My walk

It was terribly cold day. The kind of day that makes arthritic knuckles ache. The kind where your finger tips turn white and the wind takes your breath away. So cold in fact that I don’t even know how I got my fingers to cooperate when I retrieved the little black book for the side walk. The cold of that day is a sensation I will never forget for it was the day my life changed. And I never felt that bitter cold again.

I woke early as I did most days. I heard the sounds of people coughing, whispering and groaning. The typical stirring sounds of a typical morning. As I lay on my cot I saw the sun peaking through the stained glass window. I did not move. I simply opened my eyes and greeted the day. These first moments of morning were the moments I cherished. From my place on the cot I could take in the beautiful dancing rainbows the sun made on the carpet as it made its accent in the sky and shown through the stained glass. One window at a time the sun would shine through and tell the story of Jesus. On the final window the sun finally rose in the sky, it’s rays landed on the alter. It was hard to deny the divine with such beauty beginning each day. But then again I was sleeping on a cot in a church because I had no where else to go. Not much beauty in that.

I sat up and stretched before gathering my belongings. I bundled myself and braced for the cold day. There were always a few offerings at the church in the mornings. Fruit, granola bars, cans of soup to take, maybe some bread but the one thing you could always count on was coffee, hot coffee and this was what I lived for. I had nothing, no money, no family, no home. But, every morning I had coffee and that was everything to me. On my way out of the church I took two cups of the coffee, a brown bruised banana and a dented can of cream of mushroom soup to eat later.

I made my way down the church steps. As the sun reflected off of the glistening, gray snowbanks it hurt my eyes. The sun was so fickle. One minute it was making beautiful pictures with the stained glass windows and the next it was blinding you so cruelly. I made my way down 1st street towards the city square. Many of the people from the church gathered in the park during the day. I was more of a recluse. I preferred to be on my own. Nothing against the others I just preferred not to make friends. It was easier not to have connections with anyone.

Alone, I headed to the ally behind the municipal building. I liked the ally because it broke the wind. Even though it was the municipal building no one ever bothered me or asked me to move along. I seemed to blend in with the trash bins and delivery trucks because no one ever seemed to notice me. Not being noticed was the best I could ask for in life. It allowed me to go about my days and simply exist. That was the goal each day. I had no desire to do anything more than exist.

From my place between the sewer grate and a discarded office desk I lifted the lid of the styrofoam cup and drank. The hot, bitter liquid burned my lip and coated my tongue. I swallowed and felt it makes it’s path down my throat and settle in my stomach. The warmth spread through me all the way to my toes. I lay my head back against the brick wall behind me. The fickle sun shone down on my face the coffee warmed my soul and I felt bliss.

I had never imagined I’d find myself on the streets but as they say, life is what happnes when you are busy making plans.

I came over from Germany when in was just a young girl of 17. My parents had 9 children. I was the eldest. My mother was not a very warm person but she was quite practical. She made me a new dress and passed down her kitten heels and tube of lip stain and sent me on my way. “Find a husband Frances,” she said. “You Can’t stay here.” There was no room for debate. I looked around our small apartment at my parents and 8 younger siblings, 3 of which were still in diapers and I saw the desperation in my fathers eyes. So I turned on my kitten heel and went to find a husband.

I met George 2 days later outside the picture show. I had never been to the picture show. That was a luxury I couldn’t afford but I noticed a lot of young men in that area and so I loitered there. We spoke, he met my parents, he took me to a picture at the show house and within weeks we were married. We lived a simple life. He was a grocer, we had a small apartment and never had children.

I lost track of my siblings after my parents died and that was okay with me. I had George and that was enough. When George got sick I realized for the first time that i was actually quite alone. I wasn’t terribly bothered by that but it was a striking realization anyway. I took care of George day in and day out. This is where I shined the brightest. I was a wonderful caretaker to my husband. He loved me and I him and it worked just fine for some time. Until the day he got very sick. He struggled to breath, he bruised easily and became incontinent. I didn’t mind washing his sheets but I couldn’t physically manipulate his body and neither could he. I called the hospital. The doctors took him. I took a bus to see him each day but each day he grew worse. On the 186th day he passed.

The funeral was small, only me. After George was gone the bills came. I wrote letters. So many letters. I explained what happened and that I had no money but the collectors called and called anyway until the phone was turned off. I never paid a bill in my life. I didn’t even know how to write a check. Finally the landlord came. He had the sherif with him. The courts took the money to pay our bills. They told me I had to leave the apartment. I had nowhere to go so I packed a suitcase and walked down the sidewalk.

And that’s how what I never imagined came to be. 15 years later and I was still walking. Just existing day after day.

I finished my first coffee and the banana before taking a ball of yarn and a crochet hook from my bag. I made hats, mittens and scarves most days. Some days I made blankets for the nursery at the hospital. When I donated my crafts people saw to it that I got more yarn. It made my hands Hurt but my heart warm. The baby blankets were my favorite to do. Pinks and blues and yellows. Sometimes a apricot color if I was lucky. That was the softest yarn. Creating those blankets made me feel like I was doing something slightly more than existing.

One day I actually saw a sweet little girl with a head of curls and she was carrying one of my blankets. I knew it was my blanket. I just loved seeing that little girl with the blanket. That was my best moment. Aside from being with George.

On that day, the day my life changed I was making a red hat. I watched the preople walk by and knitted until my stomach began to rumble. I had a can of soup but I wanted something to go with it. I planned to use the bathroom in the park and then walk behind the Italian restaurant in hopes of finding some bread.

As I made my way to the park I noticed a young man fumbling with his brief case. He looked terribly rushed and also distraught. I could see him muttering to himself as he filled his briefcase. His hands trembled as he picked up the papers. Once his briefcase was closed he ran to the curb and hailed a cab. I noticed that he dropped something and I rushed to catch him but my legs were old and I was too slow. Gingerly I bent forward to pick up the dropped item. It was a little black book, beautifully bound and substantial. I felt important. I didn’t know if it was an address book or a journal or something else but I knew he would want it back. Carefully I untied the straps that held it closed. I wanted to find his information without invading his privacy. Fortunately he filled out his contact information inside the front cover. I was familiar with the address so I walked.

2 miles later I was still walking. When I finally reached the address it was apparent that I was out of place. I received judgemental glares from nearly everyone I passed. I took notice but I didn’t care. I stood in front of the towering glass building and let the sliding doors open before me.

Inside the building I asked for the Anthony Winters, the owner of the little black notebook. The lady at the desk gave me some attitude so I informed her I was in possession of a personal item of Mr. Winters and I wanted to see that it was returned to him and I demanded to do it myself. It could be a book of company secrets for all I knew and I wouldn’t trust it with anyone but the owner. She pointed me in the direction of the elevator and said Mr. Winters was waiting for me. When the elevator doors opened on the 28th floor a dapper man with a gray streak in his hair was waiting for me. He saw the book in my grasp and his face took on a look of surprise.

“My notebook!” He exclaimed.

He was not the man I saw drop the book and I eyed him suspiciously. He reached out his hand for the book and I hid it behind me.

“Oh no you don’t.” I said.

“You aren’t the man that dropped this!”

“No ma’am I am not. But that is my book. I am Anthony Winters. My notebook was stolen from me.”

“Here,” he gestured his hands towards a long hall.

“I’ll show you,” he said.

I followed him to his office.

“May I?” he asked gently while reaching for the book.

Hesitantly I handed it over. Carefully he untied the straps and opened the book. He laid it out in the table and flipped through it. It was filled with drawings and writing. He settled on a drawing. It was a cityscape. He gestured towards his office window. It was the exact same view. Then he motioned to his desk where his name was prominently displayed. On the wall hung certificates, diplomas and accolades with his name.

“Mr. Anthony Winters, you are a wonderful artist.” I said as I looked again at the cityscape.

“Thank you Mrs. ?”

The word Mrs. hung in the air.

“Just Frances,” I replied.

“Okay Frances but I need a last name to write on the check for the finders fee.”

“That’s okay,” I turned down the finders fee.

“I insist,” Anthony said.

“If you must make a check then please make it to Saint Elizabeth church please.” I requested.

He raised a brow at me. My appearance made it clear that a check would probably do me more good than a church but I didn’t back down.

“To the church,” I said again.

He wrote the check and handed it to me.

“Thank you!” He replied.

I looked at the check. It was written out to Saint Elizabeth church for $20,000. I folded it and placed it into my pocket. I turned on my heel, left his office and I walked. I walked all the way back to Saint Elizabeth. I went inside the church and took a cup of coffee. I placed the check into the collection box and walked out of the church. I took a sip of coffee and walked down the sidewalk.

“Today was the day that I would find my George,” I though to myself.

And so I walked.