Where the Truth Lies

Last night in the rain a man literally walked into me on the street, and then shoved me and shouted out how I'd better look where I was walking, etc.  It shot me into this sort of rage that I witness so often in the city-- I mean, this 'fight' reflex.  I'm going to find a policeman and have you arrested for assault, I threatened, knowing well I'd do nothing. 

And it wasn't the physical shove that made me want to punch him as much as the phony accusation. My personal history is a little littered with these twisty versions of reality, these false manipulations which place one on the wrong side of a barbed fence.  It's the Trumpian version of reality-- the slippery miscarriage of facts that makes him an absurd debating opponent and an elusive and dangerous candidate.  Our daily newsfeeds bleed with his petty face-slaps and pokes and lies.  One wishes that AI could highlight untruths in red. It just piles up-- day by day. But it was as though the man on the street was trying on DT's personality costume, with an extra dose of bully. 

On 14th Street I've noticed a new approach to panhandling.  It's sort of migrant-related, because young mothers sit on cardboard blankets with their children-- sometimes two or three-- with a sign saying they've just arrived and need help.  It's heartrending and also manipulative, when most of these families are being given aid and shelter-- granted, not ideal-- but using children this way always bothers me.  Last week I was confronted by a man-- maybe around 30-- who asked me for money for his baby.  He showed me photos on his phone and I looked into his eyes and tried to see his soul, as I agreed to use my food stamps to buy him formula.  In the supermarket, the large-sized can was $36; as I paid, the checkout girls were all silent and judgy as though I'd assisted in a crime.

So apparently, I learned from a more streetwise neighbor, powdered formula is used to cut street heroin or other drugs... looking back, it was sort of a generic baby photo I'd seen-- it looked staged and professional.   I tried to forget... it wasn't the $36 but the complicity that plagued me.  

My longtime friend and onetime fiancé has been like family throughout my adult life.  For thirty years he accompanied me to funerals, graduations, events... collected me from wearying hospital visits-- photographed my son at sports events.  As we aged, we often talked about taking a retirement trip across the country-- living in an RV-- doing things I'd never done... maybe even sharing a mountain-house somewhere with a front porch and chairs to rock in while we admired the view and drank coffee like old friends.  But I was utterly shocked to discover that he'd been secretly married... yes, I had to pry it out of him... and was living an absolute double life.  It wasn't the romantic thing-- that had long since fizzled out and we'd always shared stories of affairs, etc... but the utter betrayal of what one assumes is a kind of honesty among intimate friends-- or even thieves, lol. The fact that day after day he'd stop by and we'd drink a coffee in his car-- he'd call or text many times. He described every move, every meal... or so I thought...  he came for Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc... always solo, not that it was a requirement; he knew all of my circle.  Could my judgment have been so poor? I felt ill-- tainted... invaded.

Even my close friends could not believe his duplicity-- like an alternate reality.  While he begged and wept for forgiveness, alleging he was stuck in some terrible entanglement... well, I gave him a little slack and sympathy.  Years later, I find he has never divorced, and while he claims to have left the state, he has been here... he appears... presumably still pays her rent, like a sort of guilty phantom. And me-- not just another betrayal-- but a huge one, because my trust was so broken, not to mention the fact the 'wife', known to no one,  had no knowledge of his attachment, romantic or not.  I am not the 'other woman' and I have a right to object to being backed into that complicitous corner. Swallowing other people's lies is like bad food-- it just doesn't go down.  And he, above all, is a liar. Full stop.

I was thinking today about Pete Rose-- how he fell from grace... was it money, some kind of temptation or just bad decisions that imploded his career some years back?  His legacy will be vaguely lightened by his death, but not whitewashed. I can't imagine how his family must have felt... 

With all the cameras around-- the constant recording of reality-- how is it that we seem less attached to truth than ever? Plastic surgery, weightloss drugs, pitch-correction, photoshopping and filters...  we can present as almost anything. As for Mayor Adams, I am withholding judgement.  In this milieu of deception, lying, cheating, his indiscretions seem less heinous than the things that roll off of Donald Trump's tongue hour by hour.

So at my age, it's no wonder I'm wound tightly enough to want to punch back at the man in the street who shoved me... to feel venomous toward my friend who wants to be forgiven. The baby formula-- well, I've been duped many times and choose to believe the 1% possibility his baby son is being nourished on my 'dime'. Watching resignation after resignation from city agencies, it's hard to believe in the innocence of our mayor.  Assuredly running municipal business requires skills I'd rather not think about. But on the larger stage we have a criminally indicted ex-President who has somehow maneuvered his way back to candidacy.  What is wrong with us?