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Baldwin Heights

Anita G. Gorman

    She was driving through what everyone called the bad part of town. She could have gone around this neighborhood, Baldwin Heights, but that would have taken a long time. She wanted to get home quickly, so she decided she would just sail through Baldwin Heights and its little hills.
    It was cold and snowy and the wind was blowing. It was also getting close to Christmas. That was why Miranda was out at 10 p.m. She had just attended a Christmas party at Alfie’s, a local restaurant on the other side of Baldwin Heights with teachers from her school, Clement Elementary. She had won a few prizes and was pleased with what she had on her car’s rear seat. She turned her head to make sure her winnings were not about to fall off the seat, and then she felt her car hit something. The noise was deafening. Suddenly, she felt fear. What could be worse than to have an accident in a bad neighborhood?
    She sat there hoping the driver in front would just keep going, but then she heard a car door open and close. Someone was approaching her car. She made sure her doors were locked. She needed to get to her cell phone, but it was on the rear seat. The man, who seemed to be very tall, knocked on her window.
    Miranda rolled it down just a little bit. “Hello.”
    “Hello to you, too. You hit the rear of my car. It doesn’t look too great.”
    “Can you still drive it?”
    “Probably. But I’m not sure about your car. The front looks pretty damaged. Do you have an insurance card?”
    Fear enveloped her, fear from hearing about Baldwin Heights all those years, fear of the unknown, fear of this man who was so big and powerful.
    “Oh, yes. I have to get my wallet. Just a minute.” She rolled up the window, unfastened her seatbelt, and tried to turn around to get her purse. She heard him knocking on the window.
    She turned back and rolled the window down just enough to be able to hear. “Yes?”
    “I just want you to know that I won’t hurt you. Please try to feel a little more at ease. If you’re afraid of people in Baldwin Heights, then you shouldn’t be driving through this part of town.”
    “Afraid? Why should I be afraid?” Miranda knew somehow that she sounded afraid and looked afraid because, in fact, she was afraid. She was more than afraid. She was terrified.
    “Because I’m a black man, and you’re a white woman, that’s why.”
    “I can’t believe you would say such a thing.”
    “It’s true, isn’t it?”
    She started to cry. “Yes, it’s true. I can’t help it. We need to call the police. I need to call the auto club. I need to get to my phone, and I can’t reach it.”
    He smiled at her. “I’m Leandro Smith. I’m a teacher at Baldwin Heights Elementary. If you trust me, we can get to your phone. I’d use mine, but I have a bad habit of leaving it at home. That’s where it is right now. At least I hope so. Wouldn’t want to lose it. Of course, it could be in my car, buried under books or something.”
    “I could call your phone. If I can get to mine, that is.”
    “Will you let me help?”
    She hesitated and then said, “I guess so. I’ll unlock the doors; it’s in my purse on the back seat.”
    For some reason she didn’t want to get out and find the purse; she felt safer sitting in the driver’s seat. She put her head on the steering wheel.
    The man opened the door, and she jumped.
    “You’re making me feel like a criminal, a thug. My third-graders aren’t scared of me. Of course, most of them are black. Here’s your purse.”
    Miranda scrambled for the phone. “I’m sorry. I just haven’t had much contact with African Americans.”
    “And I, on the other hand, have had plenty of contact with white people, some good, some not so good. Would you mind calling my cell phone?”
    “Oh, sure.” He gave her the number, and they waited. Soon they heard music coming from the man’s car.
    “There it is. Now all I have to do is find it.” He ran to his car and started rummaging through his stuff while Miranda watched him. Soon he was back.
    “OK. I’ll call the police and my insurance agent. You can call your agent, and then we’ll wait.”
    “I’m getting cold.”
    “See if your car starts.”
    She felt stupid. Of course she should try to start her car.
    “It’s working,” she yelled.
    “I can tell,” he said. She felt even more stupid.
    Within minutes the police would arrive. Her insurance agent would be aware of what had happened. She needed to say something before the police came.
    “Listen, I’m so sorry for acting scared. You’ve been very kind. I’m a teacher too. At Clement.”
    He nodded as he bent over to talk through the open window of her car.
    “And I know the accident was my fault. That’s a stop sign over there, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, that’s why I was stopped. Momentarily. At least that was the plan.”
    “Well, you’ve taught me not to be afraid.”
    “And I’d like to teach you one more thing.”
    “Oh, what’s that?”
    “Be cautious. Everywhere. Not just when you’re driving through neighborhoods that people say are bad. It’s not a completely safe world. Don’t you ever watch those true-crime shows?”
    “Yes. Yes. I do.”
    “Well, be careful. And one more thing.”
    “Stop at stop signs.”
    And then she did something she could not explain to herself later.
    “Listen. You’ve been so kind. And helpful. Can I take you to lunch or dinner sometime?”
    He started to laugh.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “I’ve never dated a white woman.”
    “I’ve never dated a black man. Are you married?”
    He laughed again. “No, I’m not. How about you?”
    “No.”
    “I can just hear my family howling at how I got a free lunch—or maybe a dinner—from a white teacher who had the nerve to slam into the rear of my car. Well, I guess it’s not really free since there’s a deductible on my insurance.”
    “Would they mind if we had lunch?”
    “Who? My family? I’m an adult. I make my own decisions. What about your family?”
    “I don’t know.” She thought for a minute. “And I don’t care. And I bet my deductible is higher than yours.”
    The police car was a block away. As he stood up, he said, “And let’s not tell the police we’re going to celebrate a car crash with food. OK?”
    “OK. We’ll keep it professional and civil. Merry Christmas!”
    She opened up the car door, smiled at him, and then put on a serious face for the police officers who were getting out of the patrol car, one a black man, the other a white woman.

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