CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FINN
“Finn, good to see you!”
I’m in the small office of the local business association, waiting for my scheduled meeting with a paper cup of coffee perched on my knee. When I look up, I see that my friend Mohammed is there, sporting a bright pink tie and a crisp white shirt.
“Mohammed! What a nice surprise. I didn’t know it was you I’d be seeing today.”
We met each other a few years ago at a local book club and have maintained a casual friendship since. I know him to be easy to talk with and community-minded, a great person to give advice on the matter at hand.
“Normally, this would be outside of my purview. But that’s one reason it took us some time to schedule the meeting,” he says, and gestures into his office. “We’re a little understaffed at the moment.”
I walk in, and we each take seats in a pair of upholstered office chairs, a small table between us.
“I’m grateful you could find the time,” I tell him. “You’re probably aware of the situation on my block?”
He nods as he takes out a notepad. “We’ve been keeping up with the broad strokes. That’s what brought you in today, yes?”
“It is. I haven’t dealt with a situation like this before, and hoped the association might have some advice or resources to offer.”
“I did some looking into the matter,” he says. “You’ll understand we can’t pick sides in a dispute, but the tension seems to be rising, which makes it everyone’s problem. I heard you organized the rest of the block and initiated dialogue with the garage. Is that right?”
I nod. “It seemed to be helping, although since the protest started, I fear we’re moving backward again. Heightened tension was not my goal.”
“It’s true that the community outrage may have heightened the tensions, which isn’t ideal. But there’s value in letting the problem air instead of trying to hide it away.” He jots a few things down. “The next step would be to hire a mediator and look for a compromise solution. Last year, we would have been able to help with that, but unfortunately, we just had to cut our budget. Mediators are on hold for now.”
“That’s too bad,” I say, disappointed. “Maybe the other businesses can help me hire someone independently.”
“It’s an option,” Mohammed says. He pulls a paper from the back of his notepad, which he hands to me. “Here are some recommendations of professionals we like. And I’m going to keep searching in case there’s more the association can do considering our current restraints. We’re eager to see this feud put to bed.”
I hesitate before asking, “Restraints?”
Mohammed sets the notepad down. “To be honest,” he says, voice lowered, “we’re facing some major financial hurdles, and it’s not just the business association. The city has cut funding for a number of neighborhood programs, and the donor base hasn’tstepped up to fill the gap. There’s an anti-gay member of the Buffalo city council who seems to especially have it out for us. A coalition of groups are working on it, and we have already been trimming some of the festivals, street beautification, that sort of thing. But even working together, we’re scrambling to keep up with basic services.”
“Oh.” I sink back in my chair, surprised and disheartened to hear that, although I do remember hearing some rumblings this summer, now that he draws my attention to it. The art show Kavya is organizing was nearly canceled, for one. “That’s not good. Is there anything the rest of us could do to help?”
The magic of the gayborhood doesn’t just happen on its own. It takes a lot of civic organizations, volunteers, and community involvement. If that’s at risk, the rivalry with the garage might be the tip of the iceberg.
“Since you mention it,” Mohammed says. He considers me for a second, then gets up to close the door before returning to his seat. “I’ve been trying to track down additional donors to cover the gap. There’s one state-wide arts organization that might be a perfect fit, and I think I’ve convinced them to come see what we have to offer.”
“That’s great! One visit to the gayborhood, and they’ll be won over.”
“I hope so. A representative might come through on Sunday.”
I perk up. “Ideal! The community scavenger hunt is Sunday.”
It’s one of the most popular yearly events. People organize teams, dress in elaborate costumes, and race each other around the gayborhood as they compete for top prizes donated by local businesses. I’ll be working the shop instead of participating this year, but I have donated a gift certificate, which will be the prize for “Most Enthusiasm.”
“It will definitely show our character. Although I’m not sure public feuds and protests, valid as they might be, will do us any favors.”
I frown and tap my fingers on my knee. “Right. That’s true.”
“Any chance we could sweep things under the rug for one day? I’m hesitant to ask. The visit is intended to be casual, and I’m not supposed to spread the news about it or prepare anything special. The last thing we need is everyone swarming the representative with attempts to impress. But considering the circumstances, if you could discreetly hide the feud during the scavenger hunt, it would be a big help.”
“I can try,” I tell Mohammed, and he nods encouragingly. “I’m not the one who organized the protest, and I hardly have sway over the garage. But if there’s anything I can do to bring peace for a day, I’ll do it.”
He sets his notepad down. “I appreciate that, Finn. The neighborhood orgs are all getting together to strategize and support each other, but unless some new funding comes through soon, I’m afraid we’re all going to feel the impact.”
