Scraggly Man

“There is no going back,” she said, and the man to her right, laughed, and pulled on his ancient beard.

She realized she had spoken.

“Don’t get me wrong, little lady, but I know all about you. Yes, I do.”

She tried to ignore him, tried to watch out the window as the bus sped past all the old and cruddy buildings she knew so well. She tried to think about Henry. The man she loved but could no longer marry.

“I know all about you going back and wishing you could start over. Except going back changes nothin’. Going back you’d do the same ornery stuff you’re doin’ now.”

As she watched the old man, he leaned in further. The woman behind him sniffed, once, and covered her nose.

“Because, little lady, you’ve got the same brain you had when you was just a pup. Nothin’s going to change that.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Tried going back once,” said the man. He smiled, showing her an empty hollow where his teeth had been. “Got drunk. My mind was changed all right but I had no idea what I was doin’.”

She tried not to smile.

“Ever heard of the pre-existence?”

“What?”

The old man was almost off his seat. The bench was a shiny green, and the young woman wondered if a person could stain something brown if they sat on it long enough.

“You know, a time when you lived without your body hooked on. You bring all that with you, you know. So, if you’re a-feared then, you’re a-feared now.”

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “A pre-what?”

“A pre-life with God. You know God?”

She supposed so. She hoped so. She watched the trees pass by and hoped, after all, it wasn’t just an accident. She thought about Henry.

“You don’t remember it, but you learned stuff to prepare you to come here. You had issues, you know, issues that followed you down here.”

“So it’s not my fault. I think I like that idea,” she said.

“No excuses!” crowed the man, scratching at something beneath his shirt. She wondered what that something was, and hoped she wouldn’t find out. “Opportunities!” With shaky hands he reached inside his front pocket and pulled out a letter. She could tell it was worn because the ink was smeared when he opened it, and the letter itself looked like something from a paper shredder.

“Whose it from?” she asked.

“Move over!” he blubbered.

Next to the window she could feel a slight breeze and the scent of the old man—a cross between dirt, sweat and beer. For a moment the sweet smell caressed her left cheek, and then it was gone. She wondered how long it was going to be cold. She wondered if spring would ever come.

“My Ma, she’s dead now,” said the old man, caressing the letter like a new puppy. “I love her so.” He patted the letter again, and began to read. She tried to take short breaths so she wouldn’t get sick.

Dear Paul… “That’s my name, Paul,” the man said. “I have been worried about you as of late and want you to know that the worst thing that you could do now that your Pa is dead is to give up like he did. Drinking never solved anything. Your Pa should know that. It’s what killed him. But you, Paul, you can make a difference. You can go forward in faith like that missionary said. You don’t need to go in the direction of your Pa. You have your own direction….

The old man stopped reading and looked into her eyes. While hers were blue like the great lakes, his were brown, the color of mud. Around them were fine, tiny lines with dirt scrunched in them. “So, what do you think?” he asked.

She had no idea and so said nothing.

The old man continued: “…What would you say if I told you that you are a great boy, full of potential? Well, you are…”

“My favorite part,” the man said, rubbing his beard.

Still, she said nothing.

“I knew it even before that there missionary came over and started to talk about his God. I know your Pa was ornery, but I could see a glint in your eye that you believed him. And I thought, you know, I believe him too, but not firstly because he said it, but secondly…”

Paul looked up. A small tear was creasing his left eye. The glob welled up and dropped to his shirt. For the first time she realized his shirt was ripped right where his heart was.

“You know why she said, secondly?” he asked.

She didn’t, but nodded her head.

“The first time I knew you were a great boy full of potential was when you were only two. You said, “Ma, I want to earn a good livin’ for you. The second time was when your Pa died. “He’s in heaven,” you said, “I can feel it.”

“I failed my Ma,” the old man said. “But more than Ma, I failed myself. You can’t go back, you can’t.”

She looked closer at the old man who wasn’t wearing a coat; just a slicker with holes at the elbows and a shirt and jeans starched from the sun.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Course you couldn’t have known,” said the man. “All wrapped up in your own troubles like you are.”

She winced and looked away. The old buildings were gone now. In their place were houses, small ones without garages. The kind of houses people avoided because they could. It wouldn’t be long now.

“Don’t get me wrong, little lady. It’s just not so near important as you think—your life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just as I said. There’s other people out there cept’n you.”

“You’re drunk.” There, she’d said it. But the man didn’t move; he didn’t even flinch.

“Serves me right,” said the scraggly man. “My Ma would have liked you though. Spring chickens always catered to my Ma.”

“Spring…what?”

“Chickens. You are in the spring of your life, and a little chicken about it. Don’t give up.”

She couldn’t help it. She thought of Henry. Would he take her back, especially after all the things she had just said? Done? Would he ever trust her again?

She looked up to the see the old man pulling something from his beard. It looked like an insect. He squashed it between his fingers, and allowed it to fall to the ground.

She stood to leave. It was her stop. Rather, it was her mother’s stop.

“Here,” she said, handing the old man her new black coat. “This will help you.”

The man reached for it, slowly, like a crane bending to pick up a load, and pulled it tightly to his chest. “Not sure it will fit,” he said, “but at least it will take the chill off. Thank you.”

She smiled once, bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “From your mother, she said,” leaving him.

Outside, the cool chill of a January evening pricked at her skin. Her breath made little clouds, and her arms grew cold. Only two blocks and she would be home.

The bus, #12, rushed past her, and she watched for the old man but couldn’t see him. She was tempted to run home, to alleviate the great chill that was suddenly through her skin, when she saw him. He had obviously gotten off at the same stop as she had. His hand was raised, and he was stumbling, running in her direction.

She stopped, and watched the straggly man, coat over his thin shoulders, rushing to her as only an old man could. As he reached her, she could smell the sickly smell of his breath, and noticed, for the first time, his twisted back. The man couldn’t even stand up straight.

“Little lady, I didn’t get your name,” he said.

“Jill.” She crossed her arms in front of her, for warmth or protection she wasn’t at first sure.

“Jill, a lovely name for a lovely little lady.”

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I am now,” the man said, pulling on the arms of the coat she had given him. “And now, you will be all right, too.” He let go of one coat sleeve and reached into his front pocket. “Here,” he said, handing her the letter. She took it, and held it within her hands.

“My life is almost ended. As they say, I will meet my Maker soon.” He smiled a wide, hollow smile but his eyes sparkled like she’d never seen them before. “But you…Jill, have a full life ahead. I think you need the letter more than I do.”

Tears formed in Jill’s eyes as she looked on Paul—her savior, the scraggly letter shooting warmth up her hand.

“I think you can go back,” he said, “if it’s to fix things.”

“I thought you said…”

“You can’t go back? I think I was wrong about that. “Go back and talk to him. And then move forward in faith like Ma said.”

“You really think I can do it?”

“Yes.”

He patted her shoulder and turned. She watched him walk in the direction of the railroads tracks, her coat tucked tightly around his thin shoulders. She stood there, warmed, even after he was gone.