Eidi's Gift

Eidi stared down at his lap in unbelief. The check fluttered in the breeze as he sat in silence.

It was only yesterday that he had left Abdu, and paced outside his cousin’s apartment, breathing inarticulate prayers to the heavens. Only yesterday that Mariama had felt farther away than ever. At this time of year the blazing African sun would be beating down on her black skin. It was hard to imagine in the creeping chill of a Georgia winter.

Four years of working at the chicken factory had produced just enough for him to cover his rent and save $2,000. “It’s not enough.” Abdu had told him. “You’ll need around $20,000. Minimum for a big family like yours.” Twenty thousand. It was unimaginable. Eidi didn’t know anyone who had ever owned that kind of money. And yet here it was, just fluttering in his hand.

There was no one else in the park to witness him, a stranger sitting on the bench. He came here nearly every day on his way home from the factory to use the wi-fi from the nearby coffee shop and send a message to Mariama and the children.

He shivered, the cold air forcing him to think. He was still holding the little black notebook in one hand and the check in the other. The notebook had been on the bench with the check inside, unattended. The feminine cursive was difficult for Eidi to read but the numbers were clear. Twenty thousand dollars. And no name on the “To” line. Eidi had only once cashed a check at the bank. He remembered his own amazement when he gave them the little paper and they gave him money in return.

It was a sign! Too strange to be a coincidence. A gift! God had heard his breathless prayers, spoken at night when the silence of the apartment felt heavy on his chest. He had heard the cries that Eidi only briefly allowed himself, overcome by longing to hold his children and touch his wife.

He stood and shook his legs, wondering how long he had sat there. Glancing again around the park, he opened the journal, and his heart stopped again.

Written in plain print inside the cover was a man’s name and address.

Henry Lipscomb

347 Sycamore St.

Chicago, IL

He slipped the check back into the notebook as he went to meet the bus.

_______________

Yahya and Asim were home when he arrived. They were good roommates, but each man carried his own loneliness close to the heart. They were all missing someone, though quietly.

Sleep wouldn’t come that night. Eidi could almost feel the notebook seeping into his thoughts from under his pillow.

He woke early, rubbing his eyes and dreading the cold of the day. Throwing on his coat, Eidi tucked bread into one pocket and the journal in the other. It was Sunday, his one day off, and he felt even that was a gift from God. Eidi still struggled to navigate the sprawling city, but he knew Sycamore Street. It was only sixteen blocks away, and walking always helped him think.

Starting down North avenue, Eidi realized that he never emailed Mariama yesterday. She would probably worry. Eidi furrowed his brow, thinking of her walking all the way to the mission school and standing outside in the sun to use their satellite dish, only to find no message from him. He was glad at least that the school was there.

Eidi slowed, wondering what exactly he was doing. One trip to the bank would mean security for his family. It would mean hope where two days earlier he had none. But this check came from somewhere.

“If I take it to the bank, I take someone’s money.“ Eidi thought. It belonged to someone sixteen blocks away. But why would God put it on the bench? Eidi’s mouth was moving silently, rolling the dilemma over in his mind. He caught himself, realizing how crazy he must look.

The cold stung his face and Eidi thought of his eldest son. What would Danke do in this weather? He couldn’t even drink water with ice cubes. Eidi grinned. In just a month Danke would be 16, the fourth birthday Eidi had missed. Danke could be as tall as him by now.

Nearing Sycamore Street, Eidi felt a rising tension. He counted house numbers up the street, finally stopping at 347. It was a plain looking condo, painted beige with a worn doormat out front. The windows were drawn and the mail slot was rusty.

Eidi had thought it would be one of the big houses on the far end of the street. This couldn’t be the address. Feeling foolish, he moved along, hurrying past the other homes.

Eidi stopped at the end of Sycamore and pulled the bread out of his pocket, leaning against the stop sign at the end of the road. Just before he turned to go, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. A man suddenly emerged from 347. He was close enough that he could hear him cough. He seemed to hobble as he walked, but didn’t look any older than Eidi. He watched, rooted to the spot, as the man pulled his trash can down to the curb and shuffled back inside, slamming the door as he went.

Eidi meandered back down the street until once again he stood outside of 347. He pulled the notebook back out of his pocket and opened the cover.

“Henry…” He said slowly to himself. Then, biting his lip, he walked to the weathered doormat and raised a hand to knock.

Scuffling sounds within paused his hand. There were voices, then a shout, and the slam of a door. Eidi leaned in toward the glass only to see a man standing on the other side. The door flung open and Eidi stood stupidly on the threshold.

The man’s look was both expectant and defensive.

“Look, if you’re here to complain about the noise, I’ve already told her to keep it down. She won’t shut up. Okay?”

Eidi stared, sifting the words for meaning. The man looked impatient.

“Just a misunderstanding, you know?”

“Oh…yes.” There was silence between them. The man seemed to look at Eidi for the first time, confusion showing on his face.

From behind him a woman poked her head out of a door in the hallway. It was dark in the house, but Eidi thought her eyes looked red.

“Henry?” she said hoarsely.

The man whirled to face her, imprecation in his eyes. She disappeared behind the door.

“Okay…good? Then get the hell out of here.”

Eidi took a step back and the door slammed shut.

He felt himself shaking. Groping for the notebook in his pocket, he turned on his heel and made his way towards the bus stop. He was going to the bank.

_______________

Eidi stared as the city passed in a blur outside the bus window, feeling something in him that he couldn’t quite place. He saw the pale grey face of Henry Lipscomb in the doorway. He saw again the dark hallway and the woman’s red eyes.

“I think I hate this man” thought Eidi. This man slams doors and makes his woman cry. Eidi thought of Mariama. If he lived in a house with Mariama, he would make her laugh, not cry. His house would not be dark. He would have his children there, and they would make it bright.

But Henry was a bad man. Eidi deserved the money. Eidi looked at the notebook in his hands. Weren’t these the hands of a good man?

But the bank wasn’t open. After stopping to send a message to Mariama he had missed his window. Eidi clicked his tongue and lamented the long ride home. He would have to wait until his next day off.

He spent the next day deep in thought. Work at the factory seemed to drag, and his back felt stiff. When the clock finally allowed, Eidi headed for his seat in the park. He sat down heavily on the cold bench and typed out a message to Mariama about the money, but erased it. He couldn’t tell her, not yet. The sound of the bus reached Eidi’s ears, and he jumped up, not wishing for a long walk home. Bounding up the sidewalk toward the door, he instinctually reached for his pocket. His stomach dropped as he felt only the soft padding of an empty coat. The journal was gone. Eidi turned back, breaking into a run, his fingers itching for the notebook. Relief flooded him as he saw the smooth black cover, dull in the evening light. Grabbing the notebook, he made it back in time for the disgruntled driver to slam the door shut.

He sat awhile breathing hard from anxiety and exertion. Eidi thought of Henry. How long it had taken him to realize it was gone. Had he come back to the bench? Retraced his steps, only to curse God and come home angry at the world. Was that why the woman’s eyes were red?

Eidi couldn’t sleep again that night. The notebook and the check sat under his pillow taunting him. Eidi turned to look at the clock. 4:20 AM. He sighed and sat up. He wiped his eyes, put on his coat, tucked some bread in one pocket and the notebook in the other.

Thirty minutes later Eidi stood outside of 347 Sycamore Street. He was stopped on the sidewalk, holding the notebook out in both hands like an offering. He looked up at the sky and breathed a wordless prayer. The cold heavens offered no response. He walked to the door. Moving slowly, as if his motions were not his own, he pushed the notebook through the rusty mail slot, and it was gone. Hot tears started down Eidi’s face as he turned away.

“I’m sorry Mariama” he whispered to the dark.

_______________

After Eidi’s discovery of the notebook, work at the factory felt like drudgery. Danke’s birthday had passed and the days were growing warmer. Mariama’s messages had been shorter and more vague lately. He had gone to see Abdu on his last day off and told him about the money. Abdu was a kind man, but he was also a businessman. He had laughed with sympathy, but explained to Eidi that the money could never have been his anyway. “They have people who make sure checks like that go to the right person.” Eidi wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or just foolish.

“I’m ready to see my family, Abdu. I need a way.”

Abdu softened. “I’m sorry, my friend. I am sorry.”

Eidi arrived early to the bus stop. With the weather changing, there were more people at the park. It had been weeks since he sat at his usual spot. It wasn’t the same peaceful place it had always been. Shaking his head he meandered over to the bench, stretching his feet out in front of him. Eidi pulled out his phone to type a message to Mariama, but couldn’t think of what to say. An incoming text interrupted him. It was Mariama.

Eidi’s eyes flickered, scanned the words quickly, skimming some, then doubling back. It had been written in multiple messages, arriving out of order. Eidi was incredulous, doubting his own eyes.

“…to help our family.

Today they tell me…”

He read the words again. Then again.

“No message from you, but someone at the school saw me…

...It is a gift!

…they will give us what we need…

I talked with them…"

The words sent waves through him. He had been foolish enough to hope once, and now worked to master his mounting excitement. Despite himself he stood up, holding his phone close to his face, reading the words aloud to the crisp spring air, attracting the stares of passersby.

“Eidi, it is a gift. We are coming!”