A CARDBOARD BOX © 11-20-11 by Vickey Stamps The place was a large town and one of many. It was modern with a mixture of people of all cultures and ages. It held busy cars, towering buildings and stress filled faces wearing out the concrete with their rushing feet hurrying from work, and others to stores for a last minute Christmas gift before they closed. It would be a day some would consider best forgotten. Snow had started early and had piled up, and over the curbs already, falling in larger flakes faster and faster. A slanted wind drove the snow and wind against the woolen coats of those that could afford them, and into the very fibers of the poorer folks wearing what they could. It was the eve of Christmas. Wearing an odor of ‘Eau ‘de Liquor’ on his breath, the homeless man inside a large card-board box, curled deeper into himself, into his makeshift home in the back of the alley. He’d hoarded as much newspaper as he could find and would wrap himself tightly in it against the storm this night. It had been two days ago, counting part of yesterday, since he’d scavaged in the garbage bins outside the ‘Little Spain’ café. His appetite had barely been satisfied before he had been driven away by the broom wielding owner. He wondered why the owner had bothered, it was just trash anyway, why should he care? He had scuffled away. He’d been out once already in mid-morning, thinking to just stretch and get fresh air when he’d remembered about what today meant. It was give-a-way day at the Salvation Army place. He had stomped his feet to wake them up. His feet were covered with every sock he owned, one layer stretched over another. His shoes had long since become unbearable. He’d hoped to find some shoes in his overly large foot size. There’d be the recycle bins outside the old building. There had been a coat drive earlier that week. One of the staff, seeing him at the bins, and estimating his size, hurried out to give him one. It wasn’t stylish but it was wool. At least it would help to keep him warm. He stuffed a wad of paper inside his coat as insulation and buttoned it to his neck, crawled out of the box that he called home and stretched his thin frame. He ran his fingers through his hair, before pulling a smelly fisherman type cap down over his forehead. He forced his feet down the alley and onto the sidewalk. He had to find food somewhere, he was hungry and he couldn't get sick now, there was no help here in this alley that he lived in, and winter was here. Stopping for a moment before one of several burn barrels that called the street curbs home and warmed the homeless. He breathed in the smell of it. Soon the other transients that considered this their territory, crowded him away. Denton thought perhaps he’d try the cans in the alley behind the ‘All You Can Eat, Ten Dollars’ place, down by Central Park. He’d been there before. They’d never chased him away, and perhaps there’d be lunch remains left in the trash cans. He had a few plastic bags in his pocket. Maybe he could fill them with enough to last awhile. Thank goodness, there were plenty of leftovers, even some outdated milk in small cartons and a partial carton of chocolate milk. It had been a long time since he’d had chocolate of any kind. He’d drink that slowly. There had even been a half bottle of wine someone had tossed out. He would fortify himself against the cold with the alcohol glow it would give him. Perhaps he’d do that tonight. He stopped up the bottles slim neck, with a plastic bag he still had, and he tucked that into a pocket. He thought he had time to treat himself to a bit of Christmas cheer. Just up the block was Central Park itself. He looked at the huge tree that the city had turned into a beautiful Christmas tree. It towered above all other trees in the park. It filled the coming night and made it brighter and warmer with its decorations and strings of lights. He wished he could sit beneath the tree and recall how it was he’d come to be in this condition. How it was there was no job for him, no child to call him Daddy, no wife to welcome him home after a long and perhaps dreary day. He’d lost his parents to an accident while overseas in a war he had not asked for, a war he had hated. He’d blamed his current life on that war and the fact that there was no one to come back home to. Enough soul searching, he thought to himself. He'd been lucky to come home, many of his friends died over there in the war zone. He'd also been lucky to find food this late afternoon. If the cold held, it might be two or three days more before the storm would let up, and he could make his way about the city streets again. He had best not go too far, as the storm was even worse now, but it had been good to see the tree. He blinked away a tear at the memories that had returned to him of childhood days and of a distant love. He knew the Christmas story, but so much had happened, it seemed to be all cloudy in his mind. Meager as it was, the night was nearly upon him, and the battered up Sears furniture box called his name. It was his home now… and he turned the corner towards home. An Old man had been sitting against the wall, hat beside, and slightly in front of him, as if he’d been begging for coins. He too, wore the look of the tattered and homeless. He, perhaps, was even shabbier then Denton. It’s Christmas, he thought, as he dug around in his bags, finding a bit of his food for the old man. He laid it beside him and in his gravelly voice, wished him a Merry Christmas, and even brought up a wish of “God Bless You’. He didn’t quite know why he had done this, but it was done now, and he’d better leave before he changed his mind and took the food back. The old man rose up and put his hat on his head. Holding onto a cane he’d had behind him, he stepped forward. His steps were far more lively, than one would have expected. He quickly caught up with Denton. “Thanks friend. Can I travel with you awhile? It would be nice to have company tonight. The path is warmer when two walk together." And so it came to be, that over the time it took to travel in the snow, and the bitterly cold blocks to his cardboard home, they spoke together of past and present life and the fact that it was almost Christmas day. As if it had been yesterday, and they were both young, the songs of Christmas rose up in his mind, and he began to hum them. The old man joined in. He asked Denton if he knew what Christmas really meant. Denton hung his head, for he felt ashamed to admit that he did know, but had not practiced his faith for many years. He’d seen so much hate and death in his time overseas, he’d lost his faith. The old man spoke of grace being a free gift, because of that long ago child born in a humble manger. He said grace restored faith. Denton wondered if that were possible for him. They’d reached the alley and he thought he might as well invite him in. They could share what warmth there was in the cardboard box. It would be big enough, it was Christmas after all. The storm raged on. As it came to an end, those who had befriended Denton on rare occasions thought to look for him in the snow filled alley. It was as if he had never been living there. Neither box, nor any trace that a human had made a home there. How could they have seen, or known, that the old man would soon fill the snow filled night with light and warmth. He had taken the weary soldier home for a Heavenly Christmas. Back at the park, crowds had gathered with their family, friends and hassled shoppers, to sing beneath the tree. Strains of music filled the night surrounding the tree, as all the voices rang out. “Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie, beneath thy deep and dreamless sleep …the silent stars go by. A large star had rose and shone down upon them. It would soon be Christmas and beyond a doubt… LIFE WAS GOOD wordpaintervs@live.com http://hisbanner.servingwithjoy.com/