Compassion

by Neal, Xavier

  With both objects in my possession, I lock my front door and head for my car, the rose right under my nose to keep the grin on my face growing.

  I don't have a crush on the guy who eats my garbage! That's...that's such a weird sentence to say.

  While the drive to work is filled with the usual morning annoyances of those too indulged in their Starbucks to focus on the green lights, those so late for work cutting you off is a necessity, and those whose horns should be removed due to their inability to control how often them use them. I'm too distracted to care. By the time I arrive, my mind has ventured past the initial excitement of receiving the sentiment to the dangerous, obnoxious why zone.

  Why'd he flip out last night? Is he that afraid of the police? Was it something else?

  “Morning Miss Jenkins!” A little girl says appearing next to my car just as I'm getting out.

  “Morning Sandy,” I greet her in return. “Oh. Let me fix your hair bow.”

  She leans her curly three year old blonde head forward while her mother continues her conversation on her Bluetooth in the background. As soon as I'm done, I lift her chin up, and give her a wink.

  “Thanks Miss Jenkins!” She giggles seconds before her mother yanks her by the hand to lead her towards the building, still on the phone call, mind not worried whatsoever about her child.

  It's common. You get used to it.

  Opening my passenger side door exposes me to the flower, which bubbles thoughts of the green eyed waif back up.

  Why hasn't he spoken to me? Why leave me a thank you when he could've just said it? Writing me a note is more effort than saying those two words. Think about it. He had to find a pen- Okay. Fine. Maybe he already had a pen. He had to find paper or maybe he had that too. But what about the flower? The chances he had that just sitting around in his backpack are slim. That means at some point past his flip out, he had to go and find it, pick it or pick it up, walk all the back to my house and leave it for me. During that entire process he could've stopped. Threw the idea of wanting to do something nice for me out the window and hightailed it to somewhere warm. It was so cold last night. Hell, the couple minutes I was out there with him, I thought my toes were going to freeze and I was wearing a jacket this time. Can you believe that? Instead of getting some place to shelter himself from the dropping temperatures, he marched through the cold, got this flower, marched back to my home and left it. Why? I can't possibly be the first person to be kind to him, can I? Feel free to chime in at any point. I'm all ears.

  “That's a huge smile,” Presley Morrison, my boss, the owner of the school, and by far one of the most gorgeous women in the building, casually comments.

  Startled by her voice, I lose my footing, and land on the floor with a hard thud.

  Please don't laugh.

  Immediately, she travels around the desk straight for me. Presley reaches for my day planner that managed to land in my path. “You okay?”

  I watch as parents on their way out back to the cars and on their way to the children's classroom don't even acknowledge the fact there's a human being on the floor. They simply swing wide or step over my scattered items.

  Is this what he feels like? Does the world ever to stop to lend him a hand? Maybe I was the first one. Maybe that's why he went out of his way to say thank you. No. No way. People have to have tried to help him before. Maybe? At least once?

  Rising to my feet once I've finished collecting the lost objects, I put on my best work smile. “I'm fine. Just missed a step. I'm so clumsy. Thanks for the help.”

  “Sure.” She folds her brown arms across her black button up shirt and grins. “I like that even falling didn't break the smile on your face.”

  I touch my warm cheeks.

  The flushing could be from the embarrassment of falling...It doesn't have to be from the fact I wouldn't mind seeing his face every day.

  “What's got you all full of cheer?”

  “You know,” I start and look down at the rose in my hand. “Sometimes it's just nice to know someone thought about you.”

  Curiosity lifts her eyebrows. “Secret admirer?”

  His face fills my mind again and I whisper, “Something like that...”

  Let's just call him that rather than the homeless man who likes to eat out of my garbage. No reason he can't have a little benevolence shown even when he's not around.

  “Oooo,” she playfully giggles as she moves back behind the front desk. “Well, I hope he keeps giving you reasons to smile.”

  Hold your judgments.

  I continue my way towards the library when Presley stops me. “Hey, Jaye?”

  Turning gracefully around, I answer, “Yeah?”

  “I can't make book club tonight.”

  Slightly disappointed, I question, “Is everything okay?”

  “It's fine.” She pauses, debate scrunching her mocha face. “Just have a prior engagement.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I'll swap books with you on my lunch break.” Before I have a chance to reply the phone ringing nabs her attention. “Good morning. This is Presley Morrison speaking, how many I help you?”

  Presley's the best boss. Intimidating model looks aside, she seems like a beautiful person. Sometimes I wonder if we would even be great friends. We have similar tastes in books and T.V. shows, at least that's what I've gathered from the small talk we've made. Neither of us seem to be too interested in conversation that are too personal or too long. It's almost like we've built the same wall to keep other people out. I did it because there are only so many times a person wants to hear the fake sympathetic 'death care slogans'. It became easier to just keep everyone at a hello, goodbye distance. With my parents as the exception. No, it's not the warmest way to live, but it beats the hell out of people tip toeing around you like any word out of their mouth could be the trigger that sends you into a blubbering mess. I passed blubbering mess a couple years ago, thanks for asking.

  After a work day of filling book orders for the library, orders for the classrooms, reading to the Preschool classrooms, and researching themes for the coming book fair, I find myself rushing to set up for book club.

  Usually I'm ready without having to hurry. I got a little carried away with researching. Even though Christmas just passed, I found the most adorable Elf on a Book Shelf theme for this coming year! Don't look at me like that. Kid books excite me.

  I arrange the chairs in a semi-circle, lay out refreshments, and place what will be this month's read out on the counter for them to take as they leave. At almost 6:45 on the dot all chairs are occupied and the conversation about our latest read is bouncing around.

  Here's what I love about this, other than the obvious joy of sharing books with other people, for some of us that are too busy or awkward to go out and make new friends yet are being pressured by others to be social, this shuts them up as well as gives us a comfortable setting. The thing I hate? Marshall Donald is going to ask me out for dinner afterwards. He has every month since I started this. Did I mention this was my idea?

  The session wraps up slightly sooner than expected and Marshall wastes no time sliding beside me. “Miss Jenkins...”

  “You know to call me Jaye,” I remind him, tossing the empty veggie platter in the trash bag.

  Is it weird I'm a little disappointed they finished everything tonight? I mean if they hadn't I could've taken left overs to....yeah, that's weird. He's not a puppy. I shouldn't be trying to bag him leftovers like that. Wow. I gotta get it together.

  “You know I think it's sexy to call you Miss Jenkins.” His sleazy smile expands before he drops his voice lower. “Like the naughty teacher thing.”

  “I'm a librarian.”

  “Even better.”

  Go ahead. Gag. I do. And not just because he smells like cheap cigars or because he looks like Gerard Butler's less attractive cousin, but because he never gives up. He's always like this and not just with me. Actually, he typically makes more passes at the younger teachers, but
makes an actual effort to go out with me. Not exactly sure why. And no I don't consider myself special. He's recently divorced, so let me give you ten guesses to the reason why his wife left him. Any and all variations of an unfaithful horn dog will be accepted.

  Trashing the cups, I shake my head. “Next month's book is waiting on the counter. Feel free to grab yours. It's a romance novel.”

  He winks. “One of the good kinds?”

  I toss more garbage in the bag. “There are bad kinds?”

  Marshall trails alongside me while I continue to clean. “Of course.”

  No. He's never offered to help. He's also never done anything else kind for someone that I can recall. Not hold a door open. Not pull out a chair for a woman. He's not really the gentleman type. I'm sure you could already see that.

  “The ones without sex.”

  Annoyed I grit my teeth. “Your opinion has been noted Mr. Donald-”

  “Marshall.”

  I tightly tie the trash bag. “Is there anything else you needed?”

  “Dinner,” he states. “With you.”

  After giving him a polite smile, I reach for one of the wipes to clean the fold out table. “Flattered as always...”

  Never. I am never flattered. I am always creeped out and contemplating a restraining order.

  “But I have to decline. I have dinner plans.”

  “With your boyfriend?”

  Immediately my mind flashes to the green eyed man in the beanie who has been making more than occasional guest appearances in my mind.

  He's basically been the star since I saw him again last night. Even though he looked depleted and in serious need of a hot shower, there was something in those eyes. A simple glint that turned me into a babbling mess. I'm afraid of what'll happen if he ever smiles at me or heaven forbids, talks to me. I know, I know, it's wrong to be infatuated with a stranger who's homeless with most likely a list of issues a mile long, but...the truth is, I can't help myself. After just two conversations with him...er...at him and I'm a non-stop smiling mess. That means something doesn't it? Right. That I'm crazy. Certifiably.

  I shake away the image of him. “Go ahead and grab your book, Marshall. I'll see you around school.”

  Displeased he gives me a short smile before turning around to walk away.

  What can I say? He's not a lot better than his bratty little girl who makes a similar pout when she's forced to the follow the rules. At least she has the excuse of being a three year old.

  Once I've finished cleaning up, I head home carefully, the news of the coming sleet making me nervous as usual.

  My fiancé died on an icy road. You can't blame me for tensing.

  Pulling around the corner, the sight of a cop car parked beside my house with it's lights on sends me back in time. My heart lurches into my throat as my mind does it's best to drag itself from the spiral it's falling into.

  It's like that night is trying to repeat itself all over again, except instead of leaving work late from Book Club, I was leaving work late from working on the Christmas Book Fair. Chris could bring work home, but he didn't like for me too.

  After another shake of my head, I exhale several deep breaths gently reminding myself that scenario can't repeat itself because I don't have a fiancé any more.

  Or boyfriend for that matter.

  I park in my driveway while trying to give the commotion a once over without staring.

  It's rude to stare!

  Two steps towards my front door is when one of the officers is handcuffing someone. Curious who 'Perfect Mrs. Prescott' is having arrested slows me down long enough to catch a glimpse of more than one face I recognize.

  Oh no...

  “Excuse me.” I hustle back down my driveway towards the police vehicle. “Officer Brallon!”

  The arresting officer ceases his movements. With a warm smile he greets me, “Little Jaye Jenkins.”

  Yeah I know, but when I was five, my dad always introduced me that way. It stuck.

  With a kind smile, I question, “Why are you arresting my friend?”

  “Friend?” Brallon's bass voice echoes.

  “He's not her friend,” Mrs. Prescott sneers. She folds her arms across her cashmere sweater. “He's a pathetic piece of trash digging through my personal belongings.”

  “Ma'am,” the other officer, I barely recognize speaks up. “Please, calm down.”

  Brallon tilts his head to the side. “You know this man.”

  “Of course I do,” I lie.

  Lying to the cops for someone I don't even fucking know? What is wrong with me?

  “He's an old college friend. I hadn't seen him since I moved back. He just got into town a couple days ago.” Before Brallon has a chance to ask more questions, I move directly into the line of vision of the homeless man. “Did you lock yourself out of my house again?”

  The moment his green eyes lock with mine any doubt that this was the wrong decision disappears.

  “Then what was he doing digging in my trashcan?” She snips. “How do you explain that?”

  My lips press together as I give her a small glare. “He's been looking for his watch since he's been here.” Turning back to look at the man I'm saving I sigh, “Remember my trashcan is on that side of the driveway.” Another soft smile comes on my face. “Sorry Officer Brallon. He keeps forgetting which trash is mine. He must've been digging through hers because he thought it was mine.”

  “Is this true?” Officer Brallon questions the man. “Is that what happened?”

  He simply nods.

  “Then what's his name?” Mrs. Prescott snips. “If you're old friends, what's his name?”

  Both police officers look at me.

  Crap! How did I not figure this was coming?!

  “Wild Thing,” I spew.

  Shit! It was the last kid book I saw after book club because it fell off the shelf. Not the ideal place to steal names from.

  When Officer Brallon's jaw drops, I continue to cover my tracks, “It was his nickname. I don't remember calling him anything else now that I think about it.” Seeing his guard start to slip, I sway the conversation, “Did you get those cookies I made for the precinct or did dad eat them all before you could?”

  He chuckles during the process of un-cuffing the homeless man. “I had one. That's all he was willing to share.”

  I giggle. “That sounds like dad.”

  “Excuse me,” Mrs. Prescott tries to interrupt.

  My voice rises over hers. “You know what? Why don't I make another batch and drop them off for all of you without telling him first? That way you can help yourselves.”

  The other officer finally speaks to me, “You were the one who made the chocolate chip peppermint holiday cookies?”

  Giving him a warm smile, I nod. “Yeah. Did you enjoy them Officer...”

  “Kenny.” He adjusts his pants. “And I got to sneak two.”

  We laugh together at the same time the homeless man is completely freed. He takes two steps towards me, which is when I say, “Why don't you grab my trashcan and roll it into the garage for me? I'll be right over to unlock the door.”

  The homeless man nods, picks his backpack up off the ground, and walks away.

  Adjusting my shoulder bag once more I apologize, “Sorry for the confusion officers.”

  “No worries, Little Jaye Jenkins.” Officer Brallon smiles brightly. “Just talk to your guest about boundaries. Private property.”

  “Will do,” I quickly agree.

  “This isn't the first time I've seen him in my trashcan!” Mrs. Prescott gripes. “That man is not your friend! He's a bum.”

  “Ma'am,” Officer Kenny scolds.

  Boldly I state, “Have some respect, Gwenith. You don't know him.”

  “You don't either,” she bitterly mumbles.

  Sh. Don't agree with her!

  “Ladies.” Officer Brallon holds his hands out at both of us. “Let's just agree from this point on to be better neighbors and commu
nicate when we have a problem. Alright?”

  “Of course,” I softly sigh seconds before the sleet starts to come between us. “If it's alright, can I go ahead and get inside? Sleet still makes me uncomfortable.”

  Officer Brallon's face turns to one of sympathy. “Of course...Stay safe, Little Jaye Jenkins.”

  “Thanks.” After giving Officer Kenny a nod as well, I say in a snip, “Good night, Gwenith.”