Looming Christmas
Christmas 2022 was four days away. New policy initiatives addressing the homeless crisis were coming out of City Hall and advocates lambasted them. One prominent activist called them “Right wing.” I disagreed because the status quo she championed was neither Left wing or progressive. The status quo was piling up bodies, literally.
Temperatures plunged. Rain walloped the area. Winds hammered outdoor holiday decorations. I hadn't interacted with any members of the book club in weeks. There were only fleeting glimpses.
The last I'd seen of Mark was on a frigid morning with him asleep on the deck of the bookstore. The last I'd seen of Sean was watching him push a grocery cart full of cans down a sidewalk in a squall. The last I'd seen of Donny was him twisted on the sidewalk in a drunken stupor, somewhat bloodied around the face, while a man I didn't recognize urged Donny to check himself back into rehab. I hadn't seen Jacob in months.
I'd whipped up a crock pot of lentil chili and had enough left over to feed a football team, so I filled a container, microwaved it, and set out to locate Mark or one of the gang and deliver a hot meal.
It was all absurd, lentil chili stuffed into the pocket of my pea coat, but it felt great to be on a mission to help my friends. Christmas can do that sort of thing to you, if you let it. Let it.
God Bless Ye Merry Gentlemen! There they all were, except Sean, gathered in front of the convenience store. Tammy was also present, her wheelchair and neck bedecked in Christmas lights.
Mark had two large bags of cans and bottles ready for redemption. Donny was passed out. Jacob looked alert and healthy.
Everyone threw up a round of rowdy hellos. I asked Jacob where the hell he'd been and he gave me the scoop. He also said he had a job, cold calling for some advertising circular from an office. He got a hundred hangups a day but it was a gig and a salary came with it. He was sick of the homeless life and he wanted out. Perhaps he was on his way.
I extricated the container of chili and handed it and a plastic spoon to Mark. He began eating. I told the crew it was my special lentil concoction cooked in a 40-year-old crock pot with exactly two settings: Low and High. This was no fancy crock pot with LED readouts, a dozen settings and other unnecessary bells and whistles.
Mark remarked what more did you need in life than Low and High and I laughed at the observation but then it struck me as an excellent metaphor.
Mark then launched into a crock pot story of his own. So did Jacob. So did Tammy. We all had crock pot stories!
It didn't take long for Mark to devour the meal. He thanked me and said it was delicious.
I reminded everyone that severe cold weather was coming. There was no mention of the Street Response Team or warming centers or housing. That time had come and gone. But we would continue to engage with another, and help when and how we could.