Charity

I was given the best gift this year, the only gift that really mattered when it seemed to be all about the boxes, bows, and the things in them.

I had forgotten my name. It had been a long time since anyone said it. On the streets I was Twitch, for my thievin' fingers. I drunkenly joined the army after I lost my family to a car accident. I’ve always been able to act like I had it all together, I was even able to fool the Sarg.

A few years in the war and I was relieved of duty after getting shot in the leg. I still had a stiff limp. Gave me some street cred, whatever that was truly worth. I was able to get food and cigarettes with relative ease with my twitchy fingers.

This time of year was for the toughest to withstand. The cold was the worst but second in line were the memories of what we once had. The memories of warmly lit family dinners sometimes were fireplaces in our souls, comfort to keep us going. Other times they could be a torment, which we tempered with alcohol and cigarettes, which also kept the cold temporarily at bay.

Pushed out from the richer neighborhoods, we had to keep moving to keep the cops away and to be somewhat warm. I picked turkey and sweet potatoes from the garbage. I eventually made it to the skating rink. People talked feverishly about the gifts they wanted to get this Christmas. The billboards blazed with dazzling smiles and models advertising sweaters. What I wanted I thought was forever out of reach. I couldn’t stand one more night shivering while trying to sleep under the bridge.

I was ready. There truly was nothing for me in this world. My family was with the Lord and I couldn’t build a life for just myself. I missed them so much. It was all just too hard. I went above the bridge where I would frequently sleep. The waves of the river whispered the promise of eternal rest, waiting to wash away the pain. I stood on the ledge when I heard it.

Silent night... holy night...

I remembered my young daughter’s light breathing as she was snuggled in the warm blankets, my arm wrapped around my smiling wife. I remembered the wreckage and my cop friend telling me that I did not want to see it. I remembered the explosions and agonizing screams of war. Then I came back to the bitter cold wind reddening my face.

Sleep in heavenly peace... sleep in heavenly peace.

“What are you doing mister?” A little girl with dirt smudged on her face and wearing ragged clothes asked in a small voice. She must have been only a few years old and had the big glowing eyes of a small angel. The poor kid, having to rough it on the streets.

I asked her, “Are you alone?”

She nodded. I suddenly became very angry. This should not happen, especially not to a kid. Then a sad and warm compassion filled my heart and spilled from my eyes. I said to her, “Let’s find you a place where you will be warm with some food. What’s your name?”

“Charity,” she said shyly and gave me a hug.

We wandered for a couple hours then I saw a place I had never seen in all my wanderings of the city. A small scrunched house in a ragged neighborhood with a faded sign read, “Redemption House”. The lights were the only ones lit at this hour. The sun gave the faintest sign of rising on the horizon. I knocked and the warm light and a bright face welcomed us in.

Many people were awake talking. They all greeted me and Charity, giving hugs, happy to see us. Then I heard it for the first time in years... a soft and deep voice half whispered in a question filled with awe, “William? Will Alexander.” He talked me down in the trenches, gave me the courage and honor to defend the country I loved. Manny...

My friend was there. The cheerful voices, warm lighting, and a smiling Charity. This year I got the only gift that really mattered: I was home.