Young(er) People

today, one year anniversity of 10/7:

Picture my block in Brooklyn — a narrow side street, whereby any of us (and there are more and more) who own cars have to move to the other side (not politically!) weekly for the street cleaners who never clean the streets. This morning, loaded with dread for the day’s one-year remembrance of human casualty and callousness, I sat at the top of the street whereby I had view of both sides of the street, seeking a free space on its “safe” side. And there it was! A young woman (maybe late ‘20s, 30) opened the door of a shiny white 4 door job ($$), and moved into the driver’s seat. I pulled up alongside. Are you leaving? I handspoke. She replied, with a wave of her palm, sometime. After several moments, I again pulled alongside, since no other openings on the street appeared. She rolled the window down, “My mother’s in the hospital and I’m waiting to find out where to go.” Oh, I suggested, how about on this side, pointing to several openings right there. Oh, no, she said I’ll wait here.

There was no other space available. I noted that there was enough space around me, so that following autos would have room to go around me should they need to. I waited, my hazard lights aglow. She looked at me in her rear-view. I looked at her in my fore-view. Moment elapsed. Again I pulled up, suggesting she move to an open space on the soon-to-be-ticketed (but not yet) side. No, she wagged her head, no.

I thought about all the recent discussions about people of a certain age (hers, for instance), unable to bleed for others. I thought about blocking Jewish students from entering college dorms. About unhistorically-apprised young people blocking traffic, both in universities and on my street. She sat there and I sat there. Cars with drivers giving understanding looks swerved around me. There was plenty of room. Yes, there was plenty of room.

Some 20 minutes drifted by while I self-hypnotized to sweet morning jazz on my radio. Suddenly, she pulled out and double parked in front of me. I zipped into “her”space.

I locked up and crossed the street for home. She had finally sought a space nearby behind me (I hadn’t noticed), rolled her window down and shouted, “Hope you had as good a morning as I’ve had.”

She never got it.

I’m introducing you to one piece of the mosaic that America’s young people occupy, a haven for those who find it impossible to identify with anyone else. Virtually impossible.

We have lost the human race, I thought as I entered my building, planning

to watch the news on the Middle East and continue to mourn.