Short Story
The boardwalk was ripe with life on the late September evening—around the time of year when the summer heat gave way to the incoming fall. Music came from all angles, from live bands showcasing their talents to the endearing ride themes. Although there was a lot going on, the Coney Island Boardwalk was missing the signature New York City sense of urgency. On this particular night, it was a haven for New Yorkers.
Marcus King spent the night as he spent most others, working at one of the carnival game kiosks. He was content with this gig, although he did not see any long-term future in the ring-toss business. He simply used the job as a way to finance his teenage spending addiction—he enjoyed eating out and going to Nets games with his friends. Being the charismatic kid he was, he also never shied away from the opportunity to talk to the girls that passed by. On this night, Marcus spent most of his free time daydreaming. He had big dreams—to leave Brooklyn, be the first in his family to graduate college, to make his family proud. Marcus lived a pretty typical life—he never had to worry about where his next meal would come from, but he could also not relate to his classmates who had new cars and spent the summer in Europe. He attended a private school, but was there because of his intelligence, not his family’s means. He anticipated graduating from high school the following June. Most of his peers were worried about finding the perfect college, the SATs, and financial aid. Marcus was an easy-going kid; he took life as it came. Those were tomorrow’s problems. As for right now, he had 3 more hours until he could make the mile walk home. The walk was quicker than the bus, and he enjoyed the alone time as well.
When 11 o’clock came and Marcus’s shift had ended, he began his walk home. Because it was a Friday, he got paid that day. He walked to the local corner store to buy an Arizona Iced Tea and a couple slices of pizza. For as long as he had worked on the boardwalk, he had followed this routine every Friday. Marcus paid the four dollars for his order, intent on enjoying the walk home to his family’s apartment.
Marcus began his walk, headphones in, listening to Jay-Z’s The Blueprint for the seemingly millionth time. Jay-Z grew up in the Marcy Projects, only a few blocks from Marcus’s apartment building. At the public middle school Marcus went to, Jay-Z’s words were gospel—inner-city kids of all creeds and colors clung to the words of Mr. Carter. However, at his private high school, the kids seemed to prefer the ballet over popular music. Marcus had friends from both schools, and he lived both lives. In his mind, the music his public-school friends loved was not that different than the classical compositions he learned about in school. The passion in music was the same, regardless of the genre.
The music Marcus enjoyed shaped his teenage ideology. Since before Marcus was born, Jay-Z had been rapping about financial security in a braggadocious manner. He spoke about how getting out of poverty was not enough for him, he had to elevate those he loved out of it. This was Marcus’s ultimate goal: to provide. His parents had always worked very hard to provide for him and his two sisters. They often worked two jobs at once, but did whatever necessary to provide for their children. Marcus wanted to be a surgeon and had always done well in school to ensure he was on the right path. With one year left in high school, he was among the top of his class. He hoped that in a decade, when his education was finally over, he would be able to repay his parents for their years of sacrifice.
As he walked home, Marcus saw a man appearing to beg for spare change about a block ahead. He usually crossed the street to avoid a confrontation, but today was different. In school that week, he had learned about the growing wealth inequality in the country, especially in large metropolitan areas like New York. After learning about this growing gap, he had more sympathy for the man. Besides, he had change in his pocket for once from the corner store. He walked closer to the man until he could read his sign: “ANY SPARE CHANGE APPRECIATED. NEED TO FEED DOG. GOD BLESS!” Beside the man was a small terrier. Despite the man’s disheveled appearance and lowly condition, the dog looked healthy and well-fed. “Here you go, sir.” Marcus handed the man his change, totaling around a dollar. He began to walk away; his dollar was not a monumental help to this man anyways.
“Thank you, son. Tell me, what is your name?” It became clear that money was not all that the man sought after.
“M-Marcus,” he replied. Although he had lived in the city his entire life and had probably passed thousands of homeless people in the streets, he had never had a conversation with one. Of course, his school had volunteered at shelters before, but even that service was rather impersonal. “My name is Marcus.”
“Thanks again for your money, Marcus. Not many people around here seem to have money to spare. Oh well, it is not my place to judge.” The unfortunate reality of New York made it so the underprivileged were often swept under the rug. Even the park benches were made with a divider in the middle, so homeless people could not sleep comfortably on them. Around Coney Island, such a well-known tourist area, sympathy for the down-trodden was at a low. Even Marcus himself had avoided eye contact with people living on the street before.
As Marcus walked home, he could not stop thinking about the man and his dog. He felt good about giving the man money, but knew it wasn’t enough. When he saw that man again, he was determined to strike a conversation. After all, a warm smile might be what the man needs.
Marcus returned to the boardwalk the following evening for work. Saturdays were always the busiest nights at Coney Island, so he had little time to think about the prior evening’s events. Instead, he was focused on the crying children, rude teenagers, and frustrated parents that seemed to be occupying the boardwalk. He normally was never upset at work, but it became clear to him that he saw things in a different light on this night. When he got out at 11, he became intent on finding the man from last night. Marcus had some questions to ask him. He walked past the convenience store he had visited towards the spot he had seen the man. However, he was not here at this time. Marcus walked around the block and spotted the man and his dog on a park bench across the street. He did not have his sign out; he was just sitting on the bench, enjoying the weather of early fall. “Excuse me, sir.” Marcus was not sure how the man would respond. After all, he had only met him in passing.
“Ah, hello Marcus. I was hoping I’d see you again. By the way, this is my dog, Rufus.” The dog walked over towards Marcus, and he got down to pet him.
“I was hoping I would see you too. I haven’t seen the city in the same way since I met you last night. How do all of these people pass you by?” To Marcus, New York represented opulence and grandeur. All of the biggest celebrities and athletes called New York home. He did not understand how everyone, even those much better off than himself, did not bother to stop for the man and his dog.
“You see, New York is a self-interested city. Everyone is worried about their own problems. Me? I’m very low on the list of things they worry about. It’s not a bad thing, kid, it’s just how it is. Hell, even I am more concerned with myself than others.” Marcus had to process this answer before he could understand its validity. Even then, he did not want it to be true.
“So how can I help?”
“I’ll tell you what, let’s head to McDonalds and grab something to eat.” The two men, separated by more than just age, walked over to the fast food joint for a cheap burger. Despite his homelessness, the man insisted on paying for his own meal. “The best thing you can do for me, or anyone else out here, is to hear us out. We are all people too. I’d rather have a conversation than some change, to be frank.”
“Now that you say it, I’ve never thought about it that way.” With renewed faith, Marcus and the man talked. They talked history, music, and sports. The man had lived in Brooklyn since the Dodgers played there. Marcus had never known either of his grandfathers—his mother’s father had died in the 80s and his dad had never known his father. To him, this is what he imagined a grandfather being.
“I’ve been on the streets for a few years now. I used to do maintenance at a hotel, but it shut down after being damaged in Hurricane Sandy. I lost my job and haven’t been able to find steady work ever since. Here and there, I find odd jobs for a week or two. But life on the street isn’t all that bad.”
Marcus’s dad lost his job in the 2008 recession, so he knew how destructive losing a job could be. Despite the man’s conditions, he was still rich in spirit. Marcus felt inspired. Whatever problems he had been through, this man had been through even worse. Marcus felt sort of ashamed for stressing about small things when his fellow man remained happy in such bleak circumstances. After they finished their meals, Marcus thanked the man for his words of wisdom and the man thanked Marcus for his companionship. They went on their ways, each leaving the conversation feeling fulfilled and enlightened.
Marcus sought out the man a few times a week. He often came bearing gifts—a treat for Rufus or a coffee for the man. The conversations began to flow more naturally, and Marcus learned more and more each time he talked to the man. The man had also managed to find work at that same McDonalds they first visited. Things began to look up for each of them. Marcus got into the college of his dreams—University of California Los Angeles. However, he did not get enough financial aid to afford attending it. Instead, he would be attending Brooklyn College. It was a fine institution, but did not live up to UCLA. The man and his dog remained around Coney Island, asking for money only when necessary. As time passed, their conversations became less frequent. Whether it be because Marcus was growing older, the man was becoming less wise, or some other factor, it was a reality of both of their lives. Marcus eventually graduated college and entered law school. His ferocious work effort had allowed him to save up enough to attend UCLA law. Because he spent most of his time in Los Angeles, his meetings with the man became even less frequent. However, whenever he returned to Brooklyn, he knew the man could be found near Coney Island. That is, however, until one day after Marcus graduated law school. He had become a lawyer and returned to tell the man about his accomplishments. It was a rainy June night, one of the few dreary nights of each summer. He walked around the familiar territory near Coney Island—up and down the boardwalk, by the corner store, even in the McDonalds. The man was nowhere to be found.
​
​
​