1
Encounter
You’ve probably lost something in the past. Maybe it was your car keys, your wallet or a credit card. If you’re like me, the loss stays with you all day as you search your memory bank trying to remember when you had it last. You worry over it, sometimes becoming obsessed to the point that the anxiety totally ruins your day or week until you find the item. Sometimes you never find it.
It didn’t hit me until this very minute, as I stood in a charitable food line on Christmas Eve, that I realized all I’d lost. Where did I go wrong? Why did I always seem to make wrong decisions at critical times? Why could I never show my true feelings?
I searched the full room of desperate people as I shuffled in the line. Unshaven men. Disheveled women. Unkempt kids. Did I really sink this low? I kept thinking it must be some big mistake.
“This can’t be happening,” I said to myself. “I’m better than this.”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
I was jolted out of my stupor and turned to see a very large, old man dressed in a workman’s shirt with the name Kris emblazoned on it. Kris – if that was his name – towered over the others as he stood ahead of me with a serving spoon in his hand.
“What?”
He motioned towards me with the serving spoon.
“Come on, Joe, I don’t have all day,” he said in a gruff voice. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
I stumbled forward to get the only food I’d eat on this day.
“How did you know my name was Joe,” I asked.
“Like I said, I’ve been waiting for you.”
I shuffled over with my tray to the only table that had any empty seats and joined a family of four. I politely nodded to a man that I presumed was the father. The two boys, a little younger than mine, chewed down the food like they hadn’t eaten in days, and they probably hadn’t.
I ate in silence, partially out of respect for those at my table and partially out of my fear to look up and let others see me.
I dipped my dinner roll in the gravy as it rolled off the turkey meat. God, I loved the holidays, especially when the family would gather around the dinner table laughing and singing Christmas songs. My wife would always be busy in the kitchen while I played with the boys in anticipation of the big meal.
Somehow, the turkey didn’t taste the same now. I looked wistfully at the family across the table. The two boys, despite their surroundings, almost seemed to enjoy themselves. I wondered what their Christmas morning would look like.
“You have kids?”
The father’s voice almost startled me.
“Two – twin six-year-old boys.”
I could tell that the man was a little taken back by my having young boys at my advanced age.
“We got a late start.”
The man nodded his head in acceptance. I continued to eat in silence, but then had a strong urge to continue our communication, though it was totally unlike me to talk to strangers.
“I was watching your boys. Looks like they’re having a good time.”
The man almost broke into a smile of pride as he rubbed the bigger boy’s head.
“Yeah, we told them we’re on a road trip. This here is Gabe. He’s five. Billy just turned four. Twins, huh? Your boys have names?”
Why I hesitated for a moment I don’t know, but I felt reluctant.
“Coffee and Cocoa.”
I then got “that stare” that so often accompanies their names.
“Silly, right? It was my wife’s idea.”
“Those are some strange names, but colorful. Your favorite drinks, I suppose?”
“No, they were named after the color of their skin,” I said apologetically. “We’re a mixed family.”
“Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. The world needs mixed families.”
The man’s wife stood up and began to collect the boys.
“We’d better get going, George.”
George extended his hand. I paused for a second after noticing how filthy it was, but my manners got the best of me.
“It’s been a pleasure, my friend. You enjoy this special day.”
“Special day?” I asked.
“It’s Christmas Eve. Something special always happens on Christmas Eve.”
I played with my mashed potatoes and gravy for what seemed liked hours, but it probably only amounted to a few minutes. I wondered how George and his family ended up at this place. More importantly, how did they still seem so happy despite their circumstances?
My mind drifted as I wondered what my boys were doing this holiday, their first one without their dad. Would they sing Christmas songs with my wife around the table this evening?
“Mind if I join you?” the voice boomed.
It was Kris. He looked even bigger and more imposing on this side of the counter.
“Sure. I have nothing else going on and this food is terrible,” I said as I pushed the plate away.
“That terrible food is all some people are going to eat today,” Kris said in a reprimanding voice.
“Still, the management could probably do a better job if they wanted to. I’m sure they get some form of government money.”
“You sound like you’re a businessman, Joe. That true?”
I couldn’t help but feel a touch of sarcasm in Kris’ voice and, frankly, he was starting to bug me.
“Ivy League MBA, my friend,” I bragged, smugly. “I owned one of the biggest restaurant chains in the state – seven locations that employed over 500 people at its height.” I added proudly
“What happened? Don’t tell me, the economy, right?” Kris remarked, sarcastically.
“Of course. What else?”
This guy really started to get my blood boiling. It was bad enough that I was eating lunch in a dump like this, but having some fat jerk question my business skills didn’t sit well with me.
“I’ll tell you what happened, smart guy. Have you ever run a business?”
I didn’t even wait for an answer.
“All people heard about from the media was how bad businesses were having it, so customers started to think they had the upper hand. They began demanding discounts. They’d lie and say the food was bad so they wouldn’t have to pay. And don’t get me started on foreigners, they were the worst.”
Kris nodded as if he understood, but I’m not sure he really did.
“And the employees. It was a constant round of hiring, training, and firing. You’d think that with such a terrible job market they’d want to keep their jobs, but that didn’t seem to be the case. People nowadays just don’t want to work. They’ll quit over any little thing, like not getting a weekend off.”
“Did you?” Kris shot back.
“Did I what?”
“Give them weekends off.”
“When they deserved it, which wasn’t very often.”
“Maybe that would’ve made a difference,” Kris offered, with a knowing smile.
“What was your excuse with the family?”
I asked myself why I was talking to this guy who obviously didn’t understand where I was coming from.
“I’m sorry, friend, but have we met? You seem to think you know a lot about me and my situation.”
“Forgive me, sometimes I can’t help but interfere. Let’s just say that I’ve been watching you for some time.”
I jumped out of my chair thinking I was talking to some kind of stalker or perhaps someone hired by an irate business associate.
“It’s been nice, Kris, but I’m outta here.”
“Sit down!” Kris’s voice boomed.
“Where are you going to go? Are you in a hurry to walk back to the shelter in this freezing weather?”
I slithered back down into my chair. Why, I don’t know. Perhaps I was afraid that somehow Kris would go nuts on me and beat me to a pulp. More realistically, though, it was probably that he was right – I had no other place to go. I’d been living on the streets for weeks after I got evicted from my apartment for being unable to pay the rent and there was no change in sight.
Or – perhaps – in some fantasy world of mine buried deep within, I held out hope that Kris might have something to do with revealing the specialness of Christmas Eve – what George had told me about.
“Kris, you still here? Getting late, isn’t it?”
The woman didn’t have a name badge but, judging from the fact that she was young and Hispanic and there to clear the table, she must have been one of the kitchen employees.
“I’m just spending a little time here with my new friend, Joe.”
“Oh, is he the lucky one? Good to meet you, Joe. I’m Monica, the manager of this soup kitchen.”
I skeptically shook her hand and I seem to remember muttering hello.
“Joe doesn’t like the food, Monica. He’s used to owning fancy restaurants.”
Monica turned one of one of the empty chairs around and plopped down on it.
“I think he wants to lodge a complaint,” Kris continued.
“I’m sorry, Joe. We do the best we can here with the available resources. We’re going to end up feeding 800 people today before we’re through. But if you have any suggestions, I’m more than happy to hear them.”
Why I froze at that moment, I don’t know. Normally outspoken and ready with plenty of criticism, I found myself speechless. Perhaps I was still thinking about what Monica told me – about me being the lucky one. But lucky at what?
“Even better, I’d love it if you would volunteer here and lend us your management experience. I still have so much to learn and I’d like to know what you would do differently,” Monica added with a smile.
“I’m sorry, but I’m in no condition to do that now. Maybe when times are better,” I said as my voice trailed off.
“It’s time to go, Joe,” Kris remarked as he quickly rose from his chair.
“Go? Go where?” I answered incredulously.
“We have to hurry – it’s getting late. I have a limo waiting outside for us.”
Limo? I just got done eating a terrible meal at a soup kitchen and now I’m going to be driven back to the shelter in a limo? This was a special day, indeed.
