God’s Hands

People gathered in the street to watch. Hours were spent talking. Catching up on old times. All winter they stayed inside. Summer nights with windows open made them all a bit curious. Arguments could be heard. Family celebrations observed. So much to catch up on.

The streetlight laid broken in the street. A pick-up truck had hit it. The official word was driving under the influence. Neighbors poured out of their homes and apartments to look at the action.

This driver of the vehicle was known in the neighborhood as being a drunk. He’d grown up on Berry Street and now lived in a one bedroom a few blocks from where he spent his childhood. The firemen pulled him from his truck. The middle-aged man was taken to a hospital as a tow truck cleared the scene.

I heard he lost his job, said Mr. Aleman.

Yeah, I heard that too, Mrs. Shakowski said. Shame. Is he going to make it?

I don’t know his condition, Mr. Aleman replied. He hit that pole awfully hard. There was blood on the dashboard, he said.

So, I see Ben has gone off to college, Mrs. Yablamowitz said to her friend Mrs. Yelton, whom she had not seen since Easter. All grown up. They grow up so fast, she shook her gray head.

Yes, going off to Michigan, Yablamowitz boasted. He’s so smart.

Not too smart, Mrs. Yelton thought. Got that girl pregnant last year. Mysteriously she lost the baby, she looked away at the pole in the street.

What the hell happened? a drunk standing outside O’Reilly’s said to the other.

Some guy hit a streetlight, responded the village idiot. Just flat out ran into it, he stuttered. Going ninety miles an hour, the fool exaggerated.

Well, it’s in God’s hands now.

Slowly the crowd began to break up. People went back to their homes. Moonlight made some sit on their front porches a little while longer. Talking of nothing. Just feeling the breeze hit their faces. Soon it would be daybreak. Folks had jobs to go to. Appointments to make. Fall could not come fast enough.

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