If You Can't Make Your Mind Up (Part One)

(Listen to Perhaps by Doris Day while reading)

I leave my Saturday morning cafe, hand in hand with Rosilia, we stroll down the sidewalk, past the man who has been there for a few weeks now with his "Anything Helps" sign.

Hardly anyone, despite the crowded street, stops to pay the man heed. He is probably another one of those people who dress up for the act and go sit outside with the sign and make people feel sorry for them, and get paid for it.

The con artists.

Not all are cons, but quite a few here where I live, and I'm not buying into it. Everyone here takes money for granted, but I earned all of this through hardworking means, I'm not about to give a precious penny to a possible con.

———————————————————————————————————————————————

I watch from my bench, as the woman with the purple headscarf and brown corduroy coat bends over and tucks a roll of cash into the hand of a poor, frail man huddled up against the side of the building. 

I scoff. What a waste of cash.

I can see it in her eyes— or I would be able to if they weren’t covered by her large, black sunglasses— she just wants that act of goodwill to come back to her.

I turn to the girl next to me and tell her exactly that. “Do you see that woman?” I point through the window of the cafe. She only gave him cash because she wants her act of goodwill to come back to her. That's the only reason anybody does anything good these days. I swear, the next time I see it happen I’ll—”

“You’ll do what Matthew?” She sets her coffee mug down and sighs. “I’m honestly tired of this. Every time we go anywhere you always point out how futile, or ill-mannered charity is. Of course we all hope it will come back to us, but not all of us expect it too.” 

I can’t find the words I need to speak, to protest. The truth is, I know I say things like that a lot, but I can’t help it, those are just my thoughts and I tend to have no filter.

Rosilia rolls her eyes and picks up her bag. “I have to go Mathew, I will see you tonight.”

I nod and slump in my seat. My hand wraps around my coffee mug and I tilt my head back, bringing the edge of the ceramic mug to my lips and drink the last swallow like a shot. I set it down on the table a little harder than necessary, stand up, and exit the little cafe.

As I amble down the sidewalk, I fish out my wallet and sort through the bills. I pull out ten dollars. That seems reasonable, but tens are my favorites. Instead I pull out a twenty, fold it up and hand it to the man who looks like he could use a meal.

“God bless you he repeats,” over and over again. I nod firmly and continue on to my apartment.

———————————————————————————————————————————————

It isn’t until next saturday I see her again. And him. I’m at the same table right in front of the window at that little cafe with the green paint, and I see the purple head scarf out of the corner of my eye. Her blonde curls peak out of the bottom, and her lips are bright red.

If I’m being honest, her colors completely clash. The brown corduroy and plum scarf, with her black shades and bright red lipstick. 

I watch, eyes narrowed as she crouches and gives another wad of cash to the man, then continues on her way. I go back to sipping my coffee, but I freeze as she passes my window and stares directly through the glass and at me. She switches directions and climbs up the steps to the cafe, faltering only once, and marches through the front door.

Rather than bee-lining for me, she heads to the counter and orders a muffin. I thought I heard her ask if the cashier could read her the choices, but I couldn’t be sure. She walks over to me, bumping into two tables as she does so. She pats the empty chair that I had been saving for Rosilia. 

“May I sit here?” She asks. Without waiting for my answer she plops herself down and begins to tear off chunks of her muffin.

“I’m sorry, I’m saving that for someone.” I manage to spit out, when I finally find my words.

“Do not fear, I will only be a moment.” She says when she swallows. “What do you know about that man over there?” She motions to the same one she gave money to.

“Nothing I suppose.” Eyeing her. What was she getting at? Had she noticed my distaste for the man even after I gave him the money?

“And you still gave him a taste of wealth?”

“Well yes, he looks like he needs it.” I tap my fingers on the yellow table.

She nods again and continues to stare at me. "Alright." She brushes the crumbs off her fingers and gets up, leaving the half eaten muffin on the table. 

"Meet me at this table, same time next week. No excuses, trust me." She doesn't smile, just looks ahead and lets her hands brush over empty tables and chairs as she walks out.

“Wait!” I say, calling after her. “May I ask your name?”

“Charity. Charity Grace Goodman”

———————————————————————————————————————————————

When I get to my window seat next Saturday, Charity is waiting for me. Her purple headscarf has fallen around her collarbone, leaving her blonde curls exposed. Her shades are still on, even inside on the overcast day. 

I sit across from her and sigh. “Charity, I don’t know what this is about, but if—”

“Hush.” She says, leaving that beat of silence in the air before she speaks again. “Do you notice anything different?”

I roll my eyes and look around. I glance at the cashier who is busy flirting with her next customer, I examine the tables and the chairs, then I study Charity, trying to find where her gaze rests. She still has those darned shades on. However, even I can tell she seems exasperated at this point.

“Look outside.” She huffs.

I do, and I see the same people as always bustling by, not even stopping to look at their surroundings, or at the man in the—

“The man outside the storefront," I realize, "he’s gone.”

“Precisely,” She smiles. “Do you want to guess why?”

“He… received enough currency and was able to get a job?” I throw out as a wild speculation.

“No.” She smiles. It’s so teasing, I get the feeling she knows something I don’t. I tense and grip the chair. “That man was part of my experiment.”

Experiment? “And what exactly is that?” I ask, trying to feel my way into the subject as it inching forward in a dark room.

“Classified, however, you have been a great help.” She hands me fifty dollars without another word and waltzes out.

“Wait!” I hear my chair clatter to the floor, wood bagining on the tile flooring as I rush out after her. “Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps.” she smiles. 

The song "Perhaps" by Doris Day immediately starts playing through my mind.

So if you really love me, say yes…

How did I make sure I would see her? There was no guarantee. I wanted to ask questions about her, about her experiment. “Charity, will you… will you go out with me?”

I feel my eyes widen as I hear myself speak these words. I have a girlfriend, I have Rosilia. I don’t need Charity.

But I find myself wanting her regardless. I want her answers.

But if you don’t dear, confess…

She seems surprised too. Her mouth opens and closes. Finally her lips decide what to do, and she smiles her little teasing smile. “Perhaps,”

And please don’t tell me, Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.