The air was frosty and frigid, and tiny snowflakes fell like whispering feathers. Eileen could see her breath exhaling from her stretched nostrils as plumes of wispy white dissipated slowly into the atmosphere. She had grown accustomed to the cold, she had spent the majority of her life living in Minnesota, and yet each time the temperature grew colder, her bones seemed to creak. Pulling her long, dirty wool coat closer to her chest, she tried to smile as customers left a local department store. She stood outside and hoped she would make out better than the last few nights. The homeless shelter was packed, and she had nowhere to go except for the dark graffiti tattooed underbridge. She held onto her cardboard sign, written neatly in black crayon, hoping for the best.
Will work for food and shelter, it read.
Eileen was in her mid-fifties with shoulder-length brown hair, mahogany brown eyes, and a small scar over her left eyebrow from a sledding accident when she was a kid. She recalled a time that was easier and simple, a time when she did not have to worry about food or shelter. In fact, as a child, you never really have to worry about anything, or you shouldn’t have to, at least. Her brief childhood memory caused her to think about her own son, Oliver, who was killed by a hit-and-run driver when he was only five years old. The memory tormented her and is the cause of her major depressive disorder and alcoholism.
Eileen dropped out of high school when she found out she was pregnant. Her authoritative parents would have nothing to do with her and called her a disgrace for causing this everlasting blemish on the respected Bickmoore name. Other relatives responded to her pregnancy in a similar fashion. She felt alone and very afraid. She went to her boyfriend’s home for a short time and found some comfort but left shortly after her son had been killed. She started drinking in excess and expressing her grief in fits of anger. One time she slapped her boyfriend’s mother after she commented on whose fault it was that Oliver had died. She had said that “Oliver would still be around today if you weren’t always drinking and would have paid better attention to him!” She had never returned after that fight and knew she never would. She felt responsible for her son’s death and always would. The memory haunted her to this day.
Eileen brushed some snow off her shoulders and placed her hands back in her holey pockets. Not long after, an elderly woman walked out of the store and was having a difficult time pushing her shopping cart through the snow drifts. Eileen watched from her snowy corner, wanting to help but hesitated because many people were reserved when she approached due to her appearance. She usually wore her dirty wool coat and an old black and red checkered flannel scarf. She smelled like body odor and mildew when she couldn’t shower regularly at the shelter. Let’s face it, nobody wants to be near smelly homeless people. The world is a cruel place. She smiled warmly at the elderly lady and asked if she could help. The old woman smiled faintly and nodded her head. The old woman was mean and vicious, and she only smiled so she wouldn’t have to push her overstuffed shopping cart through the deep snow. Eileen grabbed the cart and shoved it through the thick snow with a force that surprised her. The cart left deep tracks in the snow, a pathway reflecting its journey.
“Where are you parked?” Eileen asked.
“Just over there, in the little blue car.” the old woman pointed as she grabbed her cashmere scarf to hold it closer to her neck. The old woman was rich and was taught as a young girl that homeless people were all the same. “Lazy, drug addicts and alcoholics that are usually illegal immigrants.” Her father used to say. The old woman had never tried to come to her own conclusion or to prove her father wrong. She never knew anyone could become homeless and experience tragic loss at any time. Death and poverty will always come, in one way or another. Even the wealthy can live in poverty in a sense. If they do not have love, they have nothing; many say this is far worse than having no money.
“I can help you put these in your trunk, too, if you want?”
“That would be nice.” the old woman forced another smile, but it never reached her eyes.
Eileen reached the car and grabbed the bags to place them in the old woman’s trunk. The little old woman grabbed her keys, unlocked the door, and popped the trunk. As Eileen placed the bags gently in the back, she noticed a box of rat poison nestled by the wheel well. She thought it was strange to have an opened box lying in the trunk, but she didn’t focus on it. Mice had an easy time making their way into vehicles, especially around autumn. Eileen finished placing the bags in the old woman’s car and pushed the cart out of the way. The old woman was already in the car with the heater on high to keep her thin layer of skin as warm as possible. Eileen smiled at the old woman and started to walk away but stopped as she tried to back out but became stuck in a small pile of snow pushed behind her low vehicle. She revved the engine, sounding like she floored it, with no luck but spinning tires that splattered snow on Eileen’s worn coat.
“Hold on, I will try to give you a push.” Eileen made her way to the front of the car and used her strength to heave the car backward. The old woman gave it some gas again, and the car started to move out. When the old woman became unstuck, she put the car in park and opened the door, popping the trunk. She grabbed the box of rat poison and handed it to Eileen.
“Here, you need this more than I do.”
Eileen was astonished at the old woman’s cruelty and pulled back from the box. The old woman came closer and pushed the box in Eileen’s hands, letting go.
“It would be better for you, dear, if you didn’t suffer the cold; it would be quicker too. Mix some in your drink, and you will no longer feel pain.”
The old woman smiled cruelly and got into her car, speeding away into the night. Eileen stood in the parking lot as snow fell slowly on the earth covering every inch. She stood there for a while, thinking about what had just happened and if the woman was really suggesting what she thought. Eileen made her way to the garbage can and tossed the rat poison. Even though things were terrible, she would never kill herself. She felt that she deserved to feel as guilty and as hopeless, and she did because she was not able to stop her son from running into the street to get his ball. She needed to feel the pain to feel like she was paying for her mistake.
Soon after Eileen got back to her spot, a young wealthy looking man walked out of the store and to his large SUV. He wore a long black coat and black leather gloves. He was handsome and had a warm aura around him. He noticed Eileen standing by her small bucket and walked towards her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a personalized expensive-looking billfold.
“I usually don’t carry cash anymore, but my father taught me that I should always carry a little cash for emergencies. This seems like an emergency. I hope it helps.” He pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill and placed it gently in her bucket.
“Sir, thank you so much! This means a lot.” Eileen responded as a tear slid down her cheek.
“Merry Christmas.” he smiled and walked away.
It seemed like her luck was changing. She felt the slightest bit of hope.
A young couple with a small child walked near her and threw some change into her small purple plastic bowl. “It’s not much, we don’t have much, but I hope it helps.” The gentleman smiled politely and dropped in a few quarters. Eileen smiled and expressed her thanks bidding the couple and their child a good night. The little girl, dressed in a bright pink coat, looking like a plump marshmallow, smiled warmly at Eileen.
“Merry Christmas!” she said.
“Merry Christmas to you too.”
Eileen sighed and briskly rubbed her hands together, blowing warm air in between her lightly gloved fingers. As the couple and their young daughter walked to their rickety old car, Eileen saw the little girl ask her parents something. She was too far away from them to hear their conversation, but she thought it may have been about her because the woman looked back at Eileen and then at her daughter. Soon after, the little girl came trotting towards Eileen with something in the palm of her tiny hand. She looked up at Eileen and handed her a small plastic hair clip that she had removed from one of her pigtails and gave it to Eileen.
“Here, for you.” The little pink marshmallow stretched her arms toward Eileen, handing her this prized possession. Eileen took the treasure and looked at it, tiny in her palm. A little plastic pink hair clip, similar to ones she had seen many years ago. Before Eileen could say anything, the little pink marshmallow threw herself against Eileen and gave her the biggest hug anyone could ever give. She smiled again and went back to her parent’s car. Eileen held the small clip in her hand and closed it tightly.
Not long after the young couple and their daughter left, a husky man with a red face walked out of the store, sneering in her direction, and yelled, “Get a job, you lazy ass!” he laughed and walked right past her hoisting himself up in his big hydraulic truck. Eileen shuddered and rolled her eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks. It was almost cold enough to make them freeze in their descent. To make up for her injured pride (she did not know if it was because she was hurt by what the cruel stranger had shouted or from the bitterly cold wind), she thought to herself, overcompensating for something ass hat! She slicked a cold finger across her cheek and brushed the stream away.
After the store closed, Eileen grabbed her small bucket of money and walked to the nearest liquor store, where she bought the most expensive bottle of vodka. She drank it all as she went beneath a bridge to camp for the night. She saved the rest of the money for tomorrow’s bottle. She hoped the shelter would have vacancy tomorrow and she could sleep on a warm cot again. But Eileen’s hope never came true. It was Eileen’s last night on earth. She froze to death in the bitter cold with icy hands clasped on a vodka bottle and bright blue lips.
When she opened her eyes, she felt no pain. The constant feeling of guilt that she had felt over the last thirty years had seemed to vanish. She felt warm and at peace. A peace that she had not felt for a very long time. As her vision cleared, she started to see the outline of a man, robbed in white with the friendliest smile, welcoming her in a firm embrace.
“My child, you are home.”
“Home? I don’t have a home.”
“You have entered into the gates of your eternal home Eileen. A place that you have always belonged.”
“Am I in heaven? I don’t deserve to be here…” Eileen looked towards the ground and saw white plumes of smokey clouds beneath her feet.
“Eileen, my sweet child, nobody deserves to be here. It is through grace, by faith that you enter into heaven, into eternal life.”
“Are you…, are you, Jesus?”
“Some call me Jesus, some call me Savior, some call me Father. I have many names.”
“What happened?”
“I will answer your questions in time, and you will come to find out that the answers that you seek will begin to have no importance. But for now, I have one question for you. A question that you must answer and choose your answer wisely, for it determines your fate.”
“What is the question?”
On your last day on earth, you were approached by many strangers. Some rude and some kind. Out of all the people you met, who gave you the most?”
Eileen paused as she thought. She could barely remember the man that yelled at her, she remembered the people that gave her several dollars, she remembered the handsome man that gave her one-hundred dollars, and she remembered the evil old woman. But the memory that stuck out most for her was the little girl. The little pink marshmallow.
“A little girl gave me a hug and a big smile. She also gave me one of her small plastic hair clips. It meant more to me than a million dollars.”
“Why?”
“Because the smile and the hug kept me warmer longer than any house or money ever could. The clip was important to the little girl. She gave me all she had, and she was sincere. It was the best gift I have ever gotten.”
And Jesus said, “Well done, my child. Welcome home.”
Cryptic Corner 