Old George's Christmas Eve Visitor
Posted by: bigguyhereagain <bigguyhereagain@...>
The old man sat in his gas station on a cold
Christmas Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in
years since his wife passed away. He had no
decorations, no tree, no lights. It was
just another day to him.
He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a
reason to celebrate. There were no children
in his life. His wife had gone.
He was sitting there looking at the snow
that had been falling for the last hour and
wondering what it was all about when the
door opened and a homeless man stepped
through. Instead of throwing the man out,
George, Old George as he was known by his
customers, told the man to come and sit
by the space heater and warm up.
"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said
the stranger. "I see you're busy. I'll just go"
"Not without something hot in your belly,"
George turned and opened a wide mouth
Thermos and handed it to the stranger. "It ain't
much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew. Made it
myself. When you're done there's coffee and
it's fresh."
Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the
driveway bell. "Excuse me be right back,"
George said. There in the driveway was an
old 53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the
front. The driver was panicked. "Mister can
you help me!" said the driver with a deep Spanish
accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken."
George opened the hood. It was bad. The block
looked cracked from the cold; the car was dead.
"You ain't going in this thing," George said as
he turned away. "But mister. Please help...."
The door of the office closed behind George as
he went in. George went to the office wall and
got the keys to his old truck, and went
back outside. He walked around the building and
opened the garage, started the truck and drove
it around to where the couple was waiting.
"Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the
best thing you ever looked at, but she runs
real good." George helped put the woman in the truck
and watched as it sped off into the night.
George turned and walked back inside the office.
"Glad I gave em the truck. Their tires were shot too.
That 'ol truck has brand new........" George
thought he was talking to the stranger, but the
man had gone. The thermos was on the desk,
empty with a used coffee cup beside it.
"Well, at least he got something in his belly,"
George thought.
George went back outside to see if the old Chevy
would start. It cranked slowly, but it started.
He pulled it into the garage where the truck had
been. He thought he would tinker with it for
something to do. Christmas Eve meant no
customers. He discovered the the block hadn't
cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator.
"Well, shoot, I can fix this," he said to himself. So
he put a new one on. "Those tires ain't gonna get
'em through the winter either." He took the snow
treads off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were like
new and hewasn't going to drive the car.
As he was working he heard shots being fired. He
ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay
on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the
officer moaned, "Help me." George helped the officer
inside as he remembered the training he had received
in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed
attention. "Pressure to stop the bleeding," he
thought. The uniform company had been there that
morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those
and duct tape to bind the wound. "Hey, they say duct
tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to make the
policeman feel at ease.
"Something for pain," George thought. All he had was
the pills he used for his back. "These ought to work."
He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the
pills. "You hang in there. I'm going to get you an ambulance."
The phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies
on that there talk box out in your car." He went out only to
find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying
the two way radio.
He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks,"
said the officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that
shot me is still in the area." George sat down beside him.
"I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain't
gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check
for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right
through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though.
I think with time your gonna be right as rain."
George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?"
he asked. "None for me," said the officer. "Oh, yer gonna drink
this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain't got no donuts." The officer
laughed and winced at the same time.
The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with
a gun. "Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled.
His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never
done anything like this before. "That's the guy that shot me!"
exclaimed the officer. "Son, why are you doing this?" asked
George. "You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else
might get hurt." The young man was confused. "Shut up old
man, or I'll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!"
The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing away,"
George said to the cop. "We got one too many in here now."
He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas
Eve. If you need the money, well then, here. It ain't much
but it's all I got. Now put that pee shooter away." George
pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young
man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time.
The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his
knees and began to cry. "I'm not very good at this am I?
All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son,"
he went on. "I've lost my job. My rent is due. My car got
repossessed last week..." George handed the gun to the
cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then.
The road gets hard sometimes, but we
make it through the best we can."
He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a
chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things."
George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Being
stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in
here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm
and we'll sort this thing out."
The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the
cop. "Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."
"Shut up and drink your coffee." the cop said. George
could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and
an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through
the door, guns drawn.
"Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.
"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"
"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who
did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young
man. Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into
the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."
George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.
"That guy work here?," the wounded cop continued. "Yep,
" George said. "Just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job."
The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher.
The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered,
"Why?" Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas boy. And you too,
George, and thanks for everything." "Well, looks like you got
one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your
problems."
George went into the back room and came out with a box. He
pulled out a ring box. "Here you go. Something for the little
woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would
come in handy some day." The young man looked inside
to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. "I can't take
this," said the young man. "It means something to you."
"And now it means something to you," replied George.
"I got my memories. That's all I need." George reached
into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared
next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him
to sell.
"Here's something for that little man of yours." The young
man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that
the old man had handed him earlier. "And what are you
supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that
too," George said. "Now git home to your family." The
young man turned with tears streaming down his face.
"I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is
still good." "Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George
said. "See ya the day after."
George turned around to find that the stranger had
returned. "Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"
"I have been here. I have always been here," said the
stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas.
Why?" "Well, after my wife passed away I just couldn't
see what all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all
seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin' cookies
like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by
myself and besides I was getting a little chubby."
The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder.
"But you do celebrate the holiday, George.
You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I
was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear
a son and he will become a great doctor. The policeman
you helped will go on to save 19 people from being
killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob
you will make you a rich man and not take any for
himself. That is the spirit of the season and
you keep it as good as any man."
George was taken aback by all this stranger had said.
"And how do you know all this?" asked the old man.
"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort
of thing. And when your days are done you will be
with Martha again." The stranger moved toward
the door. "If you will excuse me, George, I have to go
now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration
planned." George watched as the old leather jacket and
the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into
a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room.
"You see, George... it's my birthday. Merry Christmas."
George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday,
They said had run the light
That caused the six-car pileup
On 109 that night.
When broken bodies lay about
And blood was everywhere,
The sirens screamed out elegies,
For death was in the air.
A mother, trapped inside her car,
Was heard above the noise;
Her plaintive plea near split the air:
"Oh, God, please spare my boys!"
She fought to loose her pinioned hands;
She struggled to get free,
But mangled metal held her fast
In grim captivity.
Her frightened eyes then focused
On where the back seat once had been,
But all she saw was broken glass and
Two children's seats crushed in.
Her twins were nowhere to be seen;
She did not hear them cry,
And then she prayed they'd been thrown free,
"Oh, God, don't let them die!"
Then firemen came and cut her loose,
But when they searched the back,
They found therein no little boys,
But the seat belts were intact.
They thought the woman had gone mad
And was traveling alone,
But when they turned to question her,
They discovered she was gone.
Policemen saw her running wild
And screaming above the noise
In beseeching supplication,
"Please help me find my boys!
They're four years old and wear blue shirts;
Their jeans are blue to match."
One cop spoke up, "They're in my car,
And they don't have a scratch.
They said their daddy put them there
And gave them each a cone,
Then told them both to wait for Mom
To come and take them home.
I've searched the area high and low,
But I can't find their dad.
He must have fled the scene,
I guess, and that is very bad."
The mother hugged the twins and said,
While wiping at a tear,
"He could not flee the scene, you see,
For he's been dead a year."
The cop just looked confused and asked,
"Now, how can that be true?"
The boys said, "Mommy, Daddy came
And left a kiss for you.
He told us not to worry
And that you would be all right,
And then he put us in this car with
The pretty, flashing light.
We wanted him to stay with us,
Because we miss him so,
But Mommy, he just hugged us tight
And said he had to go.
He said someday we'd understand
And told us not to fuss,
And he said to tell you, Mommy,
He's watching over us."
The mother knew without a doubt
That what they spoke was true,
For she recalled their dad's last words,
"I will watch over you."
The firemen's notes could not explain
The twisted, mangled car,
And how the three of them escaped
Without a single scar.
But on the cop's report was scribed,
In print so very fine,
An angel walked the beat tonight
On Highway 109.
I do not mail idea-central unsolicited. If you are receiving this newsletter from me it's because you have subscribed to this mailing list. If you receive this newsletter and are not a subscriber then someone, other than me, has forwarded it to you.
| Normal Subscribe: | idea-central-subscribe@welovegod.org |
| Normal Unsubscribe: | idea-central-unsubscribe@welovegod.org |
| Web Subscribe: | idea-central-allow-subscribe@welovegod.org |
| Web Unsubscribe: | idea-central-allow-unsubscribe@welovegod.org |
| Email Group Owner: | idea-central-owner@associate.com |