The Good Samaritan

“Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all

 

others.”

 

Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC), 'Pro Plancio,' 54 B.C.

 

 

Kenneth Kidman, or Kenny as he was known to his family and friends, believed

in karma, both good and bad. He believed that good things happened to people

who did good deeds for others without an ulterior motive. Kenny had been

labeled a goody two shoes since his childhood days growing up in his

tight-knit, middle class neighborhood in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.

 

Kenny was a retired welder. After he retired, Kenny decided that he would

become an active member of his community, taking part in church functions,

blood, food and clothing drives, bake sales and many other community

projects including helping to build a soup kitchen/charity center for

homeless women and children. He was always willing to help his fellow man.

 

Kenny's wife Dorethea had been ill for three years before she died last year

of complications with pneumonia and very premature Alzheimer’s at the age

of fifty-nine. Kenny’s life had become full of the same routine, while

simultaneously remaining full and fulfilling.

 

He made weekly trips to the market for bread, sugar, fruit and vegetables,

making usual stops to his former co-worker, eighty three year old Judith who

was all but confined to her home due to chronic back pain. Doing things for

his   house ridden friend made Kenny feel useful, needed and appreciated. It

returned feelings he hadn't felt since the death of his wife from

Alzheimer’s.

 

Kenny and his late wife had never had any children, so he tried to fill the

void in his life with giving to others in any way he could. On one of his

many trips to the market for himself and his friend, Kenny saw a wallet on

the ground that appeared to have been dropped accidentally. He picked up the

wallet and noticed that though it was a man's wallet it had the contents of

a female. It also had a faint smell of Chanel Number Five, the perfume of

choice for his late wife Dorethea. The smell rekindled old feeling for her.

He even shed a couple tears.

 

The wallet belonged to Fran McAllister-Langford. She didn't have much in

there but dozens of coupons for various items, your average this or that;

she also had her New York State Identification Card, two credit cards a

benefit card and two crisp one dollar bills. He knew from its contents that

no one had found the wallet before he had simply because it still held the

woman’s contents in it.

 

Kenny knew exactly what he had to do.

 

Fran lived a quite life in Forest Hills, Queens. Her home was located

approximately thirty-five to forty-five minutes away from Kenny's house in

Brooklyn. Though his car didn't have much gas, the weather was horrible and

he really wasn't feeling very well that day, fifty-seven year old Kenny knew

that he had to deliver the wallet to the rightful owner.

 

Without giving it a second thought, bad weather notwithstanding, Kenny

filled up his seventeen year old Buick Skylark with his last twenty dollars

and made his way to the Belt Parkway which was covered in snow and started

on his way heading towards Queens. He was coughing up a lung due to the

unusually cold weather but when he thought of the joy he'd bring to the face

of Fran when he returns the wallet, it gave him what he needed to press on.

 

It had been the coldest day that winter. There was at least three feet of

snow on the ground. It was so cold in his car his hot cup of coffee latte

was cold within ten minutes, faster than usual considering how hot he

preferred his coffee. As most Brooklyn-born New Yorkers were confused by

Queens, so to was Kenny. He was a bit confused by the avenues and streets in

Queens that went by the same name. Not wanting to waste too much time and

very costly gas, Kenny finally stopped off at a Shell gas station to obtain

directions.

 

The attendant spoke in a very heavy Indian accent, which made following the

directions all the more difficult, but he was able to clearly understand

that he was twenty minutes away from Fran's address due to making several

wrong turns before asking for assistance. Kenny bought another piping hot

cup of coffee, plunked down five more dollars in gas and headed back on his

way.

 

The heavy, unforgiving storm was no deterrent for Mr. Kidman. He had a job

to do. On the Belt Parkway, the storm began to fall heavily.  The windshield

wipers on his weathered and torn Buick Skylark were no match for the

onslaught of the snow. The snow storm made his distance seem even further

and the brisk, bone chilling wind made the Good Samaritan feel that he was

freezing from the inside out. The heating system in his car was on the fritz

having been through several brisk winters without fail, this time it had

finally died on him. His breath was warmer than his heat.

 

Just three to four exits away from his destination, the car started to show

signs of weakness. There was a hard thumping that rapidly increased with

every succession. Then the unthinkable happened. Approximately one mile away

from his exit, Kenny’s car completely shut down. “This is unreal.” He

said to himself in utter disbelief at what had just happened.

 

“This is just another obstacle I’ll overcome.” Kenny said

reassuringly.

 

He put the hazards on, applied the club anti-theft device on the steering

wheel, locked up the car and walked the rest of the way to the home of Mrs.

McAllister-Langford. Hopefully his car would be safe until he got to her

home and was able to make a phone call to a tow truck.

 

The snow was blinding. It was falling at high speeds, thick and heavy

limiting his sight distance considerably. Turning up the collar of his heavy

wool coat, Kenny happened upon a man asking for directions unable to see

where he was going.

 

“I’m sorry; I have no idea where I am myself, sir.” Kenny said to the

questioning stranger.

 

“It’s OK man. Hey, by the way, give me all your money and we’ll call

it even.” He demanded.

 

“What? Is this a joke?” He asked.

 

But the man wasn’t joking. Kenny was flabbergasted. How could doing a good

deed return such bad luck? Kenny was thrown to the ground where he was

embedded in the snow. The mugger took Kenny’s coat and shoes. He stole his

car keys, his wallet and his reading glasses. He started to believe the old

adage that “no good deed goes unpunished.”

 

The only thing that was salvaged was the wallet belonging to Mrs. Fran

Meade. As Kenny watched the mugger disappear into the night snow.

 

With all his bad luck notwithstanding, Kenny pressed on. He was just a mere

block or two away from his destination and was only facing the possibility

that no one was home, leaving him cold, hungry, broke and stranded in

Queens.

 

Though nearly blinded by the thick fall of snow, Kenny saw the address just

ahead. It was within reach. He could almost reach out and touch it as he

turned the corner to her home. On her doorstep, Kenny rang the doorbell and

collapsed onto the salty stoop. The door crept open and Fran noticed

instantly who it was.

 

“Kenneth Kidman, is that you?” Fran asked as she stood looking at the

tired man while tightening the strap on her warm pink wool robe with a

“Hilary for President” sticker on it.

 

Brushing back her long reddish-brown hair, she bent over to pick up the

beaten gentleman and pulled him inside her home and laid his wet and cold

body on the floor. It was the recently widowed Fran Meade, formally Fran

Langford, Kenny’s old high school sweetheart.

 

Kenny looked up and said that he went through Hell and high water to return

the wallet to its rightful owner. He didn’t recognize the woman in the

license because it belonged to her mother Fran McAllister-Langford. Though

the name was vaguely recognizable to Kenny, he never put two and two

together. It had been decades.

 

Kenny started to weep at the reconnection with his long lost high school

sweetheart. He never thought he’d see her again after their graduation

nearly forty years ago. “Fran, I cannot believe it is you. I don’t know

what to say. I came here to return this lost wallet. This has all paid off!

I was all worth it now! He exclaimed with merriment.

 

“You came all the way here, in this treacherous weather without a proper

coat, to return a wallet with nothing in it?” Fran asked with confusion

and a hint of condescending sarcasm.

 

Looking deep into Kenny’s weary and watering eyes, Fran smiled lovingly

and said, “You went through all this Hell to return two dollars to someone

you believed to be a total stranger. You’re crazy! I knew there was a

reason I broke up with you.”

 

She callously took the cash and shut the door, leaving Kenny on the ground.

Author's Note

www.jlwonline.com

Reviews

[Mirror]

Fantastic story!!! The story reminds me of the normal old way/fashion/style of storytelling that is less boring. Instead of trying to get the picture, you make the reader get the picture with ease and flow. Just work on the replacement of Kenny's name with a pronoun. Kenny character is so well introduced that he is perceived and known.

Kenny, at the other hand, is quite fascinating. A strong character indeed.

[LOfCharlemagne]

This is a really well done piece! I love it. Good job. Im very surprised it has not had more views.