The Glow of the Spotlight: My Journey with Rebecca

Rebecca doesn’t argue when I say we should leave. I can tell part of her wants to stay and learn who wins, just as badly as I do. But I’m not going to be the cause of her getting in trouble.

Rebecca admits that running the whole way still won’t get us home in time. I ask if we can take the trolley, and she says it costs five cents each. My purse holds two quarters. But a coin dated almost 100 years in the future feels like a risk I shouldn’t take with a curious conductor nearby. Instead, we count out five pennies each from tonight’s earnings and jump aboard the next trolley car that rattles past.

Settled on the hard wooden bench, I ask Rebecca why tonight’s dinner matters so much, wondering if someone in her family has a birthday. She explains that her family is Jewish, and Shabbos, the Sabbath, begins the moment the sun sets on Friday. She can’t be even a minute late getting home.

The trolley clangs forward, but carriages, wagons, and puttering Model-T cars clog every intersection. The driver keeps stopping to pick up more passengers, and we barely seem to move. Dad would love this parade of antique cars. It’s hard to admire New York a century younger, though, with Rebecca chewing her lip beside me, watching the street signs instead of the view. Shadows already cover most of the block, though sunlight still catches the corners at each crossing.

Come on, I urge the driver silently, willing the trolley to find some speed. Every slow block chips away at the little time Rebecca has left.