To beat the Red!
(... or, 'The Loop!') 1992
In St. Paul,
Minnesota or for that matter in other cities as well people are inclined
to call a certain area of the city, in particular a busy area, such as
downtown St. Paul, the Loop; it's kind of an area you circle around in a
loop with you automobile. Drivers do it to look at girls, sell drugs,
and check the inner city out. Girls walk the loop to be picked up, or
drug dealers stand on corners to sell drugs, that kind of thing. And
those not into that kind of stuff, mosey about it crisscrossing the
streets to get to other parts of the city, to and fro.
In St. Paul
there was such a thing, location, in downtown, it circled around a
number of bars, and Seventh Street, and a bus station, a few show
houses, a parking lot, the loop had just about everything a night
shopper or night adventurist would be seeking.
Hence, when you
stopped at the red light at 'Wabasha and Seventh,' you were facing a
stop-and-go-light, in this case I had stopped on the red light.
Sometimes when I'd stop, the light would turn nearly instantly Green to
Go! And of course you'd catch now and then a pedestrian off-guard. And
they'd run to cross to get to the other side, lest they get jammed in by
the oncoming, slough of cars. This of course being the logical thing to
do. While others seemed to have foresight, and be waiting at the corner
for the light to turn Green for them to go, and not rushing anything,
so as not to be caught in-between.
Sometimes you'd even see people
eating this and that as they were moseying across the street on a
yellow, and then turn green kind of jumping the gun as they say, then
rushing to escape the rush of cars.
So you see, crossing or
crisscrossing the streets at a loop, has many variables. And usually
when I'd blow the horn, they'd wake up, if half asleep, run to the other
side to escape the approaching cars, if indeed this was the case at
hand. It's kind of like knowing your rights, and not wanting the other
person to violate them, that is to say, if you had, or have the
right-of-way.
People around this loop, back in the day-or
twenty-two years ago, when this mishap took place, the people were like
flocks of quails, and when they'd reach the other side sometimes you'd
see a face or two among the other faces, in triumph, especially if they
were trying to beat the odds, rushing on a yellow light to join the
flock, before the red appeared. And god-forbid it be rush-hour and you
find someone playing the suicide game: starting out on a yellow, 'to
beat the red!'
This old drunk, the man who stepped off the corner
of the sidewalk, who had walked down from a local bar, from up the
block, stepped out on a yellow light, unknowingly I believe; looking
ahead in his hazy drunken stumper, seeing other folks across the two
way, four-lane crossing, and seeing them folks stepping up from a green
light, that now was yellow, but perhaps was green when he first saw
it-half drunk I should say-it was late Friday afternoon, close to
rush-hour, when everyone wants to get home for the weekend, take off
early from work. No exception, me too.
He fiddled about in his
pocket, I believe he had a pint of whiskey he was feeling for, and to
make sure it was still there, what else could it be?
And as in
inferred, he looked pretty looped himself, now in the middle of the
loop. I told myself as the streetlight as it turned red for him, 'woops,
now what?' It was green for the cars, red for the walkway.
There
must have been three dozen cars on both sides of the streets, ready to
go West from East, it was a four-lane street, two west, two east, I was
west, and there were cars to my left, and in front of me, and the drunk
was nearly in the middle of the two lanes, some thirty-five feet in
front of me, going south from north, and a dozen cars on my side hit
their accelerator, steering right towards the drunk, perhaps sixty-years
old. What was on his mind? What was the matter with him? He stopped as
the cars approached him, was it physical tiredness? I was inclined to
stop, he was to my right, and cars now passing me, and now him, cars in
front of me and in back of me, he was unsure of his next move, and the
cars were unsure of his next move as I was also unsure of his next move
and so I stopped right in the middle of the intersection, as now cars
circle around me: and the car in back of me stopped also, and the car in
back of him, maneuvered around both of us, not knowing why we had
stopped, he didn't see the old man, the old man smiled at me, put out
his thumb as if in triumph, and as he took a step forward, that car cut
his thumb into shreds, with his side mirror, and now the old man froze
in place, looking at what was left of his thumb, gushing red, spurting
up blood like a flood, or gusher, or what was left of it; had a dog been
nearby, he'd had had himself a little jump for an afternoon snack. It
was being held by a thread, no more.
Now I drove by him, I knew he'd not move, he was in some kind of monothematic moment: what just happened?
As
I drove down to the next stop-and-go-light, I heard a policeman's
whistle from behind me... , the rest I assumed, an ambulance would soon
be forth coming.
Ever since I was a little child, I have been reading. I read
books at as young an age as the age of three. My dad bought me a
composition book and I learned how to write. After I learned how to
write, I started reading what I wrote and eventually, I read what others
wrote in books. My dad bought me a lot of books with pictures in them.
Even though I enjoyed looking at the pictures more, I still loved
reading the words. I took reading for granted back then, however, I now
realize how invaluable it is. Currently, when I read, I cannot help but
pronounce the words aloud, because I want to feel each word on the page
enter my brain.
