the restaurant, and so not wanting to be late, he arrived 30 minutes early. He was born and raised in New York City, but he spent most of that time in Harlem. He wasn’t that familiar with the Upper West side. With nowhere to go, he sat down on one of the benches located on a greenway that ran along the middle of Broadway.
Soon, he began talking to a man seated a few benches down. The man was waiting for a delivery from the grocery store, and his truck was parked along Broadway. David told him how he had wanted to get his truck driver’s license, but things hadn’t gone as planned, which is often the way it goes.
As he spoke, David noticed an elderly gentlemen walking across two lanes of traffic, heading right toward him. The man was white, about 75 years old, and had a thick mane of white hair and an unkempt appearance, as if he hadn’t bathed or changed his clothes in a few days. The old man mumbled as he walked. He stopped short a few feet away from David and continued to talk to himself as David finished his conversation. When the delivery man got up and went back to his truck, the old man walked toward David.
"Are you hungry?” he asked.
Here we go, David thought. A black man sitting in the middle of Broadway. He must be hungry.
It was the old man who looked hungry.
“No, thanks,” David said.
“I’ve got these coupons,” the man said.
David said he’d seen the two coupons sticking out of the man’s pocket.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” the man said.
“Yes,” David said. He lied.
The old man grabbed David’s hand and stuck a crumpled bill into it.
“Take this,” the man said. “Go buy your girlfriend a meal.”
David said he noticed a five on the bill.
“You sure you don’t need this?” David asked.
“Don’t worry. There’s plenty more where that came from,” the man said.
David said he thought the old man would be happy now and leave him alone. He could tell the man just wasn’t going to quit until David took something from him. As he took the money, David thanked the man, but then he suddenly feared it was a set up and looked both ways to see if anyone was watching. He imagined the man would flash a badge and David would be arrested.
For what, he wasn’t sure.
A black man stood on the sidewalk across the two lanes of traffic watching the exchange. He waited in anticipation, hoping the old man would approach him next. But when the old man crossed the street, he walked right by the man and headed downtown along Broadway.
After the old man walked away, David opened up the bill in his hand and saw it was $50.
“I think this guy walks around and gives money away,” David said.
“They say there’s an old guy who comes to Harlem around Christmas time and gives money away to people along 125th Street. Maybe that was him.”
David picked up our lunch bill.
“See that? It’s $50. I knew it,” he said, and smiled as he placed the bill on top of the check.
After the old man walked away, David opened up the bill in his hand and saw it was $50.
“I think this guy walks around and gives money away,” David said.
“They say there’s an old guy who comes to Harlem around Christmas time and gives money away to people along 125th Street. Maybe that was him.”
David picked up our lunch bill.
“See that? It’s $50. I knew it,” he said, and smiled as he placed the bill on top of the check.
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