Sensible People

Christian is slowly progressing through stop and go traffic in his old ’89 Honda Civic. The car was named “Angelica” after his mother since it was difficult and undependable. He had gotten the car as a gift from the church where he was saved for some purpose or another but no one feels saved in traffic. His mother and teenage sister were with him on this drab but bright California winter day. His sister was also named after their mother but everyone called her Gee or Gigi. No one called their mother by her name either but it was unconsciously accepted by everyone that her name was actually Mom. She was not a well respected woman but no one doubted her maternal instincts. Between the one Angelica being called Gee and the other Mom you would have thought that the car was named for religious reasons.

Gee sits in the front seat staring out the window without speaking or listening. She has shotgun over Mom because she is a pregnant. Mom sits in the back cheerfully giving advice about pregnancy and motherhood. “Pregnant girls always get the front seat,” Mom explains to no one so that it seems more like a recitation of scripture rather than a conversation. “They are special, a gift, and need to be treated that way. You believe in God, you should know that.”

“You don’t even go to church, Mom.” Christian says half- heartedly.

“When I was pregnant your father always bought me flowers.” Mom continues without hearing.

In sensible families when a sixteen-year-old girl gets pregnant sensible mothers start talking about abortion or maybe adoption. Mom talks predominantly about milk. “Growing babies need a lot of nutrients,” she says. Mom would start keeping a gallon of milk in her van for her daughter and grandchild.

Neither Gee nor her mother had any idea how to take care of themselves. Mom lives in a van. Gee floats between welfare provided hotel rooms, friends’ couches and worst case scenario a warm and concealed dumpster. Mom burned all of her bridges with sensible family members with her learned helplessness and uncompromising morality. Gee’s pregnancy alienated anyone who might have pitied her for her eccentric mother. To sensible families both have become useful instructive tools in passing on sensible family values:

“You don’t want to end up like that Gee girl.”

“It is such a shame about that Gigi.”

“I blame her mother.”

“You could always move into my van.” Mom says hopefully.

“No, Mom!” Gee explodes impatiently. “I keep telling you I don’t want to live in your smelly van!”

“I just worry about the baby.” Mom says defensively dropping the subject.

Christian has not burned all of his bridges with his sensible family members. He is actually held in rather high regard. He could hold two jobs while going to college, had never been arrested, paid back what he borrowed and borrowed rarely. He actually agreed with Mom about the vibrant joy that is growing in his sister but was just sensible enough to keep this private. This discretion seemed to be a tight rope walked between two worlds. He did suffer guilt because he lived in a rented room in someone’s house while Mom lived in a van and his sister lived where she could.

Sensible people congratulated him saying that it was proper and fitting that he take care of himself first. “You got to look out for number one,” they would whisper to him as if they were conspirators. Christian did not resent them but between Mom’s influence and his conversion he had never developed the sensible belief that his self interest was the highest good to be achieved in one’s life. He was not as that sensible. Secretly he planned to support Mom and Gee but believed that they would be best cared for by him graduating college.

Strictly speaking Christian might have been a saint but he was not perfect. The very least of his sins was that he was a selfish driver. On the freeway there is an exit which other than leading into the city also leads directly back to the freeway. Using this as a shortcut is the grown up equivalent of cutting in line. Christian was perfectly aware he was stealing someone else’s spot and ultimately making more traffic for those behind him. If his mother thought about the ethics of driving one tenth as much as she did about milk she would say something to shame him. But with a growing baby in the car, she was content so long as her son do not go over the speed limit or change lanes too often.

Despite his conscience Christian is overpowered by a desire to go faster than ten miles-per-hour. It was during that small happiness he was attempting to steal that Gee saw her crawling along the side of the freeway.

“Christian! Pull over! Pull over!” she called out urgently almost panicking “There’s a dog on the side of the road!”

Christian was scared for a second but then was relieved it was just a dog. If Mom had not been in the car he would have kept driving but she WHO BIRTHED HIM, CARED FOR HIM AND PROTECTED HIM UNTIL HE GREW UP INTO THE MAN SHE ALWAYS KNEW HE WOULD BE was there so there was only one way I could go. The whole family was sentimental about animals and Christian not the least so. He only needed the most to be reminded what he really believed in.

Sensible people think of Christian as a sort of pet moral figure, the kind of saint that fits on the dashboard of an expensive automobile. They pat him on the back, make sure he doesn’t drop out of college and say how great it is he likes to go to church. Christian accepts this cheap applause and does not bother to correct those who misunderstand him since they don’t think so highly of him to mimic his lack of sensibility about family or dog.

Because of the gift of his mother’s heart Christian was resolve. He knew what was right. Without a word he pulled over on the side of the freeway and got out of his car. He didn’t expect much. If a dog gets hit on the freeway there was only one way it could go.

It was cold enough, by California standards, to wear a jacket. He only owned one jacket. His mother’s sensible step-dad had started a tradition a couple years earlier of buying all of the grown grandchildren matching ugly jackets. It was not known if he knew with what irony they received this gift. But for the frugal patriarch buying six Christmas presents for under $75 forgave all crimes of fashion. Some might say that he is cheap but for many of his sensible grandchildren a simple Christmas visit or even a phone call was too expensive a gift to give. The steady disintegration the sensible family made the old man’s Christmas shopping less and less costly; year by year the picture of amused faces in neon denim jackets had grows less and less crowded. This family disintegration had also been a serious blow to the homeless community who had cause to give thanks for the grandfather’s frugality. Soon after Christmas the local panhandlers were beyond pitiable in their lime green and feces brown jackets.

This year however Christian kept his jacket. It showed Mickey Mouse inviting others to a theme park that Christian had never been to. He had inherited his Gramps’ meanness about money out of necessity. This jacket wasn’t too bad. Christian might not wear everything I had been given but would rather go without than pay $20 for something he liked better. Aside from that he had become touched with affection for his Gramps, who faithfully (though not extravagantly) remembers grandsons who never remembered him on Christmas or any other day.

Buttoning his jacket Christian trotted along the side of the freeway. His mother had moved to the driver’s seat and said she would take the next exit, turn around and wait for him on the overpass they had driven under. “I worry about being on the side of the road with the baby,” she explained.

Christian headed back towards the overpass, which rose above the freeway and the frontage road that was an entrance to, an exit from and shortcut through the freeway. The frontage road was separated from the freeway by a cement divider but the frontage road was separated from a large open field by a short fence made of an interval of short wooden posts that held up a rail designed to bounce back reckless drivers. The field was newly landscaped with sapling trees and tanbark meant to beautify the long stretch of crowded concrete. The occasional traffic along the frontage road was impatient hotshots, like Christian, who would aggravate the traffic for others just to be able to drive forty miles-per-hour for ten seconds.

It was with the drone of indifferent motorists that Christian first saw her lying down in the tan bark ten feet away from the frontage road. When Gee had seen her, she had enough will to crawl but now lay like one dead. Christian knew there was only way it could go. His mind immediately thought of nightmare stories he had known, where monsters with human faces would throw a bag of unwanted kittens into a lake. This same kind of creatures might take their dog for a ride and make a quick stop on the side a freeway. These amazingly sensible people would then return to their other dependents with stories of a farm where their dog could play with lots of other dogs and be happy.

This dog, however, had a collar and tags. It was more likely that she was a lost dog. Her family was only human and even the noblest of dogs doesn’t know better than to explore an open gate, never knowing or believing that it could lead to dying on the side of the freeway. Maybe pictures of this dog being hugged by happy children already were posted on telephone poles and shops in the neighborhood she would never see again. From a distance Christian could read her tag; her name was “Michelle.”

Michelle was a mutt with some pit bull. Her coat was cheaper than Christian’s jacket, red and brown and black and white. She had been a puppy not long ago but her carefree days were behind her and would never return. She had been hit by a car, and it had crushed her hip or broke her hind legs or cracked her spine. She lay down whining in way that sounded both like her prayers and her last rites. There was only one way it could go.

Christian had been called to be with Michelle in her pain, suffering and humiliation. All of which would most likely define the end of her life, as it does for most of us. Christian had been raised with dogs and cats, strays and domesticated. He imagined himself somewhat of a dog-whisperer, able to charm skittish and abused animals into trust or acceptance. This would not work out very well with Michelle. Though he only courted her with love and sympathy they never became friends. Though for his part Christian was always her friend.

The best advice is to never get close to a strange dog. All dogs are defensive and protective creatures; even a friendly dog will bite when startled. It is best to make your presence known and if the dog is willing to let it come towards you. Michelle would not approach anyone in friendliness or ferocity ever again. Without the use of her hind legs she was not a dangerous dog unless someone came close. But getting close is just what Christian had a mind to do. Christian could read the tag with Michelle’s name but she had another tag which identified her family, those who would rush from their sensible plans to be with their loved one if only to be there at the end.

With this in mind Christian lowered his head, keeping it submissive and if he had a tail would have put it between my legs. He reached out his hand slowly, flat and low for Michelle to smell. This is good manners when dealing with dogs but Michelle was not accepting invitation. She started to growl to let Christian know that he was not welcome but he still inched forward. She tensed to sit up and begin what might have been a bark or a bite. But this put pressure where she was most hurt and all that came out was a sharp whine. Christian’s jumped back which caused Michelle to also jump back despite the pain. He approached again, slow and close to the ground. He hoped that she would trust him, either out of intuitive kinship or in desperation. He only came for her good, and she certainly didn’t have any bite left in her. But each inch he moved towards her she whined, growled and with anguish jerked two inches away from him. He moved forward in pained compassion, and she moved back in pain and more pain. Hopelessly she began urinating on herself as she still desperately tried to escape the only man who loved her. Seeing her shame and the end of her life Christian wondered how he had imagined he had ever known the meaning of love or pity before this moment.

At this point Christian’s main concern was no longer his own sensible desire to avoid being bitten but that in pain and ignorance Michelle was throwing herself further and further towards the freeway. The fence which bounced careless drivers would not stop a crawling dog from meeting one more indifferent or malicious motorist.

Christian backed away and began to circle around so that if Michelle did back away from him then at least she would also be moving away from the freeway, its indifference and death. He took off his jacket and held it front of him like a matador. Michelle never took a suspicious eye off of him but was confused enough that he could drape the jacket, the little warmth he had, over her injury and shame. She lay under her jacket like one already dead; content to move no more.

Sentimental sensible people would be greatly moved by a man giving his only jacket to a dying dog. They wouldn’t be wrong to think it was caring but it was only a small victory. Christian had given up something he had been given and didn’t really like. Elsewhere in the world a mother hen was devoured by a fox while covering her chicks under her wings; a gentle husband and father placed his mortal body between his family and the horrors of war. Even they did not face great battles, any talk of pacifism or flight would be a betrayal; it would be an abomination. Up to this point Christian had not fought a battle or earned a victory; he had merely displayed the bare nakedness of the man he was raised and saved to become.

Christian’s battle was not for Michelle’s life, which was lost before he knew. His battle was to revenge her against the indifferent and sensible slayer of men and Michelle. Her only help would come from those greater than him. Animal Control, or whoever, would subdue, sedate and save her, read her name and call her family. Christian saw there was only one way it could go.

Long ago Tinsel, the majestic german shepherd, had been put to sleep by Christian’s mother. It was after a long life that was being over-overwhelmed by illness and anguish. She was humanely put to rest surrounded by the loud weeping of a caring family. Mom believed that Tinsel was the canine personification of her own motherly spirit. She was the only one who could have made the decision and she painfully chose out of love. Still Mom had stayed in bed for a whole week after the experience. Sensible family members did not understand how the end of Tinsel’s life was the beginning of Mom’s homelessness; just as Gee’s pregnancy was the beginning of her recovery.

The only desperate hope Christian held on to was that Michelle would breathe her last surrounded by her weeping family in the same way. This would require the aid of those who carelessly passed him by as if the walls of their cars demarked the end of creation. Christian was not against technology and though many of his friends and peers had cell phones Christian did not. This was simply a matter of expense and it was a time in Christian’s life when a cell phone would have been a luxury rather than a way of life. This put him in the blessing and curse of poverty: the need to ask for help.

Though little time had passed the traffic on the freeway had cleared up enough so that the average speed was somewhere between twenty and thirty miles per hour. After the pace the motorists had been enduring this would have been quite delightful. This pick up in the pace on the freeway made the even greater speed of the frontage road more tempting like a bite of food increases rather than decreases the appetite. Speed is a powerful stimulant. It seems to promise that if one could just move quickly enough they could escape the four walls of their cars and the four walls of traffic and the four walls of the prison of their sensible little life. The addiction of speed is the belief that if a person moves quickly enough one day they will never need to hurry ever again. Beyond the speed of light there is a place where one can sit restfully surrounded by happy children and a family dog. Those tempted by the delight of increasing power and control of their environment are those least likely to slow down and help someone on the side of the road. After all people could get robbed or killed that way. It was not sensible to stop on the side of the freeway to help a stranger who might need help, not sensible at all.

This illusion would be Christian’s enemy. First, he politely stood by the side of the frontage road imagining that someone would see him, slowly and safely come to a stop and ask him if he needed help. He then tried calmly waving to the passing cars. Christian would have waved a little more urgently but felt that this would have frightened motorists. Many sensible people who admire and respect Christian also believe that he is a little naive.

The traffic, however, was more than indifferent to his need. Several cars belligerently honked their horns at him as if I were disturbing the sanctity of their octane powered orgasm. One car slowed enough to throw a soda at him while yelling obscenities. This is a sensible reaction and should be expected if you think about it there was no good reason for him to be at the side of the road in such a way.

It was after this that Christian would have to face my true battle. He realized he could not make the indifferent care anymore than I could heal Michelle’s wounds. But up to this point he had been reasonably sensible or at least polite to the sensibility of others. He had always walked the line between what is sensible and what is right. His silence let it appear that he gave lip service to Moloch while in my heart I never cherished those golden calves. Meek and mild was nice and fine but when the horn signals the charge a person must either slink away a failure or else valiantly lift his banner high and proudly charge towards the front.

So Christian stepped out into the middle of the frontage road that had taken Michelle’s youth away, he placed his mortal body in the middle of the road so that none could remain indifferent. He wisely didn’t actually want to be hit so did wave his arms energetically, but his legs were firmly placed on the solid ground. He didn’t think it was likely that even the heady pleasure of speed would lead someone to actually run him over but it was not outside the realm of possibility. Certainly at this time he was not placing his trust in a general respect for the sanctity of life. If anything he would say his only protection was the belief that running him down would have been more of an inconvenience than stopping for him. But beyond that he was putting his trust in the fact that there actually are some things worth dying over.

Christian stood defiantly in the middle of the road that yearly killed more men than handguns. There were no witnesses except a dying dog and yet Christian was standing in front of the whole world of sensible people and openly declaring “I AM NOT ONE OF YOU!“ He was placing his immortal soul between the world and the horrors of hell. If had been Christian himself it would have been too great of a trail but he was not alone and if any victory was to be had it was because of this truth. Still at this moment Christian stood in the middle of a highway for no greater reason than the fact that a dog was dying on the side of the road.

The first car he tried to stare down was a beat up pickup truck with an elderly Mexican man in the driver’s seat and a dog in shotgun. It was rather anticlimactic. The driver didn’t resent seem to resent Christian for holding him up. His eyes did not accuse him of insubordination, of being part of a divine rebellion. He seemed mildly concerned but unworried as if it was just someone in need in of little help.

“Do you have a cell phone?” Christian shouted out as politely as possible.

He poked his head out the window and answered “No.” with a heavy Mexican accent. Christian moved aside to let him pass. The man paused and asked if anyone was hurt. “A dog on the side of the road.” was Christian could say and felt rather stupid.

Behind the pickup truck a car had been forced to stop because of the considerate Mexican’s question. The car honked at him and me and the whole world for being so cruel to it. That car had a man trapped inside who yelled obscenities at Christian as he passed.

Still Christian would have to make war against the freeway a second time. As soon as there was a break in the passing cars he planted himself in the middle of the road again and waved his arms to be seen. This time the care he stopped was an expensive Jaguar with a successful seeming business man in the driver’s seat. He seemed to personify all of the hopes and expectations Christian’s sensible family members had for him. Expectations he was now openly rejecting.

Christian met the drivers eyes immediately locked in what would become a battle of wills. The motorist immediately looked into Christian’s demeanor and knew this was nothing he would consider an emergency.

“Out of my way,” the driver’s eyes commanded as the sun shined brightly on his expensive automobile.

“No.” was all Christian’s eyes said.

“I could just run you over,” his eyes threatened. The powerful engine purred in bloody readiness.

“And increase your insurance premiums?” Christian’s eyes mocked, his proximity to sensible people taught him the depths of their hearts.

“Well,” the man’s eyes reasoned, “I could just move ahead slowly. You couldn’t stop me.”

“Oh,” Christian’s eyes laughed, “But I might scratch your lovely Jag.” Christian’s eyes said nothing more.

“Ugh,” the man’s eyes relented in guarded desperation. “What do you want?”

Christian felt no embarrassment that he extorted charity from this man, this man who still hadn’t even opened his window to find out what was needed.

“Do you have a cell phone?” Christian yelled out while making a phone signal with his hand. The man nodded and reached over to pick up his top-of-the-line PDA cell phone. Seeing his expensive toy a sense of power grew in him. When his eye contact broke from Christian his anger increased again. It was as if a random pedestrian had knocked on the door of his home, his private residence, while he was in the bathroom, while he was on the toilet and knocked and knocked until answered and then had the audacity to come inside only to use his phone! When their eyes met again the man’s eyes raged like a lake of fire.

Christian signaled the numbers “nine, one, one.”

“Oh you better believe I am calling the police,” the man’s eyes said. But Christian was immune to his rancor. It was impotent rage. Perhaps he would never join his country club or wouldn’t get that home loan but Christian was not one of him. The man had called the highway patrol and that was all I required. Christian had won.

Now, if Christian weren’t white he might have been a little more nervous about having to explain all of this to a police officer. But as it was, he was not only white but a clean cut white kid with no criminal record and a list of reference from pastors, school teachers and sensible home owners declaring that he was a “a good guy, a little naïve but a good guy.” So Christian was content to walk over to the fence where I could see Michelle’s slow and painful breathing without disturbing her. He pleasantly smiled and waved at the Jaguar as it drove past him to God knows where.

Christian sat a good ten minutes before anything happened. He saw his mom drive by on the overpass and imagined his mom and sister seeing him sitting by the side of the freeway doing nothing. But as he sat there next to the freeway a woman in her car saw him, slowed her car down and came safely to a halt. She got out of her car and walked towards Christian asking “Do you need any help?”

Christian’s first reaction was that there must be something wrong with this woman. Then their eyes met.

“There is so much to live for,” her eyes pleaded. “Don’t do it.”

This woman thought he was thinking about suicide. She had stopped on the side of the freeway and exposed herself to danger from cars and maybe a dangerous man. This would have been easy to explain if she were ugly seeming or lonely seeming but she was just a normal woman neither too young nor too old. Christian blushed like Adam meeting Eve. Embarrassed he spoke words about this dog on the side of the road but his eyes said “I am one of you!”

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked as he looked down at the ground.

“Oh, yeah, animal control or whoever is on the way, and my mom is waiting with my car up there on the overpass.” Christian couldn’t say anything else except to thank her for caring and she drove away.

Not that much longer a highway patrolman approached Christian. He had parked his cruiser somewhere further down the road where it wouldn’t be in danger of being hit. He was a muscular black man and walked towards Christian behind dark sunglasses and one hand near his holster.

It took the officer about two seconds to figure out what Christian was not: crazy or dangerous. Most people with any experience with authority quickly come to see Christian as a tall and rather well behaved child. Regardless of what the highway officer thought he saw in Christian he was trained to be exceedingly polite and exceedingly careful, his hand was only away from his holster once.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said with authority. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Did someone call you about the dog?” Christian ask naively.

“No, sir,” he replied. “I received a call about a pedestrian on the side of the highway.”

“Yeah,” Christian answered half laughing, half embarrassed “That would be me.” The call to the police probably had a lot stronger words than “pedestrian.” Christian explained briefly about seeing the dog and not being able to get the tags. “So I tried to get someone to call animal control.”

He didn’t mention a lot of things. But his jacket on Michelle and his eyes said a lot more than his words. After this the patrolman softened a great deal. He was still very businesslike and efficient but he put his authority away as if he were off duty and dealing with a young man he had seen grow up.

Christian turned the whole thing over to him. There was nothing more he could do. He noticed that he actually pretty cold. The patrolman was talking into his radio Christian stopped paying attention to him.

“Well,” he said after a minute, “animal control is on their way. Where is your car?”

“My mom is up there on the overpass.” Christian said pointing. He could see Angelica driving past.

“Go ahead and walk up there from here,” he said.

“There is nothing more I can do,” Christian thought to himself unconvincingly. Most likely Michelle would die alone, if she wasn’t dead already. Her guardians would receive a phone call that was cold and clinical telling them that she had been hit by a car. There was a chance that they could have been called before Michelle was euthanized. She could die surrounded by weeping, caring family members. But there was also a chance her family was rich and could buy all of the medical costs to give her a new hip or legs or spine. She would soon be happily playing with other dogs on a farm far away from this freeway and all of our sinfulness. “There is nothing more I can do,” he said to himself again and received no comfort from the words.

But before he left the highway patrol man took off his sunglasses with his left hand and looked Christian in the eyes while shaking my hand with his right. “Well done, young man,” his eyes said.

Still Christian walked towards the overpass feeling like a failure when the Word of the Lord came upon him and declared “IF I WOULD SEND YOU, MICHAEL, A BELOVED ONE, TO CARE FOR ONE DYING DOG. WHAT WOULD I NOT DO FOR OTHERS WORTH SO MUCH MORE?” Like most miracles this message was in one ear and out the other.

When Angelica pulled up Christian was shivering.

“What happened?” Gee asked.

“She was hit by a car. I got someone to call animal control.”

“Did they say what they were going to do for her?” his mom asked as she scooted over to let him drive. “I mean she will probably need surgery!”

“Damn it, Mom! Don’t be stupid. They are going to put her to sleep! No one does reconstructive surgery for stray dogs on the side of the road! Grow up!”

“Jeeze, Michael,” Gee said after a minute, embarrassed by Christian’s inexplicable and uncharacteristic anger.

“Well, you don’t know what they are going to do,” Mom said defensively. “But if decent people were in charge of this world even stray dogs would get everything they need.” In her own hurt she added “You should learn to control your temper.”

Christian didn’t say anything and before long his mother was continuing on and on about everything pre-natal. Gee was again silently staring out the window and Christian drove on, as if nothing had ever happened.