Momnesia

Dollars and Sense

AUGUSTA, GA. - Walking out of the Bell Auditorium during the Big Bad Voodoo Daddy show, Emmie babbled happily about going to the store. She's three, so that she made it nearly two hours into the concert was good enough for me.

"We go to da store an' get badderees for da cam-rah," she said, excited. "I gon' tate a picher of you, mama!"
SMASH! Down she went, tripping over a raised concrete segment of the sidewalk, skinning both knees and the palms of her hands. Wow, she was not happy.

A guy on a bike heard her crying as I cradled her and walked slowly toward the car: "Is she okay?" he asked.
Emmie looked up and forgot her pain for a moment: "Huh!" she gasped. "You godda bicycle!"
He laughed. "Yeah! Do you have a bicycle?"
"Noooo," Emmie said, still hiccuping from her crying jag. "Iss too big for me."
"Oh, I see. Your mama got a bicycle?"
"No. Mommy godda car," Emmie answered brightly.

The guy rode in wide circles around us, making Emmie laugh and me nervous. He was obviously homeless, but I wanted him to be harmless, too.
"What's going on at the Bell tonight?" he asked.
"A symphony performance," I answered.
"Is it over?"
"Not yet. She was just getting restless," I said.
"We see da moosic!" Emmie told him brightly.
"I like music," he answered, and started to pedal away. Suddenly he veered back towards us.

"Hey, ma'am, I'm sorry to bug you, but you got a dollar you can spare?"
Hell no. If I didn't get free tickets, I couldn't have afforded to go to the show.
"Mama!" Emmie said, excitedly. "You got dollars in your pocket!"
(sigh)
I reached into my back pocket, pulled out $7.

"What?!" Scott said, when I told him that. "You don't feed the panhandlers!"
"Hey, I'm telling a story here. Thanks so much for listening."
"Oh, sorry, sorry. Go on with your story."

"So, I gave him the cash, and - "

"I still can't believe you did that."
"Not done here!"
"Okay, okay..."
(glare)

"Here you go, sir," I said.
"Thank you! Thank you very much!" he said, looking at the folded bills in his hand.
"You welcome!" Emmie said, happily. "Now you got dollars, too!"

Scott harrumphs.
Shut it!

"Yes, I do!" he cackled. "I'm gon' get me some good liquor with this tonight!"

"Uh!" Scott exclaims. "See?!"
"Yes, I see!"
"I would have poked a stick in his bicycle spokes and knocked him over," he said.
"Look, I was rising above, honey! Okay? Rising. Above."
"Whatever."

"I know how that feels," I tell the guy. I really don't, but I have to respect his honesty.

"You mean his audacity," Scott interrupts.
Shut your piehole!

"Let me make sure you get in your car safely," he said. "There's crazy people down here."
I laughed. Really? I hadn't noticed... Oh, wait: Rising above... rising above...
"Make sure you buckle your little girl in safely," he called from a respectful distance on the sidewalk. "You got it?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you for your concern," I said, without a touch of sarcasm. It was kind of nice of him, even though I know I paid him $7 for the few moments of protection.
"You be careful, now, okay?" he said, as I shut Emmie's door and walked around the front of my car to get in.
"Yes, sir. Thank you. What's your name?"
"Ronnie," he said, and we shook hands.
"I'm Stacey."
"Nice to meet you."
"Same here. You have a nice evening, sir."
"You, too. I'll see you around."

"I'll bet," Scott said.
"Hey! He was being nice!" I protested.
"You be nice, dada!" Emmie said, pointing her finger at him.
He held up his hands in mock resignation: "I guess I'm outvoted."

Hope you managed to get a sandwich to go with that bottle, Ronnie.
And maybe some teeth with which to chew it.