the old man and the car

It's Sunday afternoon. I'm walking to a baby shower in Berkeley, up a quiet street lined with lovely houses and trees, and the air is heavy with the scent of rain.

It's also raining. But only sort of. Just a drizzle, but the dark grey sky is threatening to soak.

I've just gotten off BART and I'm a bit disoriented, not sure if I'm heading in the right direction, which is important to know when you're walking in the rain, late for a party, and holding a bag of mini cupcakes.

I notice a man walking nearby and ask him if I am heading in the direction of Telegraph.

"You are," he answers. "This is my car here," he quickly adds. "I'm heading that way right now and happy to give you a ride.'

The man is older, wearing sophisticated glasses and a jaunty hat. He has the air of a history professor, and the address of one, for that matter (in a quaint Berkeley neighborhood). But yet, on instinct, I laugh and shake my head. "No thanks," I say, lightly. "But thank you."

"Well, you're welcome," he says, the emphasis put on 'welcome' -- meaning, I gather, that I am welcome into his car.

But again I shake my head and smile, trudging on. He smiles too, but there is a sadness in it. He gets into his car and drives off.

About 15 minutes later, two blocks from my destination, it begins to pour, and I scamper to the party a wet mess, my hair soaked from brown to black.

I've been thinking about that kind man and his kind offer. Had I accepted, I could have saved ten minutes and an afternoon of moist footwear. But... I can't help but wonder... what if? I'm sorry, I want to tell him, that I can't accept your kindness. And I'm sorry that this world has become a place where I can't comfortably accept it. I think the sadness in his smile was for that, for the fact that a young woman in this day and age can't even trust in the kindness of strangers.

Should I have taken the ride? Have I watched too much "Law and Order" or, let's face it, CNN?

I'm not sure.