Walter

The wipers swoosh as they push the rain from my windshield. The rain’s gone from a steady march to a torrential assault. I roll my eyes. I was so done with this. We’ve had a week of this crap.

The meteorologists were all wrong today too, making it worse. Today was supposed to be the reprieve, our long-awaited break from the rain. No such luck.

I flip through the stations on my car radio. I’d been traveling more for work, mostly around the state, so I’d sprung for satellite radio. I’d been on a 90s kick for a while, some Nirvana and a little Hootie. Lately it’s been political talk radio. Yeah, yeah, I know. I know it’s not healthy for me. Guilty pleasure, I guess.

Another shooting in Minnesota. ICE again. This country was just going to hell. I listen to the interview from the victim’s father, and inevitably place myself in his shoes. I glance back at Tyler in the backseat, reading his comic book and oblivious to the radio. What if it was my son? How would I recover?

I pull into the parking lot, desperately searching for a close spot. Damn. Nothing even remotely near the store. We get out of the car and under the umbrella, which I’m just now realizing has a broken spoke. The umbrella slumps to one side, dumping pooled rain onto my shoulder.

We brusquely walk into the store, where we’re greeted by a space heater. Thank goodness for warmth. I take stock of the store, and it seems half the town is shopping here today. Nothing to do outside, may as well pick up groceries at Kroger today.

Again I curse the local meteorologists. They’d given me HOPE. I’d hoped to take my bike out for a spin. To play catch with Tyler. Maybe grill out. Minus rain, it would have been a nice spring day.

Of course, none of that will happen today. I’m resolved to go shopping - alongside everyone else in the city apparently.

I take a few steps into the store - and fall on my ass.

I’d missed the puddle inside the entrance. Apparently store workers had missed the puddle too, since no one has mopped it up or even put up a sign.

With a bruised tailbone and ego, I rise to my feet. Tyler’s trying not to laugh. A few other customers saw my mishap, but no one bothers to ask if I’m okay.

We get a cart and advance into the store. I pull up the grocery list on my phone, and head over to the produce section.

As we weave our way through the store, Tyler is getting more and more vocal about all the snacks he wants. Cereal, chips, ice cream. “Daaaaad, please?”

I love my son. But this kid needs to learn how to take no for an answer.

I firmly tell him we’re not getting more sweets today. The goal is to get in and out, as quickly as possible. He’s disappointed, and sulks alongside me.

At least I’m not the dad I see down the aisle. He’s pulling his son’s arm and dragging him along. The kid’s on the verge of a meltdown. Now, I know dealing with a tantruming kid is a challenge, especially in public. But literally dragging your child through the store’s probably not the best solution.

I’m caught looking at this man and son, and he gives me a nasty look. I avert my eyes, returning to my shopping last and my own sulking son.

Eventually, I find everything we need, and get into the shortest line I can find. I browse Facebook on my phone while I wait, scrolling through ads and suggested posts before I can find anything an actual friend posted.

My doomscrolling is interrupted when I’m nudged in the backside. I turn my head, and find the woman in line behind me slowly pressing her cart into me. I look ahead - there are still two people in front of me in line. There’s absolutely nothing I can do to speed things up. What does this lady possibly hope to accomplish by nudging ME? I give her a nasty look of my own, and step forward a half step. She stops - for only a minute or so.

The woman two spots in front of me finishes up, and the elderly man ahead of me approaches the cashier. Bored by social media, I study this man. He’s got to be at least 80, short and hunched over, balding with thick glasses. He’s wearing stained corduroys and an old sweater. He’s leaning on his walker, which has a “Trump 2028” sticker on it. Riiiight, buddy.

Unlike the rest of us, this man is in no hurry. He’s asking the cashier - who doesn’t seem to care - about her day. Talking about the rain and his garden.

“How was your weekend?” he inquires of her. She mutters something about a birthday party and continues scanning his groceries. She’s scanning about three times as fast as he’s unloading items from his cart.

The woman behind me nudges me again with her cart.

Tyler asks me if he can use my phone.

Meanwhile, I think the lights in here are giving me a migraine.

The man continues to chat away with the disinterested cashier as he slowly takes one item at a time from his cart.

“My wife used to love this brand of frozen pizzas, you know. Really good pepperonis.”

Just a nod and polite smile from the cashier.

Tyler asks again about my phone. I shrug him off.

“You’re not going to ID me for this beer, are you?” He chuckles to himself. Another polite smile from her.

I’m nudged again by the lady behind me. Geez lady, what am I supposed to do here?

Eventually, all the groceries are scanned and placed into a couple plastic bags. He really isn’t buying much… but this transaction is taking forever.

She gives him his total. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a checkbook.

Sweet Jesus.

“Now, who do I make it out to?”

Kroger.

“Today’s the fourteenth, right?”

Yep.

“Oh hell, my pen’s out of ink. Do you have one?”

Apparently this isn’t a request she gets often, because it takes the cashier some time to track down a pen. She hands it to him, and he shakily finishes writing the check.

Does this guy know what year it is?

FINALLY he picks up his two bags, and shuffles off with his walker. He’s operating in slow motion, and it’s a bit painful to watch.

Hopefully he got a better parking spot than I did. Oh, and watch out for that puddle, man.

I unload my cart, and even help the cashier bag everything up. I pay - nice and quick with Apple Pay - and then shoot the lady behind me one last nasty look before hurrying Tyler out of the store.

We make the long trek to the car with our broken umbrella, and I pull out of the lot.

I make it about an eighth of a mile down the street when I see the old man slowly shuffling along the sidewalk. He’s barely able to move his walker while holding onto the bags, and he has neither a hood nor umbrella.

I don’t know how far away he lives, but wherever he’s going this is going to be a long, wet walk for him.

I think again of the “Trump 2028” sticker and roll my eyes.

Then I pull over.

“Dad, what are we doing?” asks my son.

Now, I’ve never picked up a hitchhiker. I’ve always warned my son of the dangers of talking to strangers. Picking up a random old man might not be the wisest idea.

But on the other hand… this just seems like the right thing to do here. And what an opportunity to set a good example for Tyler.

“Excuse me… sir?”

He turns toward my car, unsure what to make of this. He squints at me.

“Yes?”

“Can I offer you a ride?”

He contemplates this. Seems like a no-brainer to me, but maybe he’s weighing the potential risk of getting into a car with a complete stranger.

“Oh, I live close by. I don’t want to be a bother…”

“It’s no bother. It’s pouring out here. You’ll be soaked.” You already are soaked. Take the offer.

He slowly nods, and then flashes a grin.

“Okay. Okay, if you insist. Thank you.”

He gets into the car - much like his movements while shopping, this is painfully slow. He places his walker and bags into the backseat next to Tyler, and sits down next to me.

“Where do you live?”

“Hawthorne Drive, about a mile or so thataway,” he tells me, pointing off into the distance.

I think I know the street. It’s just around the corner from Dunkin. We set off.

“Thanks again for the ride. They took my license away last month, and I’m still getting used to walking everywhere.”

“No problem… so, you don’t have anyone to drive you places?”

“Oh, my neighbor, she’ll take me to appointments and stuff. But I like walking to the Kroger. Keeps me independent. And of course, it wasn’t supposed to rain today…”

“Yeah. That threw me for a loop too.”

I look into the rearview mirror, and Tyler’s eyeing the man with suspicion. He’s also giving me a strange look, like he simply cannot believe his father’s doing this.

“I never caught your name…” I ask.

“Walter. Walter O’Connell. Yours?”

“I’m Nick. And this is Tyler.”

“Nice to meet you fellas. So Nick, are you from the area?”

“Yeah, born and raised. Went off to college for a bit - and I travel a lot for work - but I wouldn’t dream of calling anywhere else home.”

“Yes, yes, me too. Although… I do have to say, this neighborhood’s turned a bit. It’s gotten more dangerous. Darker.”

Whoa. Oh boy. I glance at Tyler through my rearview mirror and he seems confused by the comment.

Walter continues.

“I considered moving somewhere new after I retired, and after my wife passed. But at this age…”

I’m eager to change the subject.

“So, what did you do for a living? Before you retired?”

“I was a teacher. Taught high school for nearly fifty years. American History.”

“That’s great. History’s such an important subject.”

“Yes, yes, I agree. Unfortunately, I had to take early retirement.”

I’m afraid to ask. So I don’t. But he continues nonetheless.

“Yeah, some parents had issues with some of my lessons.”

Silence. I don’t want to know more.

“What do you mean?” Tyler speaks up. Damnit, Tyler.

“Well, despite all the evidence, many parents didn’t appreciate me informing my students about the dangers of vaccines. They really are problematic, you know?”

I’m not responding to this. Thankfully, Tyler keeps quiet as well.

“But my passion… every Thursday evening for years I’d volunteer at the food pantry. I grew up poor, so I wanted to give back as much as I could. But with my health going these past couple years…”

I nod. Well, at least he did that, I suppose.

“Hawthorn’s just up here to the right. I’m the fourth house down on the north side.”

I turn onto the road, eager to end this interaction.

I pull into his driveway and stop the car. I jump out, pulling his bags and walker from the back, and help Walter out of the car.

“Thanks again, young man. I really appreciate the ride.”

We shake hands and he slowly makes his way toward his front door.

As I get back into the car, Tyler asks me a question.

“What did he mean, Dad?

“About what?”

“When he said the neighborhood was getting darker?”

Ugh, how to answer this…

“Well… that wasn’t a very nice comment to make. He was referring to people with darker skin moving in. Not white people like him or like us. It… it was a very ignorant thing to say. Just not nice. He shouldn’t have said that.”

“Oh… okay. And Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s a food pantry?”

“It’s a place where people gather foods - canned and boxed goods, fruits and vegetables and stuff - and give them to people in need. They’re helping poor people who cannot afford to buy those things.”

I pause for a moment, considering this.

“Walter said a couple things that weren’t too nice. But he also spent his career teaching students. And helping the poor in his free time. People are complex, you know? Everyone has some good qualities, and some bad too. We’re all a mix. I think the key is to be more good than bad.”

Tyler doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s thinking it over. Or maybe he’s bored and moved on to his comic book. But I watch Walter walk in the rain. He takes a few steps, and stops, readjusting his grip on the bags. He approaches his door, and digs for his keys. The rain continues falling. It’s let up a little since we left the store.

Walter is indeed a complex person. We all are. Our conversation was weird. Awkward and uncomfortable. But as I watch the rain fall on my windshield, I’m glad I offered him a ride. It was an opportunity to help another human being, even one who is flawed. And in the meantime it was a good lesson for my son, even if it doesn’t sink in right away.

Walter is inside his home, and Tyler and I drive off, the rain slowly falling on the windshield, washing away the memory of this odd interaction.