The mail Box

The doctor’s death sentence still pains my heart as I retrieve my mail this December morning. For 40 years I’ve walked to this old mailbox. This will be my last trip. The week following Christmas I will check into an assisted living facility, then a nursing home, and finally the hospices center. It's a queer sensation knowing you're walking the last mile or so of life's journey. My old mailbox and I have a lot in common. We both have come to the end of our usefulness. Its cancer, is rust and mine is melanoma. I peer inside and retrieve the power bill, a reminder from my dentist to have my teeth cleaned and a circular from a local dealership. Lying at the bottom of the pile is a solitary Christmas card.

On the way back to the house my mind drifts to another Christmas. The first to follow my wife's death.

My daughter’s family planned a vacation to Denver and ask me to tag alone. I declined for my own reasons. The main reason she didn't need her daddy there to bring up memories of Christmases spent with her mother.

After declining her offer I was on the computer and twenty minutes later, I had a flight, a room, and a ticket for a play. I was New New York bound. The only thing holding me , the book store. The girl who helped me had requested to be off that week. I decided to shut it down. The store sold books not vegetables. They'd be there upon my return . The store was originally my retirement job. Within weeks of its opening it had become my wife, Mary’s pride and joy. I became a visitor in my own store.

On the way to the airport and throughout the trip, the holidays that year had loomed like a dark cloud. As I sat on the plane I knew the tree my daughter had insisted on putting up for me would be the last to adorn Mary and my living room. The reason for the season had escaped me. I still attended church but even there I found a unexplainable void. My heart was hardened to even this most holy of all seasons.

In New York the last act came to a tearful end and the dead rose and took their bow. The audience made its way to the street. The frigid wind and blowing snow seemed to have brought a new life to my body. I hadn't felt so alive since the past spring. Just being southern causes one to feel childlike in snow. I decided to walk to the hotel.

I came upon an alley and heard something just beyond my site. If I had known anything about big cities I would have kept walking. I took a couple of steps into the alleyway and to my surprise, bent over a garbage container, I saw either a young female or long a nasty haired male eating out of a can.

“ What you starring at Mr.” The boy used as much bass as he could mustard.
"I'm looking at a hungry young man.” I said with a genuine smile. The first my face had known in a while.

“ If you give me a couple of bucks the problem could be solved.”

“What if I agree to share a meal at my hotel with you.”

I turned to the welcoming buzz of the street and moved toward the safety of light.

“ Christmas tomorrow, you know.” I then turned to see if he would follow.

“ What's the catch?” He looked as if he had nothing to loose and walked toward me. As he caught up I tried to decide which smelled worse-he or the garbage can.

He seemed to move by instinct following me to my room.

“ Go take a shower. You'll find plenty of fresh towels and you can borrow my razor.” I felt more in charge now we were on my turf.

The boy shrugged and literally peeled off his clothes as he made his way to the bathroom.

I heard the water running and decided to pick up his grimy shirt and pants. I knew he had either lost weight or had found something close in the goodwill store. I jotted the sizes down taking two numbers off and went to the bathroom door.

“ Be back in a few minutes.” Shouting over the cascading water.

"Are you mad?" I ask my self on the way to the room after a expensive shopping spree down stairs.

Upon my return returned , the boy finished his shower. I am sure it had been a while since he had the luxury of unlimited hot water. I knocked on the bathroom door; he opened it with an eerie look on his face.

“ Santa dropped off some clothes.”

“ You gay or something?” Was his reply to my Christian gesture.

“ Son you got nothing I want.” I followed up with a hardy laugh. “Suppose in the big city there is nothing for free.”

In the main dining room, we finished our meal and sipped our coffee and Adam finished breaking my stony heart.

“ I ask Jesus to send me a angel this morning. You know a present. I suppose I was selfish. It is his birthday and all. I'm just tired of living on the streets. My mama said 'she was real sorry' but her boy friend would leave if she let me come back.”

I don’t claim to be an angel but the next day Adam and I flew home. He earned his GED and later graduated college and joined the army. The last letter I received had been in early October. He was stationed in Greenland. He went into detail concerning his wife Nancy of five years and their three-year-old son.

He had married Nancy before enlisting. She had worked for me in the book store. Suppose we all got a present that year. A promise of a visit next year after their tour was up followed. At the bottom of the card was a PS, “Thank you Angel.”

A tear replaced the smile for a second. I then realized by the time Adam and Nancy's tour came to a end, mine would be just beginning.