Speak to me of good things.

So, at the end of the first big push of Odious Tasks Day, I decided to reward myself with a nice walk at sunset and a storebought coffee. It was a beautiful evening and I was sad at having spent the whole day inside. The sun was going down and coloring the snowy street in beautiful pinks, blues and golds. All was right with the world.

Then I rounded a corner a block from my house and saw some guy reaching inside a parked car, across the driver’s seat, to pummel someone in the passenger seat. There was a third someone in the backseat. I don’t know exactly what happened or why — it happened so quickly, and literally right in front of my face.

I had no idea what to do. I had no cellphone, I was unarmed. The guy slammed the door as hard as he could and strode off into his house, yelling. The passenger — I was unable to see gender — slumped down into the seat. The backseat passenger and the frontseat passenger were talking animatedly, making hand motions to one another in conversation.

There was someone else there. Should I say something? Did the guy actually hit the person or just the headrest? I couldn’t see. What was going on? Should I go ask them if they wanted me to call the cops? I didn’t hear screaming, or crying —

The two passengers kept talking.

I …

I walked on.

I didn’t know what to do.

I got my coffee, feeling like one of the thirty-eight people watching Kitty Genovese die.

I walked past the same house on my way home. Two guys — both dressed nearly identically, both fitting the description of the guy doing the slugging — were milling around the same car. I stopped, watching, making sure no one else got hit. No one did. They noticed me watching; I tried to look like I was going somewhere. Someone got into the driver’s seat. The car started, and someone stood there talking to the driver. I couldn’t — strike that — didn’t want to get close enough to check the car for passengers.

I walked on.

Should I have called the cops?

I don’t know. I didn’t have the presence of mind to get the license number, didn’t think to get the house number.

I spend so much time mewed up in the house here that I rarely interact with my community. I work 9-10 hours inside at work, then usually head upstairs by 8pm to do another 4-5 hours work on the book or other freelance projects. I exist in a happy little bubble of my house, my friends, the pub, the library and the local shops.

I talked to my friend Becky about this. Becky is one of the finest people I know, and a shining beacon of humanity. “Think of your own safety first,” said Becky. “Don’t get involved directly– if the guy was unstable enough to be hitting things and slamming doors, he might be unstable enough to hurt you, too. Call the cops on your cellphone. ”

I don’t have a cellphone.

I’m thinking of getting a cellphone.

Virus, stop clutching your chest.

In the last six months or so, I’ve had several instances to make me question the inherent decency of my fellow human beings. My friends are the kindest, most loving people in the world, and they’re a thick insulating blanket around my heart. But moments like these…

… Compounded with all the scary, scary, scary stuff going on in the world right now, I’m feeling very weak and frightened right now.

Speak to me of good things. Help me get over this. Remind me, my good friends, why I am a person of love and compassion. Help me not let the bastards get me down.

Becky, lemme say it again publicly: You are one of the lights that I follow. Keep lighting candles. We see them. Help me light mine again; it’s foundering right now. It’ll be fine soon, I’m sure, but right now, the wind’s got it.