THANK YOU to everyone who entered the Share Your Story: Writing Contest in March. We received many outstanding essays, short stories and memoirs and regret that there can be only one winner. However, our next contest begins April 1: so remember to
Share Your Story for a chance to win!
The Right Thing: A Personal Essay
by Alex Barndollar
All I’d been doing was minding my own business, reading a book in Barnes & Noble when an older man sat down next to me. He was black, mid-sixties. Bundled up from the cold, he carried a cane in one hand. Reaching over to shake my hand, he introduced himself as Joe. A minute of silence had gone by when he started crying.
When someone starts crying, you’re going to ask if they’re all right. He launched into a tale of how his elderly mother had died the night before, and that he had been on his way to claim the body in West Virginia when his car had broken down outside the mall.
“I used up the money I had in my wallet getting the car towed to a garage, and my credit card is at home. All I need is some help.” The way he told his story was so genuine that I couldn’t help but feel bad. When he asked if I had any money on me, I gave him the twenty dollar bill I had in my wallet.
It would have been too easy to just direct him to mall security for help, wouldn’t it? But he was so genuine that I panicked.
And that’s when he asked me for a ride. Not immediately agreeing, I asked where he needed to go. He listed the name of the garage and it was familiar. Tears were still pouring down his face, and I knew that if I refused a ride I’d feel guilty about it for at least a year.
Next thing I knew, we were walking across the parking lot towards my car. Just to be safe, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911, ready to make a call should anything turn south.
I was an idiot for getting into this situation. The proper response would, again, have been to direct him to mall security for help. For all I knew, he could have had a gun under his coat. And the fact that I had the forethought to dial 911 should have been the kick in the ass I needed to realize I shouldn’t be doing this.
But it was just a ride to the garage, less than twenty minutes away. Right?
The trip to this garage soon took me down roads I’d never been on. All the while, he talked to me: asked where I went to school, what my major was. While the talk was friendly, my mind was going into overdrive. I could stop this and ask him to get out, but what if he had a weapon? And if he didn’t, would I just leave this old man out in the cold on a random street?
He was normal in appearance, with a friendly personality. But what if it was all an act? It would be easy to have me deliver him to a spot where his friends could be waiting to rob me, or worse. Would I be the cautionary tale they told to kids in elementary school about how talking to strangers can lead to horrible things?
What would my parents do if I didn’t come home that night? Would I see them again? What about my friends? Each of their faces flashed into my mind. I’ve always had a creative imagination, but in this case it wasn’t doing me any favors. My parents crying in a press conference flashed before my eyes with imaginary headlines, and the “doink doink” sound from (ital) Law & Order(end ital) kept going off in my head.
He thanked me as we reached a township 45 minutes away, not a place I would choose to visit. All he had to do was kill me when we got to our destination and he would have himself a new Honda Civic. Nobody would know to look for me there.
“Turn into that alley up there.” This was it. I was dead. “That alley between the buildings, with the DirecTV dish on the wall.” At this point, one hand had dug into my coat pocket and turned my phone on, ready to call the number. He reached into his coat as we pulled to a stop at a garage door. My heart was beating crazily, as if it knew that it was about to be silenced for good.
I was expecting a knife or a gun, but he pulled out a receipt and a pen and asked for my phone number. He promised he would pay me back, and got out of the car. Reaching back in, he shook my hand and told me he appreciated my help, and blessed me. As soon as the door shut, I locked it and backed out of that alley as fast as I could. Relief coursed through me, along with the urge to punch myself for being the world’s biggest idiot.
All I could do was drive. Twenty minutes afterward, my heart still racing, my phone rang. Pulling it out, I saw it was my best friend Peter. Pulling off to the side of the road, I answered it and immediately broke down in tears as I told him what had happened. He’d simply wanted to know if I wanted to order a pizza with him that night, so I’m sure he was confused by me bawling my eyes out when he asked if I wanted green peppers or not.
That night, Joe called me and intended to pay me back, asking if we could meet the next day. I refused, telling him not to worry and that I had to get back to school. He asked if I was sure, to which I said yes. Would he have paid me back? Maybe. Would he have asked for more money? Maybe. All in all, I was done with the whole thing.
AUTHOR'S BIO:
I'm a Corporate Communications major at Robert Morris University with an interest in writing and film. I hope to someday work in entertainment and successfully see one of my screenplays put to film.
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SHARE YOUR STORY WRITING CONTEST
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Luminari Coordinator, Beth Dolinar brings her talents and experience as a writer, Emmy-award producer, public speaker and deadline driven multi-tasker to our team. She writes a popular column for the Washington "Observer-Reporter." She is a contributing producer of documentary length programming for WQED-TV on a wide range of topics and currently teaches as an adjunct faculty member at Robert Morris University. Beth has a son and a daughter. She is an avid yoga devotee, cyclist and reader. Beth says she types like lightning but reads slowly -- because she likes a really good sentence.
