Old Hands

My sister and I were up dancing to the beat of the Pet Shop Boys when our friend Steph returned from the Ladies’ room at the Hollywood Bowl.

“There’s a man screaming at his girlfriend. Has her up against the wall. I’m worried for her.”

Laura and I didn’t hesitate, didn’t even exchange glances. We just started moving toward the restrooms. Steph led the way toward the woman, and we spotted her against the wall. Her boyfriend was in a menacing posture looming over her. He was huge. Six-foot three or four. There were very few folks in the area, which is unusual for the Bowl, but we were on the quieter side near the top.

We wedged ourselves between them and the three of us surrounded her. I put up my hand making a “stop” sign toward her fuming mate, my hard-eyed stare assuring him that he should not even think about messing with me. He was breathing heavily and visibly angry, but he sensed that we ladies meant business. He could have snapped me in half like a twig, of course, but Laura and Steph could take him out and I would absolutely go down fighting. He wisely stayed a few feet away.

Laura the social worker dove in.

“Do you need help? Is it safe for you to be here with him? Is there someone we can call for you?”

I had my hand on the woman’s back just gently supporting her. Steph and Laura faced her and continued to assure her that we would help in any way necessary. She was wobbly and so stressed that she could not speak. When she tried to answer, great sobs escaped and she cried and cried instead, burying her face in her hands.

“Just breathe,” I said over and over.

When she could finally form words, she swore that she was going to be okay and was not in any real danger. I approached her mate and put my hand on his arm.

“Are you okay? Do you feel calmer? Is it safe for her to be with you?” I asked.

“I am sorry,” he said. “We haven’t had a fight in over a year.”

“I understand,” I said. “But you maybe need to find a gentler way to disagree. You cannot threaten her. That is not okay.”

He nodded and turned away embarrassed. She hugged us all and then ran to the bathroom.

Just another night ... just another fight in America.

I read an article recently that talked about how societies behave after a pandemic. After all, there is history to consult in this matter. What that tells us is that folks have acted …

Badly.

That’s how people have behaved. Very badly. There was a lot of pent-up anger on display, many many eruptions of violence and just a general disquiet after the Spanish flu finally dissipated in the early 1920’s. It was not pretty. People were not so nice.

Then, eventually, better days. We humans fume and burn, but we do at some point find our way toward the light and I believe we will again. Community will return and, internet or no internet, folks will gather again and remember the joys of keeping company.

I make a serious effort to lighten up these days. I smile and say hello to everyone I pass by on the street. Many times—well most of the time—this is not returned. Don’t care. I am going to keep smiling and “hello”-ing to beat the band. Just going to be that weird, cheerful, friendly lady whether you like it or not.

This is a bit tougher to accomplish in the car. The etiquette that California drivers were once famous for is no longer on display.

“Don’t trust a green light here,” my sister cautioned me when I first moved back to L.A. “Especially if you are walking. People blast through red lights on a regular basis. Lots of injuries and deaths in the last few months.”

Boy howdy was she right about that. There is some seriously aggressive, downright mean driving going on in this town. I admit that it is difficult to remain smiley-faced in response. It is not easy to hold my tongue, because I would dearly love to shout epithets at these offenders, but I only allow myself to flip them the bird behind my own back. Not that satisfying, but I’m determined to at least maintain the appearance of civility.

It’s not a war zone, folks. It’s just traffic. We are just on Highland Avenue, and somebody is trying to turn left. Not a biggie; no reason for all the horn-blaring and drama. You all are fine. Ask the people in Ukraine about war zones. They are not currently fine; I pray they will be one day soon. But you in the white Mercedes acting a fool because you are delayed for a moment, you are—in point of fact—fine. Knock it off.

Lighten up.

As the beaten and beleaguered Rodney King once famously said:

“Can’t we all just get along?”

Yes, we can. If we make a wee effort to acknowledge one another in positive ways when the opportunity presents. If we can refrain from damning one another when the going is a bit tough. Then yes, the future is always bright. I have great good faith in us.

On we go ...

On a side note:

The asshat in the Cadillac SUV who nearly took out my dog in a rush to turn right and then screech to a halt at a red light needs to calm the F down. I am trying to forgive you your trespasses, but you are not making it easy.

Also, I flipped you the bird behind my back with both hands. So there!