Blinking Lights

        The old man sighed as he looked in his cupboard. He had instant coffee, sugar, and some oatmeal. In the fridge, he had some milk, a couple of apples that were a little bit past the crispy state that he liked and half of a block of yellow cheese. A half loaf of bread and the salt and pepper were all that graced his counter. Well, he thought, not much to work with for any kind of Christmas dinner. Not that he even cared that much, since there was no one that would be joining him in celebration. Since his little dog had passed away a few months ago, he now lived alone and as many old people did, he marked the passing days and months by the calendar. Christmas, these days to him, only meant that he would soon need a new one.

         Briefly, he thought of his daughter who lived in England with her husband, and a tiny bit of longing crept into his heart. He hadn’t seen her in three years now and he missed her immensely. She had, many times before asked him to come live with her, but he had just as many times declined. She had a wonderful life, a job she loved, a man she loved and he couldn’t picture himself imposing on her life. It was her time to live the life she wanted. The old man had no regrets; he had lived his own life and had loved it all, even the parts filled with sorrow. He had loved a wonderful woman, had a beautiful child with her, traveled a lot and had an ordinary life filled with extraordinary beauty. Now, he lived a simple life, mostly funded by his social security and a meager savings account, but his needs were simple too. But, this Christmas sucked. It would be the first one that he would be truly alone. Not even a pet to keep him company. His energy left him as that thought struck home.

         He put on the kettle to make coffee, measuring out just enough of the grounds to make it last until his next check came through. While he waited for the water to boil, he went through his checkbook and determined that he had just enough food to last until his next check. Two days before Christmas, and he was just now realizing that he hadn’t even sent his daughter a card. Well, he would call her Christmas morning, he thought, and then hung his head a little over his forgetfulness. 

         He told himself to snap out of it and quit being a depressed wuss. Go do something, he said aloud as he got up to pour water from the screaming kettle into his cup. He would have his coffee and go for a walk, he thought. He needed to take the trash out, anyway. 

         The old man clicked on the TV and sat on the sofa with his coffee. White Christmas was playing for the thousandth time but he watched it anyway. Something about the old movies made him feel still attached to the world, the way everything always turned out okay in them. He knew that he was just being an old man, but he didn’t care. So be it. Everybody becomes old sooner or later. For some reason, that thought made him smile.

         Finished with his coffee, he put the cup in the sink, ran some water in it and found his jacket. He peeked out of his window to check that it hadn’t started snowing or something and paused for a moment as he noticed a young man sitting in the grass, beside the dumpster where he was going to deposit his trash. Homeless, he thought, as he watched the figure for a minute. Then he noticed a medium sized, brown dog resting next to the man, with his head lying in the guy’s lap. Beside the man, a small pack and a sleeping bag lay in the grass. The man had the hood of his coat pulled up and a blanket wrapped around both himself and the dog. Jeez, he thought, not a very good time of the year to be sleeping out, and suddenly the old man felt grateful that, while he didn’t have much, at least he had somewhere warm to sleep. He sighed to himself and turned back to his kitchen.

         A few minutes later, the old man, locked the front door to his tiny apartment and with his small bags under his arms, walked to the dumpster. The homeless man looked at him warily, but said nothing, even when the old man nodded at him. The dog looked up for a moment and then as if he were too tired to even wag his tail, laid his head back in the young man’s lap.

        The old man tossed his trash into the dumpster and then turned to stop in front of the young man and the brown dog. 

        “’Mornin’” said the old man as he set a small brown paper sack and a half of a bag of dog food on the curb near the man and his dog. “Thought you might like a little something to eat. You and your dog.”

         The young man looked up at the old man with silent, brooding eyes. “I didn’t ask anybody for anything,” he said, almost angrily.

         “Didn’t say you did. Just offerin’.” They stayed staring at each other until the old man said, “It’s just a cheese sandwich, kid. A little food for your dog.”

         The young man said nothing, only stared at the old man with that petulant look only rebellious youth have mastered.

        “Alright, then,” said the old man, “suit yourself.” He turned away and walked back to his apartment leaving the dog food and paper sack on the curb. A few flakes of snow started falling and again he was glad to know that he would at least be sleeping in a warm place. He wondered about the homeless kid and his dog but he didn’t look back at them.

         When the old man awoke the next morning he peeked out of his window and noticed that the homeless kid and his dog weren’t there, nor was the dog food or the paper sandwich bag. He guessed the kid could have just tossed them both in the dumpster if he had wanted to but, at least the old man felt that he had tried to help, it being Christmas time and all.

         He measured out a cup of coffee for breakfast, turned on the news and an hour or so later surprised himself by waking up from having fallen back asleep in front of the TV. Damn, he thought, I am becoming a certified, bonafide, member in good standing of the old farts club. It didn’t make him smile. Fixing another cup of coffee, he busied himself by pulling his meager Christmas decorations from his little closet. He had a small three foot fake tree and some ancient leftover ornaments, half of which were broken and a few Christmas cards sent to his family long ago when his life had been so very different. He used to set them about as a kind of decoration, but now they only served to remind him of how different his life was back then. Looking about, he found only one, small, single strand of lights for the tree. Pitiful, he thought, as he remembered the big, beautiful trees that he had put up in the past. He held his breath as he plugged them in and was rewarded with a still working string of blinking, multicolored lights. One strand would have to do, he thought, no money to splurge on new Christmas lights.

         He set his little tree up on a side table next to his window and spent all of five minutes decorating it with his remaining ornaments. He smiled as he draped his one strand of blinking lights over the little tree and stood back to admire his handiwork. Oh well, he thought, it adds a little cheer to the room. Merry Christmas, he said to himself. Somehow it made him sad, but he shrugged his feelings off and decided to have one of his aging apples for lunch.

         A few hours later, bored out of his mind, the old man decided that he would walk the two blocks to May’s Diner and maybe splurge on a piece of her homemade pie. She made some damned good coffee, too. He grabbed his coat and a knit cap and glancing at his watch noticed that he only had about an hour before May usually closed for the day. Best get a move on, he thought. He locked up and left and was almost to the corner when he saw the lights on the cop car. He glanced over to see a cop he knew talking to the young homeless man who was standing in the grassy spot by the apartment’s dumpster bins. The young man was staring at the ground, his hand looped through a leash attached to the brown dog, listening to the cop talking. 

       “Hey, Bobby,” said the old man, approaching them slowly, his hands jammed deep in his coat pockets.

       “Hey, Otto, how you doin’?” said the cop, nodding at the old man.

       “What’s goin’ on?” asked the old man, stopping a few feet away. The young man didn’t look up at him, but the dog gave a faint wag and then stood perfectly still by the boy’s legs.

       “Complaint from the management. Your apartment manager called about someone hanging around the complex with a dog,” said the cop to Otto. “You can’t stay here,” Bobby the cop said, turning to the young man. “I’m callin’ the shelter down on Pico Street, see if they have any room. Too cold out here anyway, man.”

       “They don’t allow dogs,” said the young man. “And I ain’t leavin’ my dog.”

        The cop and the old man turned to look at the young man and then at each other. “Hell, Bobby,” said the old man, “tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. Let the kid go, he’s probably got somewhere to go, right kid?” 

        The young man looked up at Otto, saying nothing, but nodded and looked back at the ground again. Bobby sighed, closed his notebook and turned to the young man again. “You got some ID kid?”

        The boy nodded and pulled a couple of cards from his pocket, handing them to the cop.

       “Says here, you’re Jimmy Gardner. This is an expired library card, man. From Seattle, Washington. Picture looks like you, though,” said Bobby, squinting at the young man. “And this is an old school ID, same name, but also expired, from five years ago.” Bobby looked thoughtful for a minute and said, “That would make you about 20 years old, now. That right?” The young man still had his gaze on the ground, but he nodded again.

       “Look man,” said Bobby in a gentler tone, “I’m not trying to hassle you, but you can’t stay here, okay. I can take you in for the night and at least keep you out of the cold until tomorrow. You can bring the dog with you.”

        Finally the young man spoke up, “No. I’m okay. I know where to go. We’ll be fine.”

        Bobby stood back, sighing, thinking about whether he should just take the kid in. Probably just get called back out here if he didn’t. 

       “Look, Bobby,” said Otto, “I’ve seen the kid around. Appears to be okay. Why don’t we all just go down to May’s and get some coffee? My treat. And then we can just go on our way and nobody has a problem. C’mon, she makes blueberry pie on Fridays. What’ya say?” Otto stood back as he watched and waited for the two before him to consider. Crap, he hoped he had enough money on him for this extravaganza he had offered to pay for.

       “Coffee sounds good, Otto. Too damn cold out here to keep jabbering,” said Bobby. “C’mon kid. It’s May’s or the holding pen. Your choice.”

       “My dog can’t go in no restaurant.”

       “It’s May’s place. She loves dogs. She says it can come in, it can come in,” said Otto, with a smile.

        May’s little corner diner was almost empty when Otto, Bobby and the kid, now known as Jimmy, opened the frosted glass door and stepped inside. Bobby went to talk to May, who was standing behind the long counter, wiping down the soup well, preparing to close up. They whispered together for a minute, May glancing towards them as Bobby said something too low for Otto to hear. He waved at her and got a smile and nod in return as she finished her conversation with Bobby.

      “Okay kid,” said Bobby, returning to Otto and the young man, who were standing just inside the door, “May says come on in and have a seat at the counter here. Just keep the dog quiet.”

       The three men took a seat on worn counter stools, Otto and Bobby flanking the kid, the dog sitting beside the young man’s feet. May approached them with a steaming coffee pot and three thick, white coffee mugs in hand.

      “You just made it in time, gents. About to close up, so if you want something to eat, I’ve got pie and a little left over soup,” she said in greeting. 

      “You got enough pie for the three of us?” asked Otto, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. When May finished pouring their coffee, the old man wrapped both of his hands around the mug, noticing that the two others did the same.

      “Got just enough to go around, I think,” said May to Otto. “You buyin’?” she inquired of the old man.

      “Guess I am,” said Otto, “unless you want me to wash dishes instead.”

      “I’ve seen you wash dishes,” said May, “I’ll take the money.”

       Bobby laughed out loud, “You tell him, May,” he chortled.

      “I will,” said the young man. They all looked at the kid as he spoke again. “I’ll wash dishes for food, Ma’am. Maybe some scraps for my dog?”

       Otto and Bobby set their coffee mugs down as May looked at the kid with a look of surprise that slowly turned into a careful appraisal. She stood silently in front of the kid, her coffee pot in midair, her eyes taking in the young man, assessing him, a thoughtful look on her face.

      “You ever work in a diner before?” she asked. 

      “No, ma’am. But, I work hard. You don’t have to pay me. Just a little food.”

      “It don’t work like that, kid. You work, you get paid. And I feed all of my employees, one meal per shift.”

       Bobby spoke up after another sip of his coffee. “He’s got expired ID on him, but I ran his name and ‘nothin’ came up. No warrants, no priors. Not even in the system for anything.” May nodded at Bobby, set the coffee pot on the counter for the men to help themselves while she moved down the counter to dish up the last three pieces of blueberry pie. Otto spoke up as she set the plates in front of them. “If he works more than one shift, it’ll be better than those yahoos the agency keeps sending you. How long did the last one make it? Middle of the breakfast rush, if I remember right. Never did get my biscuits and gravy.” May laughed out loud before putting her hand over her mouth, “Yeah, I remember. Guess I owe you for that,” she said, before pouring more coffee in their mugs. She stood there, still holding the coffee and looked at the young man. “You got a social security number kid, a real one?”

       The young man nodded, “I don’t have the card anymore, but I know it anyway.”

     “You got an address? Got to have an address. For payroll and taxes and stuff.”

       The kid stayed silent and looked down at the counter.

     “Use mine,” said Otto, looking at May and Bobby. The cop nodded at Otto but said nothing. May looked surprised for a moment, but after Bobby gave her a noncommittal shrug, she sighed and poured more coffee.

     “Well, I can use someone in the dish room, alright. Trial basis, though, okay?” she said, with a firm look. “You get one chance. One. Screw up and you’re gone, got it?”

     “Yes, ma’am. Got it. Thank you, ma’am, I won’t screw up, I promise.”

     “One more thing,” said May, “You can’t have the dog in here during business hours.” They could almost hear the kid’s face fall. Bobby’s shoulders slumped as he gave May a look of pleading. “Sorry,” said May, “I don’t want to lose my license. Talk to city hall.”

     “Crap, kid, you’re killing me here,” said Otto, sourly. “Okay, damn it, I’ll watch him for you while you do a few shifts and make some money to get a place of your own,” said the old man reluctantly, and then after a moment he added thoughtfully, “might be kinda’ nice to have the company. Kinda’ miss having a dog around.”  The kid’s head jerked up as he looked from one of them to the other. “Thank you, mister …” 

     “Otto. Just Otto,” said the old man.

     “Yeah, thank you Mr. Otto,” grinned Bobby, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Otto,” he continued as he and May both smiled at him. 

     “Don’t you have something you can stuff in that hole below your nose, Officer Bobby?” retorted the old man.

     “What’s your name, kid?” asked May, filling their mugs again.

     “Jimmy. Jimmy Gardner, ma’am.”

     “Well, Jimmy Gardner, we start at 6:00 a.m. Be here at five if you want breakfast before the shift. Where are you sleeping?”

     “Got a couple places I can go,” said the kid, his eyes flicking to the side.

     “How about that storage room next to your back entrance, May. I see the cooks using it for a break room when we’re on patrol,” asked Bobby as he scrapped his plate.

      “What, to stay in? It’s a storage room, Bobby. No windows, no toilet, just an old couch and spare parts for my kitchen equipment.”

      “It’s dry, May. It’ll be ten below freezing tonight. He could be like the night watchman for a while. Until he gets a couple of paydays under his belt.”

      “That’s probably illegal as hell, Bobby.”

      “Not if you pay him. It’s like a security job,” said Bobby, shrugging his shoulders. The old man laughed out loud as he listened to Bobby outfox May, which was not a very easy thing to do. The kid’s eyes were open wide as he listened to the exchange.

      “I knew I should have locked the door on you guys,” said May, sighing to herself. “Guess you’re both coming to the Christmas Eve dinner here tomorrow?”

      “We’ll be here,” said the old man and Bobby at the same time.

      “Of course, you will,” smiled May. Every year May made a Christmas dinner for all of her customers. It was always the highlight of the year for the local residents that supported her all year long. A little gift to the neighborhood. She knew that for many of the people that would show up, it would be their only meal on Christmas day.

       May shooed Otto away when he tried to pay for the coffee and pie. “We’re even now, for you not getting your biscuits and gravy, okay?” Otto nodded his thanks and left with Bobby as May announced to the kid that she might as well show him and his dog the storeroom. “At least he’ll be here for work tomorrow on time,” she said. Bobby spoke to the kid before he let May lead him away. “Look, kid. This is a chance for you to get back on the horse, you understand? I’ll be checking in on you, okay? Hell, half of May’s customers are cops since the precinct is just a few blocks away, and we’ll all be checking on you. You can make yourself a home here. Lots of good people here. Up to you.”

      “Thanks, Bobby, thanks for your help.”

      “No biggie, kid. See you tomorrow.”

      The old man sat on his couch, the last of a weak cup of coffee in his hand, the TV on low, with only the noises an old apartment building makes to keep him company. He was looking at his little Christmas tree and it’s one lonely strand of blinking lights. There were no gifts under the tree, barely any ornaments and nothing else in the small apartment to remind him that it was the “most wonderful time of the year.” Outside, the wind howled a little and he felt the windows rattle a bit, as he pulled a throw around his shoulders. No, he didn’t have the trimmings and the presents and decorations this year, or gifts to give or any to receive, but he felt good. Really good. He and Bobby and May had done something good for someone this season, and it hadn’t cost a dime. Bobby was an underpaid street cop, May was a struggling diner owner, and he was a retiree on a fixed income. Prettily wrapped presents they didn’t have to give. Bits of themselves were their gifts this year, gifts you would never see under a Christmas tree. Together, they had helped a human being and that seemed okay to the old man. As he thought about that, it certainly seemed to outshine his one strand of blinking lights, and suddenly, Christmas felt cheerful after all.

The End

Merry Christmas