Comments on the moment, navigating the tides of inspiration, the surge and ebb of energy and thought, of desire and loss, of action and lethargy, of breath. Like a statue of a wall, a representational mood holds my hands and lifts my dreams to reach for a newer means of finding the loss that freedom releases into the arms of fulfillment, letting go of certainty to grasp indecision like a blanket of comfort to a lonely child.
Finding all decisions of intended refreshment in late evening repast to be stymied in the closed box of tardy arrival, we were forced to find dine outside the box and in the bookstore, where a meal is more than a bite to eat and a feast is as good as can be scene from a play of words. Time remained of the essence, like being scent (a & d rising or falling with the salving of the situation) from heaven’s gates at closing time, the clock on the wall was a door that asked us to hit the floor and not to let the sweep of remonstrative salutory adieu’s catch our coats on the far side of the egress as the outviting hand offered one last push. No worries, for humor was found to reside in the situational aspect (once I chewed and swallowed the rest of my last bite).
(Re)acquiring motovational conveyhence to apply our mode back to the old homestead, I opted for a directly roundabout flight plan and followed the wheels of fate to the direction in which they were already rolling, holding the scenic tour of suburbital parking maze orbit (writing off the passed like a cursive, malladdiction shortcut), toward the far side of comic fate when all of a sudden, out of the dark night and into our heading lights, a stop sign appeared. So we stopped. Our intended vectoring from this nexus moment was interrupted by the odd appearance of a man pushing a sedan along the outer drive of empty parking lot directly in our sights, struggling step by hard-effort step in a most curious potential solution to the high price of fuel. A scrolled down window and curious query brought forth the response that (price notwithstanding) the labored vehicle was bereft of energizing gas and was being thus manually directed onward in search of a place of repose while the one-manpower engineer sought solution with which to remedy this lack. Being of good neighborly attitude and open to adventure’s potential call, I set our own ship to anchor, hopped out and helped give motion to the last few feet as the car slid up to (with a quick scurry of the misfortuned traveler into the driver’s seat to apply steering and brakes) the curb along the roadway.
The hapless fellow adjoined me and spoke of his intent to seek the means to address his steed’s thirsting needs and I asked if he had contacted the police about his predicament, in that his parking place was along the mall’s outer roadway and not in a less obtrusive, relegated parking space. His brow-knit negative response elicited further comment from me in the suggestion that we perhaps give the situation push to shove and move his car to a more acceptable resting place among the hundreds of empty options so close at hand. He acquiesced, got back in the driver’s seat and I leaned down into my hands and arms with a mighty heave to oof myself right up against the immobile contour of the trunk. I heard him yell, “Sorry, I forgot to take it out of park,” as I resumed straightened stance. I set to again and was quite relieved to have the car pull smoothly away from the curb, across the drive, into the parking area, glide into a demarcated space and gently jerk to a stop. He climbed out and came back to me in the mild cool of the night’s air, wearing a long sleeved pull-over shirt on top of a t-shirt as the only covering against the mid-forty degree temperature. I asked if he had a jacket and he replied no. He introduced himself as Dan, said he was twenty-three (oh the innocent foibles of youth), from Palatine, which is a Chicago suburb some twenty-five minutes of driving away to the south, and that he was in the area to visit friends in Libertyville, about five or ten minutes further north. He had been debating this desire (for some unmentioned reason) in the parking lot of the mall and had subsequently run out of gas. He voiced his intent to find a gas station in the immediate vicinity and, being familiar with the environs, I had to inform him of the great lack of such to be found within that land of malls, stores and restaurants. I had a moment of thought in looking to my car, where Dianne was patiently waiting, and seeing that if we were to continue on our way home, a turn to the left would be right, but if we did so then that would cause this poor soul to be left and that would not be right, while on the other hand if we did diametrically oppose our homeward direction and turn into the right, the correct humanitarian effort could be addressed, the moment seized in compassionate good karma and our eventual road home would still be left to follow once our good deed was accomplished. So I answered adventure’s open call and offered him a lift to find a suitable oasis for his proverbial camel’s liquid needs. We humped on over to my car and I put my mind to the task of locating the direction that would be most likely to present a required facility. I suddenly remembered that there was such a place just across from the other side of the mall from where we were and, after we had hurriedly made room for our new companion in the back seat, took that right turn toward the gas and succor. I had asked him about his financial status and was somehow not surprised to learn that he had a total of $5.45 and no container in which to transport gas back to his car. I told him not to worry and that we would figure something out, knowing full well in my mind that this meant buying the container myself.
We drove around the mall’s outer circle, crossed over the thoroughfare on the other side to pull into the bright lights of salvation. I parked along the side of a one of the sets of pumps and Dan and I climbed out, walked over to the small kiosk situated in the middle of the lights and consumer action and asked the occupant if he had any gas cans. In a thick Hindi accent, through the small, muffling speaker disc set in the (probably bullet-proof) glass above the pay slot, he spoke a series of words several times, gesturing avidly with arms, hands and fingers, that I finally was able to discern as a summed up, “No.”
Dan and I returned to the car and he suggested that we go back to his car so he could push it (the half mile of dark, curving by-way) back to the station and get his gas straight from the source. I didn’t really see this as a viable option and Dianne said we could nip across Route 60 (the main east-west roadway that bordered the south side of the mall and gas station) to go to Wal-Mart and purchase a gas container there. Dan was reluctant to do this, as he did not want to be (any more) in our debt, and he said he could call his friends to come get him. However, they were not answering and I dissuaded him from calling his parents in Palatine. In response to our good natured cajoling, he reluctantly agreed that a trip across the way was then next logical solution. As we made our way over there, I asked if he had seen the movie Pay It Forward, and when he said that he had I told him to do just that and give aid to someone who might need it in his future. He looked a bit thoughtful at this and I told him that we were just doing the right thing. We pulled up in front of Wal-Mart and our luck in arriving just in time to be too late, as we had experienced in trying to find dining earlier, held true as we read the sign on the door find that the store had closed at 10:00 pm, about twenty-five minutes earlier. I was of good cheer, into the situational comedy and did my best to spread this mood to Dan, and we continued back out to Route 60 and further west in search of a larger gas station where we could find solution to his woes.And, another mile down that way, there was an open store that fit the billing, across on the other side of the road, to which we directed our thoughts and action. He and I climbed out, entered the small convenience-store market, mentioned our need and were directed to the upper shelf along one wall where three small plastic gas cans sat in bright red beauty, like Christmas presents in March. I reached up, grabbed one and took it to the counter where Dan was running a plastic card through the credit reader and finding no luck in having it register. It seems that the machine was not designed to accept gift cards from other stores, even if the amount on it was at least $1.19 (as he explained to the clerk). I told Dan not to worry, pulled out my credit card, slid it through the reader and paid for the container. I took it out to the pump that I had parked the car next to and waited while Dan paid his $5.45 in advance for gas. He came out and I set the open can on the ground and instructed him to hold it steady. Dianne clamored out of the car to keep an eye on the monetary gauge, Dan held the can down firm on the ground and I handled the dispenser in directing the flow of fuel into the can’s opening. It was full by $4.50 and Dan said to put the rest into my car. It was evident that the only way to close the container was to place the pouring spigot (that Dan had removed and was holding) on the hole and cap it with the plastic piece attached to it. Dan wrestled with this for several seconds, finally tearing the two pieces of plastic apart and covered the end of the spigot, only spilling a little gas in the process. We all three returned to the car and pulled out back onto 60 as the grand reek of gasoline filled the interior threatening to asphyxiate us all. We put the windows down and suffered the chill breeze as a more preferred discomfort.
As we drove I spoke to Dan, still in the spirit of adventure and good-neighborliness, admonishing him to take a jacket when he venured out, just in case a situation arose to chill his warm intentions into cold reality, and to carry a bit more fundage or at least to be more aware of where he was and what he was doing, for helpful folks like us (with a congenial smile) don’t always appear when needed. I told him of Dianne’s and my art business, my lately finished book and the reader’s group that Dianne had set up. I felt a spirit of destiny and camaraderie, a sense that this was meant to come together, a feeling of belonging to the moment. I joked with Dan that he would become the Palatine connection in our business, giving him great opportunity to become a part of the positive force that Dianne and I are convinced our efforts will be creating, to find a new direction for his life. I was excited and convinced that the events which had brought us all together were caused by a gathering of energies, a coalescing of similar karmas, a part of some great cosmic scheme which would grow and thrive with the continued addition of more like minded/spirited people. I asked him how he had met these Libertyville friends and he said through a church group, which I took as a reinforcement of his good nature and my positive feelings.
We pulled up along his car again, got out and he put most of the couple gallons into the tank as I told him to save a little in case the engine needed priming to start. In my younger days, in situations not too unlike the one he had found himself in, I learned that loosening the screw holding the air filter container cover and pouring a very small bit of gas so that it leaked into the gap where the screw head came out, would aid in getting the engine to turn over. But when he tried the ignition, the car fired up immediately, negating the need for such tactics.Relief was a palpable emotion that played across his face as he told us that the amount of gas now in the tank was quite enough to see him back home to Palatine. He stepped out of the car and Dianne had a couple business cards and six dollars that she handed to him, telling him to contact us and that we would stay in touch. He looked at the cards, saw the money underneath and immediately handed it back, declining any such efforts to give monetary aid. I tried to hand him the (smelly) can and he said no, that I had paid for it and it was mine. I didn’t want it, but he refused to take it. I asked him to pass the word along about the discussion group for my book and to tell people about the web sites, but, as he slid back into his car he said he didn’t want to commit to anything, that he didn’t know about doing what we asked. He was suddenly quite defensive and cautious, saying thank you and that he didn’t want to become involved in something he didn’t really know about, to which we replied that there was no commitment expected and that it was just a favor we asked for him to tell others about our sites and our work. He said he didn’t think he could do that. I asked what his phone number was so we could stay in touch and he said no, he couldn’t do that either. I was a bit miffed by his sudden, closed up reluctance, but refrained from pointing out that we had certainly aided him and that it would be nice for him to return the favor, for I didn’t want to be pushy and reinforce his defensiveness.
He closed his door, backed up and pulled away.
I put the toxic-fumed container in the back of the car and Dianne and I climbed in to the front, surprised, perplexed and somewhat indignant at the chill in the sudden leave taking that Dan had performed. What had happened ... and why? I thought about it and decided that I may have come on too strong in my announcing that he would be our connection in Palatine, for he did not know us and we could have been representatives of some weird cult or organization. Perhaps we seemed to be a bit outlandish in his eyes, or perhaps his parents had warned him against talking to strangers. I was greatly saddened and hurt by his insensitive actions, but I still felt glad that we were there when he needed help and that we were able to gift him with it. So my view of the great cosmic scheme for positive energies meeting and coalescing turned out to be just so much hot, imaginary air that cooled, and flowed back out the windows of my open mind, quite like the fumes we sought to be rid of through the car’s open windows as we drove the fifteen minutes home, our thoughts stumbling over the evening’s strange and somewhat disappointing memories. Yet, even so, we both agreed that it had been an interesting adventure, that we were glad to have been able to aid Dan in his time of need and that all in all it was a worthwhile endeavor that, in spite of his reaction, had brought a bit more positive energy and good karma into the world.
Written by Michael Steven Platt 4-04-2009
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