Samaritan

The little boy would drop the ball between his feet and catch it when it bounced back up at him. Sometimes he would give little peals of delight as his pudgy hands recaptured the red orb. Sometimes he would readjust his stance before dropping the ball again. He never seemed to grow tired of the game nor was he interested in variations.

Drop the ball. THUMP! Capture the ball. Drop the ball. THUMP! Capture the ball. Laugh. Drop the ball! THUMP! Capture the ball . . .

The neighborhood was quiet this time of evening. The sun waning in the cloudless sky, casting long shadows through the trees that lined the street. Two doors down from the little boy, a teenage girl was playing games with her golden retriever. She was on the ground as much as he was. She was laughing and talking to the dog but her words were unclear at this distance. The tone was happy and encouraging, though.

Drop the ball. THUMP! Capture the ball. Drop the ball. THUMP! Capture the ball . . .

Suddenly, several things began happening at one time; breaking the serenity of the evening. From several blocks back there was a squeal of tires as a black sports car turned a corner too fast. The squeal continued as the engine roared, gears shifted, and the car shot forward in this new direction. The little boy dropped his ball and looked away from it, his concentration broken, at the noise from up the street. THUMP! . . .Thump . . . thump . . . ump . . . ump . . . And the red ball rolled away from the boy, down the concrete driveway and into the street. The girl two doors down had taken the retriever into her back yard, presumably to feed and water him. A car door slammed as the little boy began running after the ball on his short legs. His eyes only on the ball, once again. Total concentration clouding his immature features.

As the child reach the street, trying to recapture the ball that had wobbled to a slow roll, the oncoming car shifted gears again, still accelerating. The boy bent, grasped the ball between his splayed fingers, and was violently lifted and hurled away from where he was standing.

The man who had, until moments before, been sitting in the blue van parked across the street gently placed the little boy in his driveway. The startled child, too shocked to cry, clutched the ball to his chest, staring up at the stranger with large, brown, unblinking eyes. The car screeched to a halt a little past the girl's house. The driver, another teenager, turned around to look at the man and the boy, an icicle of fear going up his spine. He thought of his already tenuous hold on his driver's license, turned around in his leather seat, and sped down the street, the incident already fading in his mind and his rearview mirror.

"Hang onto that ball, buddy." The man's voice was almost a whisper. "And stay out of the street. O.K.?"

The little boy just stared at him. Suddenly he lifted his prized object and said, "Ball!"

The man tousled the child's hair. "Yeah . . . ball." And he recrossed the street to his van.

As the man, dressed in sneakers, faded jeans and a gray tee-shirt, settled back into the dusty, innocuous van he looked around. The back of the van was a clutter of boxes and blankets and fast food packaging. There was a toolbox with a spool of wire, cutters, duct tape and gloves. A small dog whined in a wire cage behind the passenger seat.

He looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror. He examined his clean cut features, the piercing blue eyes and ran his fingers through his light brown hair. He practiced his Sincerity and Concerned faces. Down the street the teenage girl was leaving her front porch, shouting something over her shoulder and waving. Heading off, further down the street, away from the van.

The man reached behind him, fumbled with the latch, and pulled the small dog from the cage. He sat with it in his lap for several seconds, before starting the engine and putting the van in gear. As he approached the girl, her tan legs flashing beneath her tight shorts, her young breasts stretching the thin fabric of her cotton blouse, he was already leaning across the passenger seat, rolling the window down. Saying the line he had practiced a thousand times.

"Excuse me miss, I found this dog wandering in the street and it was limping. Could you help me find its owner? I'm not familiar with this neighborhood." He smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, wearing his Concerned face. The door already opening . . .