Friends Like These

The first week riding the bus to work her purse was stolen. The second week a heavy set guy pushed her down on the side walk near the corner of 5th Street and Nicollet Avenue while running from the police, tearing a hole in her nylon and giving her a bloody abrasion on her knee. A month later she awoke in the hospital with a fractured arm, and the first thing she said was, "How long before I can go back to Macy's?"

            Jerry, who had been called away from his job as manager of Long Lake Hardware, was keeping a vigil with his mother. He turned to the attending nurse and said, "Sorry about that. My mom can be a little rude."

            To which the nurse replied, smiling, " Don't worry. We all think your moms' a real sweetie."

            Helen, who had been following the exchange with sharp eyes, replied derisively and emphatically, "Humph."

            When she was seventy eight, Helen Jorgenson said to heck with sitting around bored out of her mind in her stuffy one bedroom apartment on the fifth floor of the Ebenezer Senior Living Home and applied for a job. It had been posted (along with a few application forms) on the bulletin board in the Community Room on the first floor and after reading it she started thinking, 'I could do this.' The next day she took the 7B bus downtown and turned in her application, had a short interview, and a few days later was notified she had 'won out' (as she put it) over thirteen other applicants for a job at Macy's, the largest department store in downtown Minneapolis. She was going to be a 'Greeter' at the door on the seventh street entrance and work noon to 4 pm, Monday and Thursday.

             She was ecstatic, calling her oldest son, Jerry, later that day and telling him, "This is just what I need. I was going nuts pretending to be nice and trying to have pleasant little conversations with all the doddering old fogies around here."

            Jerry took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly to calm down, a practiced skill he'd learned after years and years of dealing with his strong willed, headstrong mother. "Mom, you know you shouldn't talk like that. Those ladies are just trying to be nice."

            "Nice," Helen spat out her answer, "Boring, boring, boring is more like it."

            They'd had variations of this conversation for years and it was a battle he was not going to win. Time to change the subject, "So you're going to take the bus back and forth?" he asked, "Won't that be dangerous?" He was concerned and thinking about the gangs of Blacks, Mexicans, Asians and what all downtown, roaming the city streets at will, robbing, killing and raping their hapless victims. Or so he imagined. Over thirty years earlier he and his wife had moved their young family twenty miles away from Minneapolis out to the little town of Long Lake in western Hennepin county to get away from all that. His mother, however, had always lived in Minneapolis, the city where he'd been born and raised, and it was the city she had chosen to live out the rest of her life.

            "I don't need you telling me what to do," she told him firmly, starting to get angry. "I can take care of myself,"   

            "I know you can, Mom," he said, trying to be patient, but in his mind he could picture her, a short, stout white haired woman, with an assertive and, some might call, combative nature, valiantly fighting off a gang of thugs with her cane. He quickly erased the imagine, though, finding it just too disturbing. "When do you start?" Again, changing the subject, something he was doing more and more often with her these days.

            "Tomorrow," she barked, before slamming the phone down.

            "Geez," Jerry said into the silence before clicking off. "If she doesn't get killed down there, she's going to drive me insane." Then he started the process of placing calls to his three younger siblings, letting them know what crazy scheme their mother was up to this time.

            Helen stared out the window after hanging up on her oldest, and certainly the most loyal, of her four children. I'm not going to get a new job to irritate him, she was thinking, feeling badly she'd hung the phone up so...well, forcefully. He was the one who kept in touch with her more than the other three of her children combined and she certainly appreciated his concern. The two of them had always been close and were able to talk easily with each other about just about anything. But too bad if he doesn't agree with me on this because I'm serious, she thinks to herself. It's not his life, but mine, and she stamped her foot on the carpeting, firming up her resolve to ignore Jerry's concern and go ahead with her plan, muttering under her breath," I need to do this."

            Helen's view out her third floor apartment faces downtown Minneapolis, just over three miles away and a slow twenty five minute bus ride down Hennepin Avenue. She's looking forward to her new job. She's lived at Ebenezer for five years now, ever since her husband, Harold, died of a heart attack and she decided that keeping up their house in south Minneapolis, the home they'd owned for over fifty years, was getting to be too difficult; especially considering her arthritis in her right knee. That and the fact her ability to see clearly wasn't what it used to be. A rare form of glaucoma in both eyes had left her with limited vision. She couldn't drive anymore, but she could see well enough to get around since only the fringes of her sight were affected.

            'It's like being underwater,' she often told those who asked, 'Everything is a little blurry.' Which wasn't something she mentioned to Lori Loftgren, head of personnel at Macy's, the cheerful, energetic woman who hired her. Why make a big issue out of the fact that the folks she'd be welcoming to one of the nicest stores in downtown Minneapolis she couldn't see perfectly precisely? In Helen's mind, it didn't make a bit of difference. I can see well enough to distinguish male and female, adult and child, so what's the big deal? I'm hired to be greet people (or guests, as Ms. Loftgren said she needed to think of the shoppers as) and be friendly. Not paint a detailed portrait of them.

            Notwithstanding Jerry's concern, she was still excited to be doing something new and different and, as she thought of it, Getting on with my life, so she called her closest friend, Bonny Anderson, to tell her the news.

            "Bon-Bon, guess what? I got the job," she said when her friend picked up. Bonnie lived two floors above and Helen could just as easily have walked up, but she wanted to rest and save her energy for her first day tomorrow. Besides, Bon-Bon had a way about her. She could be a little fussy.

            "I can't believe you're going to go into downtown and work," she snipped after Helen told her the news. "You're going to get robbed for sure, maybe worse."

            Helen sighed. Just like Jerry, she thought to herself. Why is everyone so afraid?

            "Don't worry, Bon-Bon," she tried to reassure her, "I'll be just fine."

            Well, those words certainly came back to haunt her now, lying stretched out in a double room on the sixth floor of HCMC with a cast of her left arm. Hennepin County Medical Center was a huge hospital complex that served not only the county but also a good portion of central Minnesota and western Wisconsin. It was located only a few blocks from both Macy's and the street corner where Helen had been injured. A group of three young blacks who had been passengers on the crowded bus had pushed past her as she was exiting, knocking her down the steps and out onto the sidewalk. They were laughing and joking and probably didn't mean to hurt her, but she had stumbled anyway and hit the pavement wrong. The pain in her arm was intense and she screamed louder than she had in years. Then she curled into a ball grimacing, holding her arm and groaning in agony.

            Her fall caused a commotion. The youths took off running. Two street cops came and interviewed witnesses who pointed down the crowded street. The cops got on their walkie-talkies and within five minutes the three of them were apprehended in a skyway a few blocks away where they were heading north, and they were heading there fast.

            Jerry filled his mom in on all of this after the nurse had left. The doctor had recommended they keep Helen overnight for observation. His mother grudgingly agreed. Jerry felt relieved, thinking it was great advice.      

            "Mom, you really can't keep working there at Macy's. It's just not safe."

            Helen's first thought was to argue and make a scene. She loved her job and didn't want to give it up. But in a way Jerry was right. It wasn't safe, as illustrated by one purse snatching and a tumble down the stairs of the bus, plus the fact that she'd been knocked down on the sidewalk a month earlier. But so what if it wasn't totally one-hundred percent safe? It certainly had been ninety-nine point nine-nine percent of the time (if not more) and that was good enough for her. Why now give up the job she loved and lose her freedom just because she'd had a few bad experiences?

             She looked at Jerry with affection, thinking that she could do a lot worse than have a son like him who cared so much about her. But working at Macy's was more than just her job, and after thinking about it for a minute, she knew she should tell him. She owed it to both of them to be honest. "Jerry, I need to tell you something I should have probably told you a while ago."

            Jerry looked at his mother with an expression a mixture of curiosity and dread. "Geez, now what, Mom?" he asked, mentally crossing his fingers. Was it too much to expect to hear some good news for a change? But really, knowing his mother, who was he kidding? "Might as well tell me what's going on and get it over with," he sighed, shaking his head, a sudden resignation in his voice and demeanor, not entirely sure he was the least bit ready at all for what she was about to tell him.

            Helen assessed her son as he adjusted himself in the chair and leaned forward, hands tightly folded, elbows on his knees, his entire body stiff and tense. I know he's concerned, but I've got to tell him anyway. She took a breath and went ahead, wanting to quickly get it all out in the open. "I've made some new friends at work, and I just don't want to give them up," she told him, spilling the words out all in a rush, watching her son as she spoke.

            Jerry opened his mouth to speak but then stopped himself and was quiet, sitting more stunned than anything else. Or blown away. Whatever the case, Helen filled in the silence by continuing with her story, only putting up her hand once in the beginning (the one unencumbered by a cast) to stave off Jerry's first objection by asking, "Do you want to hear about my friends or not?"

            He did. Reluctantly. So he told her, "Sure, Mom, go ahead. Fire away." And then he shut his mouth and listened, accepting that she depended on him to listen and be there for her no matter what, like he knew he had to be.

            "I have a life there that's different from anything I've ever known before, and I like it," she said, surprised to hear herself sounding a little nervous now that she had begun, wondering how Jerry would take the news. She looked closely at him. He seemed...what? If not totally accepting, at least maybe something closer to curious. At least he doesn't seem mad me, she thoiught. That was something. Encouraged, she added, "And I like it so much because I've meet some really wonderful people." She paused for a moment and took a deep breath, let it out, and then continued on, her concern for Jerry's feelings outweighed, now, by wanting to finally share this important part of her life with him.

            "There's Asid, a young man who works fulltime as a janitor and is there during the hours I am. His parents immigrated to Minneapolis from Somalia in the early nineties and he was born a year later. He's married to a young Somali woman named Decca and they have two small children. Their apartment is on the West Bank over by the University of Minnesota. I like him a lot. He's friendly and sometimes shares his lunch with me when we take our break in the employee's lounge. It's a meal called Qado."

            As his mother spoke, her words began to flow smoothly and Jerry noticed she was becoming enthusiastic and happy, her injured arm apparently forgotten. It was good to see. He kept his promise not to interrupt (hard as it was) and gave her his full attention.

            She added, "It's a traditional rice dish spiced with cumin, cardamom, cloves and sage that Decca sometimes packs for him." She smiled at her son, appreciating that he was paying attention and not interrupting. "It's amazingly flavorful," she added. In fact, in spite of the dull pain in her arm, just thinking about the scrumptious meal was making her mouth water.

            "Then there's Clare, she's about your age," she continued, looking at Jerry, appraisingly. He could feel his mother silently noting the fact that he'd slowly but steadily been gaining weight over the last ten years or so. But she said nothing about his extra pounds and, instead, went on with her story. "She's in her mid fifties and has worked the perfume counter for over twenty years. She's from Edinburgh, Scotland. It's the capital, you know. She's shy and quiet but when there are no customers around she hums these traditional Scottish folk songs which are really quite pleasant to listen to. Plus, she's always dusting and cleaning and keeps her counter area spic and span spotless. I like that a lot."

            She looked at Jerry who nodded his acknowledgement, knowing that his mom valued both cleanliness and tidiness and placed them up near the top of her list of worthy character traits. But still he kept his promise to stay quiet, even though he was mildly shocked to find the further along she went, the more he was enjoying her story.

            "Then there's Simon who's from Lebanon. He's the assistant floor manager and he stops by to talk to me during slow periods. He's very friendly, has a bright smile and a good sense of humor." Helen paused, grinning to herself, "He usually has a joke or funny story to tell and he always makes me laugh."

            She glanced at her son, surprised to find him listening with a slight smile instead of the frown he'd worn when she'd first started. Encouraged, she told him about another friend.

            "There's Leon, one of the security guards, who stops by to chat when he's on his rounds. He's very nice and has a boy playing football at the University of St. Thomas who apparently is quite good. He told me he's never missed a home game. I guess his boy's on the Dean's List, too. I like that he's so proud of his son."

            "Then there's Rico's. He's a Mexican-American man who's in charge of all of the indoor plant displays. He's quiet, but friendly, and sometimes brings me a cut flower to wear on the lapel of my jacket."

            She paused for a moment to catch her breath.

            Jerry was listening and nodding along, not interrupting like she'd asked him too. As she talked she seemed to come alive. There was a spark in her eyes and a warm, loving tone to her voice. It's more than the job, he was thinking to himself, it's the people she is working with.

            "I'm sorry to lay all of this on you, now, Jer. I know it's a lot to take in."

            "I just never knew, Mom," he said, happy to be able to say something. He reached out to take her hand, "But I'm glad you're telling me now."

            "I've wanted to tell you for a while, but I was afraid of what you might say. And, please don't take this wrong, but it's like having a new, special family for me. They are good people, Jerry. They watch out for me and take care of me. Plus, they're fun to talk to. I'm learning so much about other cultures. It's almost like going to school."

            Jerry couldn't believe what we was about to say, but he said it anyway, "Well, whatever the case is...I have to say that I'm happy for you, Mom." And he was, too. Compared to what she was telling him, he was beginning to see how living at Ebenezer could have been somewhat stifling for her. Plus, for all the arguments swirling around in his brain against what she was doing working downtown, one fact remained: It was good to see her so happy and energized.

            However, she wasn't finished. "There's more," she said, shifting in her bed and smiling at her son, making a little joke.

            "More?" Jerry asked, looking a little stunned.

            "That's right. Lots more." Helen chuckled as Jerry rolled his eyes before sitting back to listen. The tension that had been between them when she started her story had lessened considerably. Helen was glad she had been able to say what she needed to say, and Jerry was happy to hear things weren't as bad as they might have been.

            "Yes, that's not to mention all the customers I'm getting to know. Like Mrs. Anderson, Evelyn, who comes in with her granddaughter, Carrie, who's ten. They make it a point to stop and chat with me every other Thursday when they drive in from Northfield. That's thirty miles away, you know. When they're done shopping they always have a snack at the City View restaurant on the ninth floor. They like to have time together and 'catch up with each other' as Mrs. Anderson tells me. And that little Carrie is so polite, just standing quietly, watching while her us two old ladies yap away. She reminds me your sister, Susan, when she was that age."

            She smiled at Jerry. He could see more in that smile than in all the words she was saying put together. His mother really had found a place that suited her just right. She was making friends and they were not just making her happy, they making her life better. It was more than a job; her life was improving. He couldn't ask for anything more than that for his mom, no matter how much grief and consternation she caused him

            "And there are many, many more customers. Such nice, friendly people. I like so many of them and look forward to seeing all of them. I sometimes wish Lori would give me more hours."

            And, Helen thought to herself, most of her friends and customers were not the kind of people Jerry or the rest of her children or Bon-Bon would want her hanging around with at all. But that was just too bad. She liked her new friends and that was just the way it had to be. For the first time in a long while she wasn't bored out her mind, in fact, just the opposite. Her brain was stimulated and she was actually enjoying herself and her life. Who could argue with that?

            New friends? Jerry was thinking. He could tell by the fiery look in her eye that his mother meant every word she said. He could have tried to convince her that she shouldn't go back to work, that riding the bus was too dangerous, that being downtown was too hazardous and, who knew, maybe even the store itself was an unsafe place to be. But, in the end, he knew all the arguments he could come up with would hit the brick wall of his mother's steadfast resolve and would eventually prove to be fruitless. Once his mother made up her mind, there was no going back. And her mind, most definitely, was made up.

            Jerry's knew his mother had always been the kind of person who went her own way and did her own thing. She would have fit right in with the free spirited era of the 60's except she was too busy being responsible as a wife to Harold and mother to Jerry and his brother Steve and his two sisters, Linda and Susan. Plus, she was working. After her children were in grade school she hired herself out as a cleaning lady, riding the bus to her many customers in the south Minneapolis area. She even landed a few jobs out in ritzy suburb of Edina to do housework for, as she jokingly put it, 'The rich and famous.' She was an independent thinking woman and used the money she made to help send Jerry and his sisters Linda and Susan to college at the University of Minnesota, and his brother Steven to the Dunwoody Technical Institute where he excelled in software engineering. She worked cleaning houses right up until just after Harold died and her eyes started to fail her and her knee started giving her trouble, although she downplayed her aliments to her children. 'I'm just getting too old to be crawling around on my hands and knees all day, cleaning floors and mopping up after people,' is the story she told her kids. And they had no reason not to buy it so they did.

            Now, after listening to his mom, Jerry could see how happy and fulfilled she was working at Macy's. Her life was good, right up until the unfortunate experience of putting a little hairline crack in her forearm; which is how his mom looked at her injury - just a little unexpected incident she had no control over, so why make a big deal out of it?

            But now the question was this: What to do next? Steve, Linda and Susan, Bon-Bon, and most everyone else were all of the same frame of mind: 'Quit the job and stay home where it's safe,' or some variation of that sentiment. Even her primary doctor, Dr. Parquet, a wonderful and caring physician from Pakistan, cautioned her to, 'Maybe learn how to take it a little more easy and enjoy life.' But Jerry wasn't so sure anymore. He'd have to think about the pros and cons and talk to his siblings. One thing was he was sure of: His mother wanted to keep working, and it didn't seem right to stand in her way.

            Helen was exhausted. All of that hospital folderol with the doctors and nurses and then talking with Jerry - it had left her drained.  She lay her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Jerry got the hint. He leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the forehead, "You rest, Mom. I'll get going now." He watched her eyes lids flutter but stay closed. He smiled with affection, "See you tomorrow morning," he told her softly, standing up, "Remember...I'll be here at nine to take you home."

            Helen opened her eyes and watched her son as he walked to the door, then called after him, "Thank you for everything, honey," she told him gently, "You know I love you, don't you?"

            "I do, Mom, you just take it easy," Jerry said, turning. He smiled, encouragingly, "I'll see you in the morning. We'll talk more then." He waved goodbye and then was gone.

            Helen closed her eyes again, resting, but her mind was working overtime. She had done enough reading to know what most younger people didn't know: The fact of the matter was that when an old person falls and breaks a bone, even a tiny little fracture like hers, it usually signified the beginning of the end. The body just can't fight back during the healing process like when it was younger; it becomes slightly more weakened. Whether it's months or a few years, it doesn't matter. The cards are dealt, the die is cast, the end is near. But Helen didn't want to accept a word of it even though the facts were there. She was a fighter and, moreover, she wasn't ready for any of that 'end of the road malarkey' (as she put it). She was going to go back to work and there was not the slightest bit of doubt in her mind about it.

            Downtown Minneapolis was a vibrant city filled with a mixture of affluent office workers, blue collar employees, down and out street people, and every kind of person and social class mixed in between. White, brown, yellow and red: people of all colors, religions, ethnicities and cultures were to be found working, living or just trying to get by in the mile square section of downtown and Macy's was right in the middle of it all. But the friends Helen had made were people first, their skin color mattering little if not at all, and she wasn't going to give them up. Not by a long shot.

            Her thoughts and musings were interrupted when Lori Loftgren stopped by later on after the dinner hour. She brought with her a vase of mixed, colorful flowers and a condolence card signed by Asid, Clare, Simon, Leon and Rico and many other Macy employees. Helen had rested, even napped a little. She felt stronger and more confident, especially after talking with Jerry and telling him the truth about her job and how much it meant to her. He seemed to be coming around to being on her side, and that fact alone was making her feel just as good, if not better, as anything they did for her in the hospital.

             After motioning for her to set the vase on the window sill, Helen offered Lori (they were long past the Ms. Loftgren phase of their relationship) the chair by the bed. It was good to see her. "Thank you so much for stopping by."

            Her boss made herself comfortable, then smiled and said, "Everyone misses you so much. They can't wait to see you again."

            "Well, I can't wait to see them, either," Helen replied, meaning it. Even now, stretched out like she was on the bed, with monitoring lights blinking, equipment beeping and the relentless din of hospital noises in the background, she was getting restless. "I'll be released on Tuesday tomorrow, and my doctor says I come back to work on next Monday. If that's alright with you."

            Lori met her eyes for a moment and then looked past her. Helen's motherly antenna immediately went up and her heart rate suddenly increased. Something was going on. Her first thought was that something bad had happened at work to Leon. He was overweight and dealing with recently diagnosed diabetes. 'God, don't let him be sick,' she thought to herself. But she was wrong. It wasn't Leon.

             Lori continued, "I'm afraid I have some bad news. I've been told by upper management that I'm going to have to let you and the other Greeters go," she finally said. "I'm so sorry. Their decision was unexpected, but I suppose I should have seen it coming. Our profits have been falling ever so slightly over the last five years. I thought hiring you and the others could help differentiate us and make us different from those generic big box stores, but it just hasn't helped. (Helen had worked out so well, Lori  had hired three more women as Greeters for three other entrances.) It's nothing against you and the others. It's just...just a money thing. I'm so sorry."

            Helen didn't know what to say. She held the card from her friends to her chest and stared straight ahead. The room went quiet except for the beeping from those stupid machines. The patient in the bed next to her started coughing, the monitor went off and a nurse ran in to administer her. It took a few minutes, but she eventually got the patient, a young woman, settled and then left.

            When they were alone again Helen looked compassionately at Lori, who was visibly shaken and saddened by the news she'd had to deliver, and said, "I understand, dear. It wasn't your fault. Don't you worry about it at all. You just have to do what you have to do."

            And with that, Lori started to cry.

Three months later, and it's the week after Thanksgiving. Macy's is decorated inside and out for the holidays. The theme this year is 'An Old Thyme Christmas' and the displays throughout the department store reflect scenes and images of Christmases from the 30's and 40's. Lori and her young design team have been hard at work creating the look and feel of a time long ago - an era living on only in the memories of people who were children of the great depression and World War Two. The images they have created come from magazines and old movies. Not many are around who remember the way it truly was back then. But there are a few. Helen is one of them. She was born in 1938 and has good memories of those times. She has even helped Lori and her designers with some of the displays.

            "Yes, yes, yes," she has told the younger employees more than once, "Those were simpler times, but there's nothing wrong with that."

            Lori is often nearby, working with her team, listening in to what Helen is saying and smiling in agreement. And, in quieter moments away from work, she has smiled for another reason - she is glad she followed through on what they had talked about that night in the hospital after Lori told Helen she was going to be laid off. Because after Helen heard the news and thought about it for a minute she responded by asking, "But how about if I volunteer to greet people. How would that be? You wouldn't have to pay me then, would you? I'll do it for free."

            And Lori thought about it for only a few moments before she told her, "Let me see what I can do."

            And what she did was talk to upper management and got them to agree that there was no reason in the world for them not to have Helen volunteer as a greeter.

            As one of the top level bosses said, sounding wistful, "What can it hurt? It may even help our image."

            If all this sounds like a made up story with a Hollywood 'Feel good' ending, I can't help that. Jerry and his wife, Jane, and their family have been next door neighbors of my wife, Lauren, and I and our family for many years. He and I talk regularly, usually while one or the other of us is working in the yard or doing something else outside. He's a nice guy, maybe a little conservative for my tastes, but he's kind and decent and a good neighbor. Over the years I've heard many stories about his strong willed mother. So when he told me about Helen and how she first got her job at Macy's, and then how she'd been injured and unexpectedly laid off before finally becoming a volunteer Greeter at Macy's, it prompted Lauren and I to do something we hadn't done in a few years - we decided to take a drive into downtown Minneapolis to see the holiday lights and displays. Maybe we'd even run into Jerry's interesting sounding mother.

            We went on a Thursday afternoon, the first week of December, driving on I-394 for half hour into downtown and then parking our car in the lot A ramp. We walked five blocks across the city with the expressed purpose of going to Macy's to view the eighth floor Christmas exhibit, but as we came through the Seventh Street revolving doors we were lucky enough to see Helen. We'd never met her before but Jerry had described her well; there was no doubt the friendly, white haired lady who welcomed us with a 'Merry Christmas! Thank you for visiting our store,' like we were long lost friends, was her. (Even in spite of the blast of cold winter air that trailed us in through the door.) We introduced ourselves as friends of Jerry and she was charming and gracious and couldn't have been nicer.

            We only chatted for a moment or two before more people crowded in so we left and made our way through the crowded aisles to the escalator and then up to the Christmas exhibit on the 8th floor. That's' where the Old Thyme Christmas theme was really put on display for all to see. A bustling, cobbled stone street scene had been created, and we walked along wide-eyed, admiring the quaint shops on both sides with workers inside illuminated by the glow of warm yellow lights. There were mounds of cotton snow all around, and the scene was populated with men and women out and about, carrying packages, dressed for winter in old time wool jackets and coats with colorful scarves and hats. There were children playing - ice skating and pulling sleds, and dogs running and cats hiding behind corners, and trees everywhere decorated with pretty ribbons and bows and ornaments and lights that twinkled. And, of course, softly playing in the background were the melodic strains of traditional Christmas music.

            After Lauren and I viewed the exhibit we wandered around on various floors, window shopping and looking at other festive displays. We even saw Clare's jewelry counter, decked out with sprigs of evergreens adorned with tiny silver and golden ornaments and red bows. In a word, the effect of the entire store was...enchanting.

            When we were finished with our browsing we made it a point of making our way through the crowds back to where we'd entered, just to say good-bye to Helen. But we didn't get the chance. She was talking to a young Somali man with "Asid" on his name tag. They were carrying on an animated conversation and seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely - in between Helen greeting new arrivals - and we didn't want to interrupt them. I noted she was wearing a red carnation on the lapel of her jacket, a gift, no doubt, from her gardener friend Jerry had told me about.

            Lauren and I left then, feeling good and infused with a little more Christmas spirit than we'd had before we entered the store. It was nice to see the older lady and the young black man together. With all the crap on the news lately about people not getting along, and everyone freaking out over the color of someone's skin or their choice of religion, it was good to see those two together and how comfortable they were with each other. It was really good.

            We walked through the crowded downtown sidewalks toward our car. The sun had set and every building had displays of Christmas lights on, filling the night with an festive glow. If it were to start snowing, it would have made the scene perfect. And then it did. We smiled at each other, then, and Lauren took hold of my arm. Was it the time of the year? The seasonal festivities? Or could it happen anytime or anyplace? We didn't know, but for one brief moment the world felt right, and in sync with itself, and we walked along smiling and nodding greetings to complete strangers. Sound weird? Maybe, but it felt like it was the right thing to do and that was good enough for us.

            We took our time walking to our car, talking about what we'd seen at Macy's and about Jerry's mom, enjoying each other's company and the fresh snow drifting down and the pretty, colorful lights of the city - even the cold bite of winter in the air. And, most especially, the growing feeling that maybe Helen was on to something. Maybe it really was all about opening your heart to others and putting differences aside. Maybe it was about seeing those who were not the same as we were as people first and foremost, and not getting hung up on the color of their skin or where they worshiped. Maybe it was all about being humane and treating people with decency and respect - like Helen was doing; and like her friends were doing. And if that was the case, we were more than happy to join her. Which gave me the inkling of an idea.

            Make no mistake, the city was loud. There were buses blasting by and cars speeding, kicking up slushy snow, and horns honking almost non-stop. In a way, it was kind of a madhouse. But, balancing the mayhem, there were also carolers on the street corners and bell ringers for the Salvation Army and people like us, out having a good time, enjoying the soul of the city and finding  joy in the season. Foremost in my thoughts was Helen. In my mind I saw her back at Macy's talking to Asid and how comfortable they were with each other and how happy they seemed. It was little things like what she was doing that were making the world a better place, and she was doing it for no other reason than it was the type of person she was. And so was Asid, as well as all of her other friends: Clare, Simon, Leon and Rico. They were open and generous with each other. Skin color and religion didn't matter. The type of person you were was what counted the most. I wanted to be part of that world.  

            My idea suddenly crystallized. I stopped dead on the sidewalk and told Lauren about it and she agreed. We turned around and headed with a quick step back to Macy's. Helen (thankfully) was still there, in high spirits and just as cheerful as before.

            I walked up to her when there was a break in the crowd and re-introduced myself and Lauren as friends of her son. She immediately remembered who we were. We chatted for just a minute before I asked her the question we'd come back to ask.

            "Lauren and I were wondering if we could take you to dinner this evening when you're done working," I said to her. She didn't bat an eye, and nodded enthusiastically as I was talking, but before she could agree out loud, I added, "And maybe bring some of your friends from work along, too."

            And she did. And that's how we got to meet Asid, Simon and Rico (Clare and Leon couldn't get away). We had a nice meal together, good conversation and, before we parted, made planes to get together for following Thursday. Hopefully, it was the beginning of something permanent for all of us.

            And that may have been the end of the story except for one final thing. The next day I was out shoveling the five inches of snow that had accumulated since it had begun falling while Lauren and I were downtown. It had continued during our dinner with Helen and her friends as well as during our slow drive home and then long into the night. I had worked my way out to the where the driveway met the street and was clearing what seemed like ten tons of the stuff left behind when the city plow had gone past when Jerry drove up, slide to a stop and beeped. He rolled down his window and greeted me with, "So when are you going to break down and join the twenty-first century?" I was nearly too tired to laugh, but I did anyway. This was our long running joke about my insistence on shoveling my driveway and sidewalk by hand. Jerry, on the other hand, had used his powerful snow blower earlier, finished quickly, and then had run out to open the his hardware store before stopping home to drop off a gallon of milk for Jane he'd bought on the way. I was happy for the break since I'd been out for almost an hour and a half. The snow had been wet and heavy, our driveway was long, my arms were sore, and I was beat.

            I laughingly told him, "Never!" Even though I'd been silently wishing for one for the last half hour, picturing myself jauntily prancing up and down my driveway gripping a big, red snow blowing machine with both hands, merrily flinging snow fifty feet into the air.

            We chatted a while, being neighborly, before he turned serious.

            "So how'd your evening downtown go?" he asked.

            "Good," I told him, "Really good." I took my hat off and wiped the sweat from my forehead. "The holiday displays were great. Really pretty." But I knew that's not what he was really asking about. "The best part, though, was that we saw your mom and even met some of her friends."

            "Really? How'd that go?" He had a look between wanting to know and driving straight home without hearing my answer.

            Well, don't ask if you don't want to know and he asked, so...I went ahead and told him about our evening, specifically about how happy his mother seemed and how nice her new friends were. "There's a guy from Somali named Asid and he and Lauren talked cooking. We came away with the recipe for a dish called Qado that sounded delicious. We talked with Simon about the conflict in the Middle East. He used to live in Lebanon but he's been in the States for fifteen years. He's a Christian and had a pretty unique perspective about the different factions of Muslims and all the fighting going on between them. And her friend, Rico, gave me a hint on how to get rid of those Japanese Beetles that were feasting on my Morning Glories last summer. He said all I needed to do was brush them off the flowers into bucket of a little dishwater soap and water."

            When I was finished with my re-cap of our dinner, Jerry was silent for a minute, looking straight ahead through the windshield, doing some heavy duty thinking, I figured. I told him, "Your mom said she wished you'd come down there. She'd like you to see where she works and meet some of the people she works with." I paused. He was quiet, thinking hard, I'm sure weighing the pros and cons, so I added, "They're good folks, Jer. You'd like them."

            Finally he turned to me. I always felt Jerry had a kind nature and I knew he cared a lot about his mother."I'm glad you saw her down there. I've been thinking about maybe going down there for a while now. My mom can be a force of nature, that's for sure."

            "I don't really think you have anything to lose. When was the last time you and Jane were in downtown, anyway?"

            "A long time ago. Thirty years at least."

            I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but I felt a little nudge wouldn't hurt. "The eighth floor Christmas show is done up old fashioned and is kind of fun. Jane would like it," I said, just to push him a bit more.

            He looked past me to his home, thinking some more. Then he said, simply, "Well, what the hell. Why not?" I realized, then, he must have been ready, all he needed was a reason to convince himself. It was really that simple.

            We chatted a bit more, and I told him about parking in Lot A. Then I waved good-bye as he drove down the street to his driveway and turned in. I may have been mistaken, but I could have sworn there was a look of relief on his face. Like he'd told me many times before, he and his mother had always gotten along well. He must have come to the conclusion that it was time to move on and accept this new phase of her life. Besides, like I'd told him, her friends really were good folks. It wasn't going to hurt at all to get to know them.

            I finished my shoveling and walked up my driveway to the back door. I was thinking about Jerry and Helen. It was good he was going to make an effort to accept what his mother was doing and the new friends she was making. I know it sounds like a little thing and it may have been a long time coming and, yeah, I know change is hard, but you had to start somewhere. And that's what he was going to do. You couldn't ask for anything more than that. And, who knows, when all is said and done and for everyone concerned, it might turn out to be a pretty good new year after all.