Sorry to interrupt my Philadelphia Story again, but I had to let you all know about my latest tale of woe.

Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?  It has been raining for three days straight here in California at the time this is being written.  Serious rain.  Torrential rain. 

I had the day off.  And I was bored.  Tired of sitting around my apartment and staring at the walls, I decided that the rain wasn’t coming down that hard, and I prepared to venture out into the world.  I got into my car and headed towards the freeway.

Things looked bad, however.  Roads were partially flooded, and everyone was driving slowly or like an idiot.  But I pressed forward.

I got on the freeway and was moving along pretty well; but the rain was coming down in sheets over my windshield, and I had to pay extra close attention to the road ahead of me.  Then I asked myself: What the heck am I doing?  I shouldn’t be driving in this weather.  Nuts to this!

So, I got off the freeway, turned around, and got back on the freeway to head home.  But when I was about to merge—my lane was ending—I saw an ominous object on the road.  It was a fist-sized chuck of black asphalt.  I managed to drive around this mass, but as I did so, I saw up in the distance a pile of fist-sized asphalt chunks.  I didn’t know what to do.  I looked to the lane on my left—there was a car there.  I couldn’t get over.  Behind me some jerk in a pickup on my ass.  I couldn’t brake, either.  So, I forged ahead, toward the pile of debris.

Bam!  My front right tire went in and out of a giant pot hole.  I thought, I sure hope my tire is okay.

Oh, but faithful readers, you know all too well about my many tire troubles!

I didn’t take me long to realize I had a flat.  I pulled over immediately.  I climbed out of my car via the passenger-side door and saw that, yes, my front right tire was flat.  The rain washed over me.  I made quick work to change the tire, but with the rain, the mud and gravel, and the traffic rushing by, it took me about fifteen minutes to put on the spare.

I climbed back in the car, soaked and exhausted, and drove home, where I promptly threw off my wet clothes, hopped in a hot shower, and then, later, drank hot chocolate.  All the while, I was shaking my head in disbelief that yet again I had another tire tale of woe.

Now for part II of my Philadelphia story.  To read part I, click here.

Walk to Walnut Street.  Sounded easy enough.  It was only two or thee blocks away…

The three of us, that is myself, Ryan, and Hank, were walking on the sidewalk on the left side of the street.  Two young men, probably 17-19 in age, walked toward us, coming from the opposite direction we were walking.

“You guys got any change?” one of the boys asked.

“Nope,” Hank and Ryan said.

“I might,” I said, however, and started digging in my pockets while Ryan and Hank continued down the street.

Nope.  No change.  Sorry.  So, I caught up with Ryan and Hank.  And the two young men followed me.  They jumped in front of us.  One of them pulled up his shirt a bit, put his hands down his mesh athletic shorts (they were light blue, I recall) and grabbed something.

“Empty your fucking pockets!” he demanded.  “I got a gun.”

Now, here’s what I thought: Sure, take my money.  I don’t care.  I only have 17 dollars.  It’s yours!  Do you want anything else?  Take my pants if you want them.

Here’s what Ryan and Hank thought, or rather, said and did: Nope.  Can’t have it.  And they kept on walking, putting somewhat of a distance between me, who was in a dumb daze, and them.

Now, here’s where my memory concerning the sequence of events fails me considerably.  It happened so fast!, they always say.  Yes, it all happened very fast…

Ryan threw his beer bottle.  One of the boys punched Ryan square in the ear.  One of the boys drew a knife, a big, shiny hunting-type knife and aimed it at Ryan.  The other boy grabbed Hank’s cane.  “You realize you’re robbing the blind,” Hank said.  Ryan stepped out of his sandals by accident, stumbled, righted himself.  A car, a SUV, drove down the street, headlights burning, stopped, saw our crazed faces (I imagine), and sped off.  I stood rooted to the sidewalk, watching as at least three more young men stepped out of the shadows from a nearby alley.  Oh, shit.  Everyone looked scared, even the muggers.  But where did those  young men from the alley go?  Where were they?  What was happening?

Someone grabbed me from behind and threw my head back.  I realized I now had a knife to my throat.  I had no time to think.  My mind was effectively blank.

“Hand over your wallet,” said a young man standing to my left, barely in my peripheral vision.

The knife still at my throat, I handed over my cash only, as I had heard similar stories of muggers only wanting cash in Philly. 

“No,” the voice said, “your wallet!”

I handed over my wallet; and, as strange as this sounds, my only thought was: Man, what a hassle this is going to be, cancelling all those cards, getting new ID, etc.  The things we think about in extreme situations!

The young men—how many were there?  I don’t know!—they all ran away.  I hardly watched them.  I caught up with Ryan and Hank.

“Let’s go!" Ryan said, panting, all of us walking quickly.  “Fuck calling the police.  Let’s just get a cab and go!”

“But I got my wallet stolen,” I chimed in, weakly.

“Why the fuck did you give it to them?” Ryan asked.

“They had a knife to my throat!” I said, my voice trembling.

“What!?” Ryan said.

We decided to call the police.  We found two men standing on their front steps and demanded they call the police for us.  In a moment, the police would arrive.  But our night was far from over.

To be continued…

Sorry to interrupt my Philadelphia Story, but I wanted to post this “Elegy” by poet Theodore Roethke in memory of my friend, Shea, who passed away recently.  I will miss him dearly.

Elegy by Theodore Roethke

1

Should every creature be as I have been,

There would be reason for essential sin;

I have myself an inner weight of woe

That God himself can scarcely bear.

2

Each wills his death: I am convinced of that;

You were too lonely for another fate.

I have myself an inner weight of woe

That Christ, securely bound, could bear.

3

Thus I; and should these reasons fly apart,

I know myself, my seasons, I KNOW.

I have myself one crumbling skin to show;

God could believe: I am here to fear.

4

What you survived I shall believe: the Heat,

Scars, Tempests, Floods, the Motion of Man’s Fate;

I have myself, and bear its weight in woe

That God that God leans down His heart to hear.