UNEXPECTED EMBERS

From my office to Gate 24, down 3 flights of unclean metal stairways, my fast walk takes me through a seedy neighborhood. Most shops are boarded closed. The pavements have not been swept in months and depend on the wind blowing the papers into the gutters. As I walk I stay alert, watch what is ahead of me, listen to the rear, stop only for the two traffic lights, and sometimes curse them.

Christmas season arrives faster every year. How did 2001 get here when it seems merely a month ago it was 1995? With the inadequate bonus I expect this year, I am mentally preparing to notify Simon and Sullivan that I am retiring Dec. 31. The line to take my place will be long so I don’t feel guilty.

A dollar in Santa’s kettle, a few quarters in the blind man’s cup and I am almost past the last frightening spot on my route home. I’ve passed it coming and going day after day, evening after evening for three years, crossing the alley as fast as I can-–but today–I can no longer ignore it. The smell of smoke, the chanting of Christmas carols draw my attention into a world I have forced myself to ignore.

A tall, black steel drum spits out sparks. It is surrounded by a small group of bedraggled men and women, warming their hands over dying embers. Move, go home, I tell myself but my feet and heart won’t obey. ‘Hey, Jiggs, unload!’ I see Jiggs sidle over to the drum. Probably he was once tall but now his spine is crooked and bent. He digs into his bulging pockets and pulls out single pieces of coal, dropping each carefully and somewhat gently into the dying flames. Tiny sparks rise and fly away. The circle of friends, lost souls, moves closer. A woman with a gray knit cap that has ear muffs helping her bear the cold but making her hearing less than it could be, loudly says, ‘Bless you, Jiggs’ and he replies, ‘You’re welcome Melinda. Wish I had more.’

Mel turns towards the man beside her. ‘What are you grumbling about, Gabby?’ ‘Damn it, look. A spark burned a hole in my sweater sleeve. I could have caught on fire. This is my only sweater. If I had another, I’d donate this one to St. Mary’s Church. It would match the holiest item at the altar.’ Everybody laughs. ‘Don’t worry about it, Gabby Boy. I’ll steal you a new one if I can ever sneak into Walmarts.’ That brought a smile and little tear down my cold face.

Suddenly I am under a microscope. All eyes are watching me. ‘What do you want, Lady?’ a gruff voice asks. I can’t speak. Even if I could, I have no answer, no idea why I intruded. Jiggs, the man who donated the coals to the fire, tells me not to stare at him and his friends. They aren’t freaks. I stand still, try to not to shake, feel stupid.

Darkness is almost around me. I have to catch my train. Somehow, unbidden, the strap holding my purse slips off of my shoulder. The catch, untouched, opens. My hand goes in, finds my wallet and without counting, I empty it, except for two one dollar bills that will get me home. I hand nearly one hundred dollars to Gabby. ‘Spread it around,’ I suggest, wish them all a better Christmas and leave.

As I reach the street, I hear the group singing ‘Jingle Bells’. I feel a bit better than when first I turned into the alley and softly sing ‘Jingle Bells’ too.