here and it was
beginning to show its age. It would be pointless to move it, probably cost more
than what it was worth. An open house, that’s what I would do. I would post a
notice on the many bulletin boards around town offering the furniture for sale.
Then I could travel light and start out new. The plan was coming together.
I feel myself getting excited
and that was making me hungry. I whip up a quick meal of my own special
burritos then throw in a couple extra for Will. He wouldn’t be eating until
much later, when the restaurants give out the left-over food, so I knew he
would be hungry. I was planning to visit him anyway, to let him know the good
news. So why not just bring him something? It would save him the trouble of
drifting from restaurant to restaurant, late at night, seeking out the ones
with enough leftovers to provide for all the homeless people in the area. I wolf
down my meal, then pack the two extra burritos into a plastic bag. I add a
handful of tortilla chips just to round out the meal. I can’t wait to see him,
tell him the news. I grab my coat and, in seconds, I’m out the door.
It’s dark now. Clear ice is
starting to form on the sidewalks from the thin layer of water left behind by
the melting snow. I proceed with caution. A sprained
ankle or broken leg that has disabled many an unsuspecting pedestrian would be a
disaster if that happened now. My plan would be in shambles. I pass
through the black-iron gates and head for my friend Ben. The campus is largely deserted
at this hour. It’s not as cold as last night, but cold enough that the only people
out are the ones that have something important to attend to. Many of the
classrooms in the red-brick colonial buildings are illuminated, unusual at this
time of the evening, presumably from the rescheduled finals that were cancelled
due to the massive snow storm.
And there is Will, lying on
his bench, inside his sleeping bag, covered by a blanket, just like always.
“Hi Will.”
Will sits up.
“Look what I brought you,” I say,
showing him the plastic bag with the burritos.
Will takes the bag, hastily
opens it, smells the aroma.
“You know, I’m getting a
little worried,” he says.
“Worried? About what?”
“Well, when a girl starts
cooking for a fella on a regular basis, I got to wonder, is she up to something?
Not that I don’t appreciate it.”
“Oh Will, you’re such a
comedian. But I do need a favor.”
“Then I’m right.”
“You’re right, but not in the
way you think.”
Will gobbles down the
burritos nonchalantly, but it’s obvious I’ve got his attention. Every few
seconds he looks up, in anticipation of the next thing I have to say.
“You know Will, you and I are
alike in many ways, don’t you think?”
“I can think of a lot of ways
we aren’t alike,” he answers.
“Both of us, at one time,
were at the top of our game. But now we’re social outcasts trying to get back
on our feet. Is that a fair assessment?”
“Go on.”
“And don’t we both want the
same thing, a decent job?”
“You could say that.”
“And the reason we can’t get
the job we want is because society has thrown artificial barriers in our path.”
“A fair assessment,” he says.
“So if society isn’t going to
help us, the only thing left is to help ourselves.”
“I can see the part about you
helping me, but somehow it doesn’t quite work the other way around.”
“But it does. I took your
advice and called Dr. Parker at the University of Florida and—”
“She gave you a job,” he
blurts out.
“Not yet. She wants to
interview me first.”
“That’s great. When are you
going?”
“I have to be there Wednesday.”
“Oh, I thought you were going
to say like tomorrow. There’s plenty of time.”
“It’s a little more
complicated than that.”
“What’s complicated about
jumping on a plane and flying to Florida?”
“I’m driving to
Florida, to live... and I want you to go with
beginning to show its age. It would be pointless to move it, probably cost more
than what it was worth. An open house, that’s what I would do. I would post a
notice on the many bulletin boards around town offering the furniture for sale.
Then I could travel light and start out new. The plan was coming together.
I feel myself getting excited
and that was making me hungry. I whip up a quick meal of my own special
burritos then throw in a couple extra for Will. He wouldn’t be eating until
much later, when the restaurants give out the left-over food, so I knew he
would be hungry. I was planning to visit him anyway, to let him know the good
news. So why not just bring him something? It would save him the trouble of
drifting from restaurant to restaurant, late at night, seeking out the ones
with enough leftovers to provide for all the homeless people in the area. I wolf
down my meal, then pack the two extra burritos into a plastic bag. I add a
handful of tortilla chips just to round out the meal. I can’t wait to see him,
tell him the news. I grab my coat and, in seconds, I’m out the door.
It’s dark now. Clear ice is
starting to form on the sidewalks from the thin layer of water left behind by
the melting snow. I proceed with caution. A sprained
ankle or broken leg that has disabled many an unsuspecting pedestrian would be a
disaster if that happened now. My plan would be in shambles. I pass
through the black-iron gates and head for my friend Ben. The campus is largely deserted
at this hour. It’s not as cold as last night, but cold enough that the only people
out are the ones that have something important to attend to. Many of the
classrooms in the red-brick colonial buildings are illuminated, unusual at this
time of the evening, presumably from the rescheduled finals that were cancelled
due to the massive snow storm.
And there is Will, lying on
his bench, inside his sleeping bag, covered by a blanket, just like always.
“Hi Will.”
Will sits up.
“Look what I brought you,” I say,
showing him the plastic bag with the burritos.
Will takes the bag, hastily
opens it, smells the aroma.
“You know, I’m getting a
little worried,” he says.
“Worried? About what?”
“Well, when a girl starts
cooking for a fella on a regular basis, I got to wonder, is she up to something?
Not that I don’t appreciate it.”
“Oh Will, you’re such a
comedian. But I do need a favor.”
“Then I’m right.”
“You’re right, but not in the
way you think.”
Will gobbles down the
burritos nonchalantly, but it’s obvious I’ve got his attention. Every few
seconds he looks up, in anticipation of the next thing I have to say.
“You know Will, you and I are
alike in many ways, don’t you think?”
“I can think of a lot of ways
we aren’t alike,” he answers.
“Both of us, at one time,
were at the top of our game. But now we’re social outcasts trying to get back
on our feet. Is that a fair assessment?”
“Go on.”
“And don’t we both want the
same thing, a decent job?”
“You could say that.”
“And the reason we can’t get
the job we want is because society has thrown artificial barriers in our path.”
“A fair assessment,” he says.
“So if society isn’t going to
help us, the only thing left is to help ourselves.”
“I can see the part about you
helping me, but somehow it doesn’t quite work the other way around.”
“But it does. I took your
advice and called Dr. Parker at the University of Florida and—”
“She gave you a job,” he
blurts out.
“Not yet. She wants to
interview me first.”
“That’s great. When are you
going?”
“I have to be there Wednesday.”
“Oh, I thought you were going
to say like tomorrow. There’s plenty of time.”
“It’s a little more
complicated than that.”
“What’s complicated about
jumping on a plane and flying to Florida?”
“I’m driving to
Florida, to live... and I want you to go with
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