Anti-Climactic Ending

This evening was interesting. After unexpectedly bumping (quite literally) into an old friend at Yats, I went with a couple other friends to a screening of the new movie How to Train Your Dragon. I thought it was a documentary about how to train dragons; I was partially right. After that we went to Broad Ripple to patronize The Egyptian, but upon arriving we decided we didn't want to wait in a line, so we opted instead to go back to the apartment. We drove across town and wound up hanging out a bit, catching up and discussing life over a sampling of beer and hookah, which make for a splendid partnership. It was enjoyable. Then we watched Up, which I hadn't seen. I thought it was quite good, much better than the evening's earlier animated affair.

Many hours later, at about 3:30 in the a.m. I began the lugubrious task of driving home. I got to the intersection of Kessler & Meridian to find a billowing cloud of smoke, and in the middle of the haze was a stationary car. I paused behind it, while through an entire light cycle a handful of other vehicles passed and went on their merry, early morning ways. I sat and thought about it and decided that I wouldn't just pass without inquiring. I considered the relative safety (or lack thereof) of the situation, and decided that I would approach on his driver's side and let down my passenger window. I did so. My caution meter was at guarded.

The guy in the car—who seemed a bit flustered and perhaps surprised to see someone beckoning him roll down his window—rolled down his window. I asked if he needed to make a phone call; he said he did. I'm not stupid, I'm not putting my phone in this guy's hands, nor am I putting my body within arm's reach of him. Still seated in my car, I pulled out my phone and told him I could inform someone of his location. I asked the number, which he gave me. I paused mid-dial: "Northwest Indiana?" "Yeah!" It was a 219 area code. No answer. "No answer! You want me to leave a message?" I tried another number, also 219; also no answer, and again I left no message. Two calls, no answers, and he didn't have me leave a message. My caution meter rose to ominous. I asked where he was headed. He asked which way was south on Meridian, to get downtown. I pointed and told him. He wondered if he could get a ride to some hotel near downtown. My caution meter spiked to portentous. I told him matter-of-factly that these phone calls were all I could offer to him. He seemed to understand my hesitation and thanked me nonetheless. He asked how long I thought it would take to walk; I said it's about five miles, so if he kept up a decent pace, probably a couple of hours. I told him I could call 911 for him. He seemed to hesitate.

Just as it was about to get awkward—I mean, what do you really do at this point in the situation?—a fire truck arrived behind us with lights flashing. This is either some serious good timing, or another passer-by had the good will to make a phone call to the authorities. As three or four of them approached his vehicle and began asking him questions, my light turned green, and I shouted out my wish for good fortunes to him then drove through the intersection.

A lot of thoughts raced through my head before I approached his car. I envisioned a gun being drawn (this would not be the first time I'd had a gun pointed at me); all of my money being taken (which was admittedly only $1 at the time); my car being stolen (the joke is on you if you steal my car); a bullet sliding effortlessly through my thorax (seems uncomfortable). I also remembered the man in the coffee shop, and the prevalence of the good will of humanity, and I decided that I would make a meager attempt at propagating that. It turns out there was little to nothing for me to do to help, and my story tonight ends not with a bang but with a whimper; but I am somewhat comforted by the simple fact that I pulled up next to this gentlemen while so many others were content to ignore his plight. Would I not have appreciated the same if our positions were reversed?