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| Age: | 35 |
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Short Story / Spare Any Change? (Analysis)
“Can you spare any change?” asked a homeless man as the crowds bustled past him in Union Station near the U.S. Capitol. He called out to a tourist who pointed a video camera at the statues overlooking the massive open area near the front of the building.
“Hey, buddy. Come here, and I’ll tell you a story that’ll blow your mind.”
Looking amused, the tourist zoomed in on the homeless man’s long gray beard. “Are you cool with me putting it on Youtube?”
“Go ahead if you get the chance.”
“Down stairs on the platform as you pointed your camera at the subway tunnel’s ceiling, you passed a man named Bill, who was worried he might lose all the cash he’d just bet on tonight’s baseball game.”
“I didn’t see him,” said the tourist.
“No. Of course you didn’t. That’s what I just said. Now listen up and let me finish. A girl in a blue Cubs hat and strawberry blonde hair caught Bill’s eye as she crossed him on the platform. She reminded him of his long-lost love, Peggy. Bill sure wished he could be with his high school sweetheart instead of the mess he’d created. The bet he’d made was the only way he might make his monthly payments on his fancy sports car and overpriced condo.
“Bill watched the girl who resembled Peggy as she boarded the second to last car of the train and sat next to an Arab man typing on his laptop computer. Looking through the window, Bill read what the man had typed ‘Weapon in place. Praise Allah. Death to America.’
“Bill raced up the escalator to the metro attendant in the booth at the gates to warn that ‘some middle eastern man in front row of the last car of the train that just left mentioned a bomb in his e-mail.’
“Seconds seemed like hours before someone finally called ahead to stop the train. Two stops away, three burly police officers with automatic rifles boarded the last car and found a dark skinned man in the first row. They used many unprofessional words as they patted him down for weapons and escorted him away for interrogation. His driver’s license said Juan Ramirez, and he had no laptop in his possession.
Bill arrived under police escort and berated them for having ‘grabbed the wrong guy.’
The ‘wrong guy’ accused them of racial profiling, complained they had made him late for a job interview and threatened to call a lawyer.
“That afternoon, the ‘wrong guy’ downed shots of whiskey at a Dupont Circle bar. ‘Those stupid cops singled out my dark skin, but I’m not even Arab,’ he told the female bartender. ‘At least my interviewer said she’d be glad to reschedule.’
“The ‘wrong guy’ downed another shot and staggered out the door, down the crowded sidewalk to his truck parked several blocks away. He didn’t see the fiancée of the National’s pitcher walking behind his truck as he pushed the stick to reverse and stepped on the pedal.
“When the pitcher heard the news of his fiancées death during the seventh inning stretch, he insisted on staying in the game and gave up six points before the coach pulled him. By the end of the game, Bill had more than cleared the spread. The returns from his substantial bet allowed him to pay his debts.”
The tourist sneezed and stopped recording. “Thanks.”
The homeless man raised his palms to stop his audience from leaving. “No. There’s more, and how about giving me a tip so I can get a little bite to eat.” The tourist handed him a $10 bill and started recording again.
The homeless man’s smile almost seemed sinister as he leaned toward the camera. “Days later, Bill’s fears about the typed message proved accurate when an explosive with radioactive material blew up a parking garage near Union Station. Bill was out of town at the time, but the radiation rendered his condo and car unusable.
“Wait a second,” said the tourist.
“Hold your questions until the end, son. Hear me out. Eager to share his description of the suspect and the cops’ bungling of the case with anyone who might listen, Bill called a CNN reporter he’d known in high school and found himself talking live into a camera that night.
“His long-lost love, Peggy, saw him from her penthouse apartment in Miami, went online to find the number for the station, and finally got through to him after the live interview. Bill took a flight the next morning, and they almost moved in together before she found cocaine in the pocket of his dress pants, and he confessed that gambling wasn’t the only impulse he couldn’t control. So there you have it. Do you still want to put it on Youtube?”
“Is that really all?” asked the tourist as he stopped the camera.
“What do you think?”
“You’ve sure got an active imagination, but I would have preferred a happier ending.”
“So would I, but we can’t control fate. Instead of Bill, I wish you had seen the man’s threatening message, so the cops could have known it was the last – not the second to last car– that held the right guy. How about another tip so I can get a change of clothes? What about that fifty in your wallet?”
The tourist scoffed, muttering “crazy old bum” as he turned and walked away. Later that night, he watched the baseball game, shocked and terrified when the end played out exactly as the old bum had predicted. When he went to check the footage on his video camera, he found no sign of the homeless man, only ambient noise from the crowd in the large open room.
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