sleeping bag and setting it behind him.
“You make sure you use it and stay warm tonight.”
“Thank you.”
They started to move away.
“What’s his story?” the young man whispered to the lady.
“Well, the rumours I heard from some of the others is that his whole family was killed in some kind of tragedy and he got a big insurance settlement. Supposedly that guys rolling in the doe.”
“What’s he doing on the street?”
“Don’t know. Been sleeping under this bridge for all of the seven years I’ve been doing this job.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do to help him get his life back, you, know, get in touch with some family or something? You know his name; it should be easy to locate someone.”
“What, Mr. Rogers? That ain’t his name. I just call him that because the only thing he ever says is please and thank you. Besides, it’s not our job to give them one on one help. We’re here for everybody that’s out here.” She looked back at him. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Rogers.” She smiled and waved.
“Thank you,” he said nodding at her. He turned his attention back to the graffiti across the street.
A strong north wind blew under the bridge lifting the corner of the old sleeping bag and sending the remaining plastic bags sailing into the air. He calmly watched as they flew over the traffic to the other side, abruptly being whisked over the bridge by an updraft near the wall at the top. Beyond that point, he watched as the fresh snow was being whipped about, caught in a funnel just outside the underpass. The cars approaching from down the street began to turn their night time headlights on. He looked over to the line of floodlights across from him. All at once they flickered like the flash of a camera and came to life, slowly growing in intensity. His stomach fluttered again as he lowered his eyes to the graffiti in anticipation of what was about to unfold.
The transformation began to the left. The green shaded outline swirled to the right to bleed into the blue and red forms. It completely encapsulated the two colours and then let them burst through pinpoints the way light would shine through a moth-eaten blanket. Then it stretched itself up and to the sides near the bottom to form a triangle. At the bottom, blue and red squares slipped down from behind the green. He recognized what had formed. It was the colour combination his wife had used every Christmas on the tree that was set up in the living room.
The rest of the wall seemed to ripple as distinctive shapes and patterns started to form out of the remaining graffiti. Shelia, his wife, and their two children appeared near the tree in front of the lapping flames in the fireplace to the left. Nothing existed in his world except the scene that was playing for him on the wall. The traffic slowly died down to a trickle while he was mesmerized watching his lost family.
A tear rolled down his cheek leaving a streak through the dirt that had accumulated on his face. He thought about how he had been sitting in the exact same spot on the embankment each night watching his family enjoy day after day, and sharing each one with them in the only way he could. It had been well over ten years since he was robbed of them physically, over ten years since he discovered he could still be near them, here, sitting in the underpass. His children never grew old and his wife always looked the same but it kept his memories of them strong. Each day he fell asleep enjoying the evening with his family.
Little Ben, his darling little boy, began dancing up and down as his wife handed him one of the blue packages from under the tree. He shook the gift and laughed at the silent noises it emitted. He turned and looked at his father wide eyed and smiled. Then he began to tear at the present, savagely ripping it open and pulling out a toy car. Joyously he drove it around the scene on the wall.
Shelia picked up one of the red packages and handed it to his daughter Katie. She was blond, like her mother and younger brother, and had loved school. Taking the gift farther over to the right of the scene, she sat down cross-legged and shyly looked up towards her father. Her smile melted his heart. Carefully she lifted the paper where it had been taped and removed it from the package without tearing it. Opening the box within, she pulled out a pink jumper, thanked her mother and held it up in front of her for her father to see. He nodded his approval to her.
His wife handed out the rest of the presents to the children. He watched the excitement in their eyes as they discovered the contents of each one, holding them out for him to see and join in their fun. There was one box left under the tree. Shelia picked it up and looked over at him, putting it out in front of her. “For you and me,” she mouthed to him.
“For me?” he said, adrenalin building in his chest, tears pooling in his eyes. He didn’t understand. She smiled that smile that made him give in to her every command. Ben and Katie played in the background of the scene as Shelia stood up in her long flowing red dress and waved for him to come join them. He stood up abruptly, teetering slightly before regaining his balance, stunned at what she was asking him to do. With that warm smile she waved him forward again. Grabbing the best two presents from the cart he slowly started forward, stepping out into the lessening traffic and crossing the street. He ran up the embankment and rushed to the wall to take his wife’s hand. She wrapped her arms around him and he hugged her tightly. Pulling away, she looked into his eyes and stroked his clean shaven cheek. He was wearing the white and red Santa sweater she had knitted for him so many years ago. The kids left their toys when he knelt down to greet them, both hugging and kissing him for the first time in so many years. He handed them the presents and went back to his wife’s side. She handed him the gift and encouraged him to open it. He tore it apart, to the kids delight, discovering a solitary key on the inside.
“It’s for the door,” Shelia said pointing to the white door on the far right of the room.
The door glowed around the seams with a bright white light. He picked up little Ben in his left arm while Shelia took Katie’s hand and they walked towards it together. After getting reassurances from his wife he inserted the key and allowed the light to burst out from within as he opened the door. Shelia grabbed his arm and the four of them walked into the light together.
****
The policeman stood beside his cruiser, parked at the curb watching as the ambulance pulled in behind him. The frigid morning was just beginning to see the sunrise. The paramedic exited and the cop showed him over to the body sitting on the embankment staring across the road. The paramedic visually examined the body and then tapped at the vagrant’s cheek to feel how frozen he was.
“How’d you know he was dead? Looks like he’s just sitting here enjoying the scenery,” the paramedic asked.
“I come by here when I’m on the night shift to visit him. He’s here every night, but he’s never here when I'm on days.”
“You know him?” the paramedic asked looking towards the policeman.
“Yeah, Benjamin Trent,” the cop said looking around the bridge. He looked down at Benjamin’s body, the images of a difficult memory absorbing him. “I had been the one chosen to notify him of his family’s demise ten years ago.” He swallowed hard. “What did he die of?”
“Don’t know yet,” the paramedic answered. “Don’t think he froze to death, couldn’t just sit here all stoic like and freeze, probably cardiac.” He looked toward the cop. “How did his family die?”
“In a car accident,” the policeman answered, slowly raising his eyes, “right on this bridge, on the highway above.”
“Wow that sucks. I guess that’s why he lost it and ended up on the street.”
“Can happen to the best of us, I suppose. Gave all his money away to various charities and just packed it in, checked out of society you might say.”
The paramedic looked into Benjamin’s eyes. “What’s he staring up at?” he asked, trying to follow his gaze.
“Shortly after the accident I found him sitting down here at night, night after night. He would stare at that graffiti up there on that wall…,” the words cau
ght in his throat as he turned to point at the opposite wall. “Huh, that’s funny. They must have cleaned it off sometime recently.” He stared absently at the blank wall trying to remember when he had last seen it.
“Well, he’s probably happier now. Any next of kin?”
“None that I know of,” the policeman answered, still searching the wall for any evidence of the graffiti. “Most of his life was spent in this underpass since the accident.”
“Ok, I guess we’ll take it from here,” the paramedic said as his partner joined him.
The policeman returned to his cruiser. He looked toward Benjamin as the paramedics took the stretcher out of the ambulance. His eyes were fixated, looking up at the wall on the other side, the blank wall.
###
About The Author
Steve Chiarelli (b. 1962) was born in North Bay, Ontario, Canada and grew up in Kitchener, Ontario. His first book, The Connected, was published in 2008. Currently he resides in the Niagara Region of Southern Ontario.
The Connected
Muckydum
Connect with me online at:
StephenChiarelli.com
The Underpass - A Short Christmas Story Page 2