Chivalry

...is not dead.

I stopped at an east side car wash joint to vacuum the muddy spring from my floor mats. I was there just as the man in charge was opening up shop. He had to bring out the vacuum hoses from the inside, otherwise they get stolen in that neighborhood. He had to unlock the cage in all four corners so that I could get to the change machine. I can only imagine what would happen to that if it were not secure. Once he saw I was all set, he went inside to set up the drive through car wash.

Within a few minutes a carload with three men drove up to vacuum out their car. They were all young, all big, all dressed in a way that made me think they knew I was not from that part of town. Their music was loud; they were all smoking, or chewing on, blunts. And they kept looking at me. Then at each other.

I live in a part of Cleveland were, almost daily, I pass similar people. I share my drugstore with tough looking guys. I have had cops zoom up and down my street in pursuit of cars that looked just like the one I was working next to. This combination of suburban and street hard was not new to me. Not frightening to me. Not anything out of the ordinary, really.

But this morning, I felt nervous. Something about the situation seemed tense and layered with possible danger. I cannot describe why exactly. I mostly think it was the way the men kept looking at me. Hard, without looking away.

The guy who was working at the car wash rounded the corner from the drive through section, and, immediately came down to my end of the vacuuming bay. He did not say anything. To me or the other men. He did not get close to me, but it hovered near me, clearly letting me know I had nothing to worry about. He did not acknowledge me. Did not look at me and nod. Did not assure me in anyway. That, I knew, would make him lose stature and be mockable to the other guys. He simply stood near me. He simply showed them and me that he was on my side.

I will never see that man again. And, in all honesty, I could be misreading the whole episode in a disgustingly cliched way. Except that I knew it. I knew it in my bones. The same way you can sense the nervousness in a baby. Or can read sadness in the eyes of someone with a completely neutral face. The same way your knees know that rain is coming.

And, while I am specifically thankful for that man, I am even more thankful to live in a world where men still do that for women. Where people old guard over each other. Where danger is eclipsed by a simple gallantry. Rest assured, we still live in a good world. There's no doubt about that.