Dread Locks (19 page)

“You know,” he said, his voice making me feel cold in spite of the heat, “this city can get ahold of you and pull you back no matter how hard you try to climb out. Like a grave.”

It was such a weird thing to say, I laughed nervously and looked to the traffic light, which was still stuck on red, almost as if it was waiting for Marvin’s signal.

What am I afraid of?
I said to myself.
This guy is just a street beggar now. Feel bad for him, sure, but don’t fear him.

Then Marvin smiled again and the sun returned to its normal glare. Maybe it was just to get rid of him, or maybe I really did feel sorry for him, but whatever the reason, I reached over to the little sack next to me on the seat and pulled out a bill from my grandma’s stash of “bread.” To my surprise, it was a fifty. I looked in the sack and couldn’t find anything smaller. There had to be thousands of dollars in there. I took a deep breath. I wasn’t just bringing Grandma the bread, I was bringing her the butter, and a golden knife to spread it!

Marvin leaned into the window and raised his eyebrows. He had seen what was in the bag, too. I wanted to peel away, but still the light stayed red.

“Just something for my grandma,” I told him, tossing the bag to the floor of the car.

“Very nice.”

“Here.” I handed him the fifty. “Great job on the window.”

“Thank you very much.” He pocketed it. Then, I figured out of appreciation for the fifty, he said, “You know ... my sister likes you.”