Need Work

When I saw the white-haired gentleman standing on the meridian strip holding a cardboard sign, I instinctively reached for spare change. I try to keep dollar bills in one of the dashboard cubbies so I can roll down the window and wait for the guy to step over. “Good luck,” I say. “God bless,” usually the answer. But today no spare bills, no loose quarters. I rolled down the window anyway and smiled at the man. “Nothing on me today.” The first time he saw me do this, my son asked me why I bothered to say anything if I didn’t have any cash. He’s a savvy kid, especially around money, and probably thought I was feely guilty. “Everyone needs encouragement,” I said, hearing the sanctimony dripping off the words. I tried again. “And no one likes to feel invisible.” A nod and Avery was back on his phone. The man hadn’t moved or smiled back. But he did say, without turning to look at me: “I don’t like doing this. My people just don’t do this.” I nodded. The man was bristling with pride and an anger that seemed ready to tip into a humiliation he was just as determined to fight off. “At least it’s good weather.” He nodded. The light turned green. “I’ve decided this is my last day.” I looked down at his sign and saw that he wasn’t asking, as I had assumed, for money. “I can’t do this anymore.” He glanced over once then shifted his gaze off in the distance, readying himself for the next shift of cars. “You’ll get there,” I said, not sure what I meant by “there.” A light honk from the car behind me and I drove on.