Sunday we were at Home Depot and left without paying for a couple of items. Jenn said ‘no’ – we’re going back in and paying. Karma.
We forgot an item, so I went back. Driving on Ranchero, I turned around after thinking I saw a wallet in the road. It was. Fearing that I may get confronted, I drove away before looking in it.
The only ID was from Mexico, a mexican male name with a photo – a healthy looking 30s/40s something guy. There were Catholic cards in there too – like Mother Mary and stuff. No debit or credit cards. A wad of cash – many $100s mixed with smaller bills.
Shit.
I called Jenn. How do we get this back to him under the current fear of ICE and the administration and MAGA? There were Facebook risks, turning him in risks, the thought of how scary this must be for a Mexican man in America right now – how does he replace his id? What if he gets carded? What about his cash – likely his weeks of work and saving for his family and community.
I asked God to bring me to him, somehow and went to Home Depot where they didn’t care to see my receipt for a $38 item we didn’t get home with. No problems.
Driving home on Ranchero, I pass a 30s-40s Mexican. Slim, beard, fitting the description walking on the sidewalk talking on his phone. I turn around – ‘English’, no. ‘Como te llamas?’, [first name] and a bunch of others without the last name matching. I encouraged him to keep going seeking his last name. He appeared concerned, but hopeful. I was stopped in the middle of the road with cars backing up (one of them a big redneck looking truck). I was nervous too.
He came up with his [last name]. I pulled his id from between my leg and seat – this you? Si! Si! I reached under my passenger back seat, handed him his wallet and id. He looked in and blindly pulled a wad of cash from the wallet. No, gracias. Yours. And I pulled off waving to his gratitude.
I was emotional. I feared for him and the what ifs. Turning back around to continue home, he’s waving and smiling gratefully as I drive by. I’m so emotional about the whole immigrant thing. I turn around again, pulling into a side street and walk to greet him on the sidewalk. Our language barrier wasn’t helpful, but hopeful. We understood each other as he expressed gratitude and I asked him if he was in construction (construcción). He helped me understand rock work and concrete. We shared phone numbers, my intention to work with him somehow.
He says ‘Jesus’ and a bunch of other Spanish words pointing to the sky. I misunderstood and tried to relate by pointing in the direction of a Mexican household near mine that does stucco. ‘No’ – he points to my heart and the sky – ‘Jesus’ something or other. I agree. God somehow connected us.
We texted a little bit – me translating my texts to Spanish, him translating to English. I have a specific small job I’m thinking of asking him to work with me on.
I tell Jenn and Kes about my experience. I’m emotional for all the reasons of being progressive in this MAGA world and community. I’m grateful.