Jimmy wants a ride -- again

   02-16-79

  

                Jimmy rarely wants to walk to the store. He is perpetually manipulating himself a ride from one of us living in the nearby apartments in Passaic: Garrick, me or Lewis. At times, he has dragged Frank all the way from Haledon to drive three blocks to the local Quik Chek.

                Tonight, a cold wind ripped through Passaic. Weather forecasters predicted continued extremely low temperatures – below freezing temperatures that has left the river top frozen into blocks of ice.

                Jimmy called me to ask for a ride to the store.

                I was the last on his list since I have been giving him a hard time lately about rides. But Garrick wasn’t home – likely off visiting relations elsewhere in the state. Lewis was on vacation. And Frank, snug under his electric blanket and in front of his newly acquired electric heater, refused to come.

                “I need a ride to Quik Chek,” Jimmy said. “You want anything?”

                This was an old gambit, always associated with his request for a ride.

                “I can’t give you a ride,” I told him. “My car is in the shop.”

                “I know,” he said. “I didn’t ask you for a ride. I just wanted to know if you wanted anything, since I’m headed across the river anyway. All alone.”

                I felt appropriately shamed for presuming the worst. After all, with the temperature so low, his offer actually seemed significantly generous, until I realized how much he had emphasized the last word: alone.

                I stayed quiet for a long time, glancing only briefly at my coat, hanging on a hook near the door.  I did not want to go out into the cold. But he sniffled slightly into the phone, suggesting he might be coming down with something.

                “You really can’t expect me to go to the store for you?” I said.

                “That wasn’t my intention,” he retorted. “But if you want to keep me company, I wouldn’t mind.”

                There it was: his actual intention. I glanced at my coat again, and at the gloves hanging out from each pocket – gloves so worn several figures had holes in them, a poor defense against the freezing temperatures we were to encounter.

                “All right,” I told him, letting out a long sigh of resignation. “I’ll walk with you.”

                “You will!”  he said. “You’re a real pal. I’ll meet you at the downstairs door in five minutes.”

                I hung up the telephone, cursing myself for my weakness.

                “Why the hell did I just agree to that?” I thought. “Even Frank had balls enough to tell Jimmy no.”

                But Frank had distance on his side, and I knew if I refused, I could expect a knock on the door within minutes, only to find the pathetic Jimmy standing at my stoop pleading with his stare.

                I stood up, stretched, then removed my coat from the back of the door. I already felt cold. But I was helpless to Jimmy, waiting ten minutes inside before making my way out to the alley. Even then I had to wait ten more minutes in the cold for him to arrive, a harried rabbit without a watch, taking the plunge into the frigid air.

                “I do appreciate this,” he told me. “But I sure wish you had picked a better time to get your car fixed.”