Unexpected Trysts on the Road.

My recent post about Mario got me thinking of all the random strangers I've met over the years to share a brief moment of love. I usually don't like to talk about my good deeds (it's like boasting) but it doesn't seem like anyone is reading anyway--at least my kids and grandkids will know these things about my life and may follow suit. The story begins with Maria, a woman that lives in the area of South LA. She was the most recent and most memorable motorist to date. But first, let me provide some context.

My first car was a 74 Volkswagen superbeetle. The thing was so jerry-rigged that it had a kill switch right behind the seat shaped like a button to an arcade game. The car had a tendency to stall in traffic, in the middle of intersections, around corners, and in parking lots. When times got real bad, I would have to push it to get a rolling start and then jump in the driver seat to pop the clutch. I'd drive off, sweaty and short of breath, but at least I'd drive off.

Now, anytime I see a motorist stranded in the middle of the roadway, cars whirling by them with honking horns and evil stares, I just have to stop and offer a push at the very least. Maria was one of these pushes.

I've done this a number of times. Some of my most memorable pushes include a man with a lunch truck--a fucken lunch truck--in the intersection of Imperial Hwy and Domart Ave in Norwalk; the gent on the 101 southbound at the 134 transition during mid-morning traffic; a women and her daughter on Whittier Blvd and Maple in Montebello; a man with a moving truck in San Jose; some big burly white man with a motorhome at the intersection of Topanga Canyon Blvd and Schoenborn in Canoga Park; and a Latino couple on the corner of Union and 7th in the Pico-Union area. Funny the things that stay in one's head--and heart.

It's 3:30pm. It's Friday, I haven't eaten all day, and I can't wait to leave work. I call mom and ask if she wants to get some clam chowder at California Grill in Whittier. She's down, but in an hour or so, which is tolerable 'cause I've got rush hour traffic to deal with anyway. I'm looking to hop on the 101 south from Alameda, but street traffic is bottlenecking ahead of me.

And then I see Maria, stranded at the entrance to Union Station--Los Angeles and Alameda. I pull up to the side of the car, face oncoming traffic in my psuedo-AAA manner, and tell her in Spanish to "sit tight" and that I'll be back to help her move the car off the road in a few moments.

I return to the car to find an older woman in the passenger seat and an older indigenous-looking woman in the backseat. Their eyes stare at me in wonder. The woman in the backseat resembles my adopted 'Abuelita' and reminds me of my blood Nana. (Yet another reason to stop when you can). I tell Maria to worry about steering and I'll worry about pushing. A cholo at the bus stop comes over to help me push and we move the car into the driveway--we're all learning how to "Pay it forward" homie.

Once off the roadway, the older indigenous woman in the back seat passes me a "naranja " through the window. I don't know what was better: the awesome and random yet way-too-typical-gesture of our "gente," or their smiles of genuine gratitude. I'd later learn that they were coming from County Hospital and were on their way to an Acupuncture salon in Koreatown. Their long and rough day just got crazier.

I thought it was over when I pushed them into the driveway, but Maria's terrified--she doesn't have a license and she's worried about being deported. Being Mexican while stuck in the middle of an intersection in LA with a hooptie sends chills down your spine like ICE. I talk things over with the security--a real cool sista guiding traffic and a brotha who ranks as a Lieutenant. Man, no sweat. People of color know what it's like to have a car stall on your ass in mid-traffic. They even got one of the groundskeepers to help us push the car out of the driveway and into a side area.

4:00pm. Maria asks me if she can use my cell phone. She makes a couple of calls but can't get a hold of anyone. Her brother operates a shop with a tow truck, but his line is busy.

4:05pm. If I have to hear how I'm their "angelito" coming to their rescue one more time, the guilt will be unbearable, considering that my ex will testify to the exact opposite on most days. I just smile and maintain small-talk. Her mom and Abuelita are cool.

I'm 12 years old again chilling at my friend's pad chomping on candy like Tommy's, Duvalin, and pulparindo as all the family gets a kick out of the guero that has serendipitously entered their life. The memory grows fonder when they begin to treat me like family and promise me a home-cooked meal.

(At this point, I get lost in my own desires to alter life. Suddenly I'm Jules from Pulp Fiction and the thought of leaving behind life's bullshit comes into clear view--"You know, walk the earth, meet people...get into adventures. Like Caine from "Kung Fu").

4:10pm. I've asked her three times if she wants me to give her a ride somewhere--her brother's shop, her house to get help, a friend's place. She finally decides to go once her mother and grandmother say that they'll stay with the car. Uh oh, feels a little like a date and the "senoras" approve--you know how "gente" get.

4:20pm. We drive down Alameda, talking briefly about immigration reform, my experience with non-profit work, and how I learned Spanish at church when I was in my teens. She tells me of her crazy day and how she just can't believe this is all happening. She's real nervous (she's in the car with a perfect stranger and can't believe how close she was to being deported). We make a right on Washington Blvd.

I throw in a mixed Spanish CD--one of the only ones I have--that my ex gave me. It's got great songs about love and separation. The CD puts us both at ease. All I can think about is my ex and how we're over. She keeps talking about how her brother won't pick up the phone and how he's never around when they need him. The CD cauterizes the moment and reminds us how loved ones typically let you down--I'm feeling guilty again and sad at the same time. Somewhere near our left onto Western Ave, the topic turns to spirituality.

4:40pm. The loss of family comes up again for me. It's the next obvious transition from spirituality. The heavier side comes out. And she's got a story of her own. Seems her brother was killed recently. It's been tough on the family. We begin talking about how you see their face, hear their laughter, and remember their existence during the craziest of times. She tells me how her mom was crying in the car earlier--reminds me of my mom's pain, our family's pain.

4:45pm. We arrive at the shop. Her brother isn't there, but the staff will tell him what's going on once he arrives. I have to drive to Whittier anyway so I offer her a lift back to Union Station.

5:00pm. We roll North on Western. She points to an Acupuncture salon near Olympic and Western, saying this was the destination before her demise. The music inevitably makes us turn to the topic relationships. Of course I have to bring my broken relationship and quickly move to gender politics and gender roles--being the academic egghead that I am. She brings the conversation out of the heavens and tells me a little bit about her rough relationship with a past love. Machismo runs deep. I feel it pumping in my own veins and wonder if I'll ever be able to break the mold and come out of the Machismo closet. I tell her this and she laughs. Apparently I'm Machismo-lite compared to the men in her life. I've taken my route to work--down 8th, a left on Figueroa, and a right on Cesar Chavez. She flatters me and I blush.

5:30pm. We get back to Union Station. The older women emerge from the shadows. Somehow we all learn to blend in at one point or another. Again, they offer me a home-cooked meal and insist we exchange numbers. We do. Next thing I know, I'm heading to Whittier. (The orange 'abuelita' gave me was a nice desert).

Maria called on November 1st and tells me how she attended the West Hollywood Halloween Carnaval the night before. I laugh and tell her I did too. She promises to keep in touch and reminds me that she owes me dinner. The gestures nice although I don't think I'll ever take her up on the offer. She's older, we're from different worlds, and I need to heal.

Either way, thank God for those tiny little serendipitous moments where you can create a life-long memory for numerous people. Without these moments, I don't know where I'd be.