The Terrible Distance

Slept fitfully last night, so after school came home to rest. Two large parrots in cages in the mansion across the street squawked and screeched, a warm wind blew through the guest bedroom, Tigger the cat finally settled in, and I proceeded to nap. A knock on our neighbor's gate rattled me awake. More knocking. Then the rattling was on our gate. Rising, glancing out the window, I noticed over our garage door wall a pickup, engine running, a long bar strapped from the bed over the cap--what turned out to be metal slats used for automatic garage door openers. I had made no work requests with our landlord. The knocking continued. A bit annoyed, I went downstairs, peered through the hole. No one. More knocking, lighter this time. Brushing aside annoyance was trepidation: is this a ploy to rob the house, do violence to us? We're always overly cautious, as enough violent crime and robberies have rolled into our lives as stories and email warnings and worried gossip at school. Hesitantly I unlatch the door. A worker in plain clothes greets me, and I return the greeting shyly, wary. He begins in quick Spanish something, and pointing to our neighbor's house. I don't even attempt to comprehend (terrible distance number 1), and say--in English no less--that I don't speak Spanish, which isn't exactly true, but I felt impatient and untrusting. He then turns to halting but easily comprehensible English, explaining that Raquel, the neighbor--did I know her? (no, I reply, which also isn't quite true)--she'd evidently called him over the weekend to fix her garage door. I guess she wasn't home. Still wary, I shrugged. I couldn't help him. Quick thoughts shot through me: he wants inside to see if he can go over the wall to fix the door! Right. Or: does he want me to let him in Raquel's gate? Right. When I first had opened the door, I looked into his eyes--they were tinged with red, and I was immediately suspicious. I looked into his face again as he was trying to explain his dilemma, and I saw that he seemed sincere; he had a job to do and wanted to do it. I continued being unhelpful, not even thinking to suggest I could tell Raquel when she returned that he'd stopped by. No, I kept my distance and ducked behind suspicion. As no alternative presented itself, he finally declared "Bueno" as in, well, okay. Then he said goodbye, and added "I'm sorry!" to which I responded in kind and quickly as I closed the gate managed to offer "That's okay!" to his apology. He was a good-natured, friendly man, someone doing his job, and he was brown and probably Honduran, and I kept my distance. And now, with shame, I'm feeling the gulf. At what point and under what conditions do I lay my bets the other way, offering a few pieces of scrap lumber for a bridge of trust?