The Perfect Gift

                In a tiny house in Ohio lived three small children.   Kelsey, Kaelin and their little brother Jase.  

                It was their favorite time of year and a fresh fallen snow coated the ground.  The two older children, Kelsey and Kaelin, slipped into their snow suits and boots and rushed outside, while their little brother watched from the window.

                Having trampled through the fluffy flakes, Kelsey, the oldest sister, fell down onto her back and proceeded to make a snow angel.  Kaelin, who was working diligently to make a whole snowman family, suddenly stopped what she was doing.

                “Kelsey!” she cried.  “Do you know what today is?”

                Kelsey paused mid angel and climbed to her feet.  “It’s Christmas Eve, duh.”

                “That means tomorrow’s Christmas!” Kaelin said, “Which means…”

                The two girls turned to each other and howled in unison, “Presents!”

                They linked hands and danced in jubilation as thoughts of barbies, tablets and candy filled their heads. 

                “I wonder what Santa will bring us,” Kelsey pondered.

                “Hopefully some beanie boos or a new glow pet,” Kaelin mused.  “I have been really good this year, I only got in trouble…” she paused and began to count on her fingers.  When the number exceeded the amount of available fingers, she shrugged and said, “Like I said.  I’ve been good this year.”

                “Yeah,” Kelsey agreed.  “We did clean up our room that one time.”

                “That should be enough to get us some really cool stuff,” Kaelin added.

                With the excitement of the coming morning hanging in the air like a titillating fog, the two sisters returned to their play.  Kelsey finished her snow angel and then went to work making snowballs to hurl at her unsuspecting father whenever he came outside.  Kaelin completed the mother snowman, having topped her off with one of her mom’s old scarves and then started on the father.

                “Kaelin,” Kelsey said as she placed another handful of snow into the snowball maker, “What did you get Mom and Dad?”

                “Hmmm…” Kaelin stopped rolling what was destined to become the torso of the father snowman and touched her chin.  “I don’t think I got them anything this year.”

                “Me neither,” Kelsey said.  “I forgot.”

                Kaelin frowned.  “That’s not good, is it?”

                “Nope, but the good news is that it’s only Christmas Eve.  Which means we still have some time.” 

                Kaelin took a seat on the snowball she’d been rolling.  “Do you have any ideas of what to get them?”

 

                Kelsey stood silent for a couple seconds then asked, “Kaelin, do you have any money?”

                “No,” Kaelin replied.  “I don’t even have a job.”

                Kelsey gestured for Kaelin to scoot over and make room on the snow ball.  Kaelin did so and the two sat next to each other in silence as they search their minds for ideas.  Soon they heard the sound of a garage door opening.  They both whirled around to see their friends Hudson and Savannah come bounding out of their garage across the street.

 

                Kelsey pointed.  “Let’s ask them, they’ll be able to help.”

                After asking for permission and checking in both directions, the two sisters hurried across the street.  Their friends, Hudson and Savannah, were in the midst of a sibling snowball fight with chunks of ice and snow being hurled from one end of the lawn to the other. 

                Hudson, the top of his orange and black Bengals hat poking out from behind his father’s Chevy truck, waved his arm.  “Kelsey, over here!”

                Kelsey ran to him and leaped behind the truck. 

                Savannah launched a snowball in her brother’s direction then called to Kaelin, “Come here and help me, Kaelin.”

                Kaelin darted over to the tree that Savannah was using as cover.  Savannah handed her a fresh snowball and Kaelin flung it toward her sister.  Kelsey dodged then tossed one back.  Hudson joined in on the barrage.  Savannah and Kelsey dropped to the ground and covered their heads, laughing as snowballs landed like tiny meteors on the ground around them.   

                The battle raged on until all gloves were thoroughly soaked and the Chevy truck was covered in snow.  With no clear winner, a truce was agreed upon by both parties. 

                “Do you want to go inside and play Minecraft?” Hudson asked as he rubbed his hands together for warmth.

                “Sure---“ Kelsey started to say before she remembered the reason they’d come across the street in the first place.  She sighed.  “I would like to but there is something me and Kaelin have to do.”

                “What?” Savannah asked.

                “We have to get a gift for our parents,” Kelsey replied.

                Savanna showed her palms dramatically.  “Tomorrow’s Christmas and you haven’t got a gift for your parents yet?”

                Kelsey frowned.  “We forgot.”

                “Bummer,” Hudson said. “What are you going to do?”

                “We don’t know,” Kaelin said.

                “We were hoping that you could give us some ideas,” Kelsey added.

                There was a lull in the conversation as the four kids pondered the present possibilities.

                “Parents love money,” Savannah said, breaking the silence.  “How about a million dollars?”

                “How much does that cost?” Kaelin asked.  “Because I only got a nickel and I took that from Kelsey.”

                Kelsey and Hudson exchanged glances then shook their heads.  

   

                “That won’t due, Savannah,” Hudson said.  “They need something they can get today.”

                Savannah shrugged.  “I tried.”

                Hudson turned back to Kelsey and Kaelin.  “Have you tried asking your grandparents?  Ours helped me and Savannah pick out our presents for our mom and dad.”

                “That’s a good idea,” Kelsey said.  “They’ll know what to do.”  She grabbed her sister by the hand. “Come on Kaelin.”

                After a wave goodbye the two were off, sprinting home as fast as their little legs would carry them.  Once inside, they slipped out of their boots, stripped off their snow suits and went looking for their Mom.

                Their dad, who had been outside shoveling the driveway while they played with their friends, followed them inside.

                “Is everything alright?” he asked.  “You came inside in a hurry.”

                “No!” Kaelin blurted out.  “We forgot to---

                Kelsey nudged Kaelin with her elbow, who stopped and glared at her sister.

                “Forgot to do what?” their father asked.

                Kaelin paused.  “Forgot to…”

                Their dad raised an eyebrow.  “What Kaelin?”

                “Forgot to get milk and cookies ready for Santa,” Kelsey said, coming to her sister’s rescue.

                “Oh,” their dad smiled.  “We don’t want to forget that.  I know Santa loves your cookies.  In fact, he adds a few inches around his waist every year because of those cookies.”  He paused.  “Or maybe it’s because he has a tendency to overeat Mrs. Claus’s delicious cooking.”

                The two girls just stared at him curiously.

                Their father waved a hand.  “Nevermind about that,” he said.  “And don’t you worry there’s still plenty of time to get the milk and cookies ready.”

                With those words, he patted them each on the top of the head and then disappeared into the kitchen. 

                When he was gone, Kaelin spun toward her sister.  “You didn’t have to hit me!”

                Kelsey pressed a finger to her lips. “Shoosh.  You almost spilled the beans.”

                Kaelin flashed a look of confusion.  “What beans?”

                Kelsey rolled her eyes. “Nevermind.”  She placed both hands on her sister’s shoulders and after a glance around to ensure that no one was in hearing distance, whispered, “Now.  We need to get a hold of mom’s phone so we can call Grandma Lou Lou and Grandma Sheri.”

                “We’re going to steal Mommy’s phone?”

                “No,” Kelsey said.  “We’re just going to borrow it.”  She gestured for Kaelin to follow.  “Now come on.”

                The two tip-toed across the room and down the hallway, peeking their heads in every room until they found their Mother in the nursery sitting in the glider with their baby brother, Jase, cradled in her arms.

                “I think she’s asleep,” Kaelin said.

                “Now’s our chance,” Kelsey added.

                Their mother’s phone sat on the arm of the glider, just inches from the edge.   

                Kelsey looked at Kaelin. “Wait here,” she whispered.  “I’m going to go get it.”

                Kaelin nodded then brought her knuckles to her face to suppress a giggle. 

                Kelsey pulled in a deep breath then crept forward.  As silent as a mouse, she snatched the phone and scurried out of the room.    With the phone in hand, the two sisters rushed to their bedroom and quietly shut the door behind them.

                “Do you even know how to work that thing?” Kaelin asked.

                “I think so.”

                Kelsey unlocked the phone with a swipe of her finger then went to work pressing apps. When they failed to get the desired response, Kaelin ripped the phone from her sister’s hand.

                “Let me try.”

                In a less controlled fashion, Kaelin took her turn trying to contact their grandparents.  After a few seconds, her eyes widened.  “Kelsey look!” she held out the phone.  “It’s Mommy’s book face.”

                “It’s called Face Book and that isn’t going to help.” Kelsey reached for the phone.  “Now give it to me.”

                Kaelin tightened her grip and the two entered into a round of tug-of-war, grunting and growling at each other like they were two wolf pups fighting over a piece of meat.  Finally, Kelsey’s two more years prevailed and she fell backward into a seated position with the phone wedged tightly in her hands.  Kaelin dropped to the floor, crossed her arms and adopted a pouty face.

                Kelsey, flustered more with their failure to find a present for their parents, sighed, “We’re never going to get a gift in time.”

                Near the point of giving up hope, Kelsey opened up her fingers to look at the phone.  When she did, she saw a series of pictures with names and numbers attached to each one.  “Kaelin!” she said, jumping to her feet.  “I think we figured it out!”

                Kaelin scrambled to her feet as well then watched her sister scroll thru the pictures until they came to their Grandma Lou Lou. 

                Kailin pointed at the phone.  “Press the picture.”

                Kelsey poked the screen with her index finger and within seconds the phone began to ring.  The two girls exchanged celebratory grins. 

                On the third ring, their Grandma Lou Lou answered, “Hello.”

                “Grandma!” the kids shouted in unison.

                “Well hello there, Kelsey and Kae Kae.”

                “We need your help,” Kaelin said. 

                “We forgot to get Mom and Dad a present,” Kelsey added.  “What should we do?”

                “Let’s see here,” Grandma Lou Lou replied, “You could make them a present.”

                “Any ideas?” Kelsey asked.

                “Hmmm….” There was a few seconds of quiet, before Grandma Lou Lou said, “When your Mommy was little, I always like it when she made something that really surprised me.”

                “So we should make something that Mom and Dad won’t expect.”  Kelsey said.

                “Yep.”

                “Thanks Grandma!”  Kaelin said. 

                They talked for a minute more and then hung up with a Merry Christmas. 

                “Now we try Grandma Sheri,” Kelsey said.

                She scrolled down on the screen until she found the picture of Grandma Sheri.  She clicked on it and a few seconds later Grandma Sheri was on the line.

                “It’s Kelsey and Kaelin,” Kaelin shouted as soon as Grandma Sheri answered.

                “Hey girls,” she said.  “Are you ready for Santa to come?”

                “No,” Kelsey said. 

                “No?  Why not?”

                “We forgot to get Mommy and Daddy a present this year,” Kaelin said. 

                “Oh,” Grandma Sheri observed.  “Well, you can make them something.”

                “That’s what Grandma Lou Lou said,” Kaelin stated.

                Grandma Sheri chuckled, “Well good Grandmas think alike.”

                “Any ideas of what we can make them?” Kelsey asked.

                “Let me think for a moment,” Grandma replied.  “Both of your parents love the holiday season.  Why don’t you try to make something that shows the true meaning of Christmas?”

                “The true meaning of Christmas…”Kelsey repeated.

                “You got it,” Grandma Sheri said.

Suddenly, there was a voice in the background.  “Got to go, girls,” Grandma said, “Your Papaw Don is yelling about those Republicans again.”

“Bye Grandma!”

“Merry Christmas girls.”

                 They hung up and then quietly returned the phone to their still napping Mom.  This time placing it on the floor next to the glider.

                After a few minutes of pacing up and down the hallway as they brainstormed together, the two plopped down on the couch in the living room, tired and fearing that they’d ruined Christmas.

                “We need something surprising,” Kaelin said.

                “And something that shows the true meaning of Christmas,” Kelsey added.

                The girls sighed in unison, leaned forward and using their knees to brace themselves, cupped their chins with their hands. 

                After a few minutes, Kelsey’s gaze fell upon the Nativity Scene that sat high atop the DVD stand.

Her eyes widened and she sat up with a jolt.  “Kaelin, I have an idea for the gift!”

“You do?”

“Yes,” Kelsey cautioned. “But it’s going to take you, me and someone else.”

“Who?”

Kelsey leaned forward and whispered the answer in her sister’s ear. 

Kaelin’s lips curled into a wide smile.  “Perfect.”

Many hours later, after Christmas Eve turned to Christmas day and Santa had completed his traditional gift giving act, Kelsey’s Mom and Dad were awoken by the shouts of their two older children.

“Mom! Dad!  Wake up! Wake up!  Christmas is here!”

Their parents sat up in bed, rubbing their eyes. 

“Give us a minute,” they’re dad said.

It actually took two minutes and thirty-seven seconds for Kelsey and Kaelin’s parents to get themselves out of bed and when they did, they discovered a note taped to the inside of their door. 

They’re mom read the note aloud,

                Mom and Dad,

                We wanted to surprise you with something that showed you the true meaning of Christmas. 

                Love,

                Kelsey and Kaelin

                “I’m impressed, “their dad said after their mom finished reading the note, “Their handwriting is better than mine.”

                Their mom took their dad by the hand.  “Come on, let’s see what they got us.”

                As they reached the end of the hallway and stepped into the living room, Kelsey and Kaelin yelled, “Surprise!”

                Their mom’s mouth fell open and their dad’s eyes widened with genuine surprise at the sight what awaited them.

                Standing in the glistening white lights of the Christmas tree and under the watchful star was a tabernacle made of Disney Princess blankets, bed sheets and kitchen chairs.  Filling the inside of the tent was a herd of stuffed animals of all sorts and sizes and in their midst, directly under the star of the Christmas tree, was their blue eyed baby boy, peering up at them from his bouncer.  To each side were his older sisters, dressed in white, their heads adorned with homemade halos crafted from silver garland.

                “Jase is like the baby Jesus, Mommy,” Kaelin said. “And we’re the angels.”

                Their dad looked around in amazement.  “Did you plan all this yourself?” he asked.

                “We had some help from some family and friends,” Kelsey replied.

                Kaelin bit her bottom lip.  “So…Do you like it?” she asked nervously.

                Neither of their parents answered right away.  Instead their mom knelt down beside them, opened her arms and gestured for them to come to her.  They did and she wrapped her arms around them and squeezed. 

“Yes,” she said with a smile.  “I love it.”

Their father gently lifted baby Jase from the bouncer and the two of them joined in the embrace.

“Do you like it Dad?” Kelsey asked.

“Yes,” he replied, squeezing his family tight.  “It’s the perfect gift.”   

Kelsey and Kaelin grinned at each other and behind their parents backs, bumped fists. 

                                                             THE END

The Prisoner

A rooster crows.

The pale moon light pries its way through the iron bars of his cell and falls upon the stone floor with a whisper of dawn, giving the dull stone a marble glow.  Outside his cell is the harmony of bronze keys rattling together to the rhythm of leather sandal footfalls.  The melody grows louder. The guard moves closer.

It’s been days since the prisoner has talked to another person and he is worried about his wife and friends.   Visitors have been forbidden to enter and many of his friends would be wise to stay away considering all that has taken place.  The current stint isn’t his first incarceration, he’s been behind bars or in chains, on more occasions than he can count on his fingers.  But in all honesty, he didn't foresee chains and bars to be a part of his lord's kingdom when he was called to become a fisher of men.

 Despite his experiences, the current stint is by far the loneliest with the hours of silence passing by like a long gray winter.  He has prayed and sang hymns to assuage the sting of his solitary confinement but he is nearly out of words.  He hopes that it will end soon, or that the guard will stop and offer enough distraction to drown out the obnoxious crowing of the rooster.  

The orange glow of a torch peeks beneath his cell door.  The prisoner lifts his head off the balled up cloak he uses as a pillow.  A small prayer is answered, the rattling of the keys and the rhythmic footfalls cease abruptly, replaced with the scrape of metal against metal, the unlatching of a lock.  The door opens with an aged groan and the torch light floods the cell.  The prisoner can feel the warmth.   He pushes himself off the floor and rubs his eyes, beckoning them to adjust to the welcomed sight of light.  When they do, he sees the soldier standing in the doorway, a giant hand resting on the hilt of his sword as if to say, "I bare this weapon for a reason."

Though the prisoner has longed for this moment, he is suddenly without words.  The soldier, with his large brown eyes and curly black beard, shares a striking resemblance to his younger self.  A resemblance that can’t be tossed aside as mere coincidence.  The two study each other as if trying to discern a hidden truth between them.

“You come to give me good news,” the prisoner says eventually.

“Just news,” the soldier responds, as he hangs the lantern on a hook halfway up the wall.

“Well?” the prisoner asks.

The soldier pulls out a wooden stool from behind the door and takes a seat.   “Do you know what today is?”

“Days and nights have a way of blending together in here,” the prisoner says, “but I suppose by your presence that my release is at hand.”

“I’m afraid to say you are not being released.” He pauses, then says gravely, “Caesar has rendered his judgment.  You are to be executed.”

The prisoner nods to himself as his gaze falls upon the flickering shadows dancing on the wall beside him. 

“Have you no words?” the soldier asks.  “I’ve heard you Christians never stop talking.”

“Words and I haven’t always got along.”  The prisoner lifts his eyes and smiles a bit.  “You could say that I have a way of putting my foot in my mouth.” 

The soldier leans back on his stool, surprised by the old man’s response.  “You jest.  Are you not afraid?”

“Afraid?” he responds.  “I’m terrified.  But my fear cannot change what is to come.”

“And what is to come?”

“My release.”

“You are confused old man, you are not being released.  You are being put to death.”

“I know and death is just the beginning,”

“I’ve seen death, old man, it isn’t pleasant.”

“And I’ve seen life and it is beyond words.”

The soldier is silent for a moment.  He narrows his eyes.  “This life you speak of, is it part of your silly superstition?”

“My silly superstition?” the prisoner repeats to himself.  "You mean the Gospel of the Christ."

The soldier rolls his eyes. "Yes, the gospel of the Christ."

"The Gospel is about life," the prisoner says. 

"You say that, yet, all I see of Christ's followers is death.  I served in Palestine, there is a trail of blood from there to here.  Even today, more will be fed to the lions or crucified."

"They do not die in vain, for their deaths will bring life to others."

"That is an admirable philosophy, but what is a philosophy when facing the sword?"

The soldier's words conjure up the prisoner’s most painful memory.   He falls silent racked with regret.

The rooster crows again.

The soldier shifts his weight from one side of the stool to the other.  "Some will renounce your Christ," the soldier states.

"Some have already," the prisoner replies, solemnly. 

"And what of you?  What will you do when the time comes?  Will you deny your savior as well?"

Fear, like the darkening of clouds from an approaching gale, creeps into his heart.  The prisoner pulls in a breath to calm himself and exhales.   "I will face what the Lord has prepared for me."

The soldier leans forward. "You will die for a lie?"

"No," the prisoner says, shaking his head.  "I will die for the truth."

The soldier laughs, "That's right, the truth."

When the soldier's laughter eases to a stop, the prisoner asks, "Did you come in here just to mock me?"

"No," the soldier reaches behind his back and retrieves a bundle of cloth.  "I came to give this to you."

The soldier tosses the bundle to the prisoner, who makes a feeble attempt to catch it.  The bundle escapes his grasp and drops to the stone floor, spilling its contents.  The prisoner reaches between his legs and peels a piece of unleavened bread from the stone. "Where did you get this?" he asks.

"Your companions begged me to give it to you."

The prisoner furrows his brow. "And you agreed?"

"Yes." The soldier is slightly offended. "Because I have pity for you.  For you will die believing a man rose from the dead."

"I will die for what I witnessed," the old man responds.

"Well if that is the case," the soldier says, "forgive me for being skeptical, it is not every day that a man returns from Hades."

The old man raises an eyebrow.  "It is not every day that a soldier violates his command and sneaks in bread for a prisoner."

The prisoner’s statement quiets the soldier.  He folds his hands together introspectively.

"Soldier, what is your name?" the prisoner asks.

"My name is Felix."

"Felix…” The prisoner pauses, as if to gather the right words.  "As a soldier in Caesar's army, I'm sure you have at least a few regrets.  What if you had the opportunity to make them right again, would you do it?"

"Of course," Felix says matter-of-factly.

"What is about to come," the prisoner says, "is another chance to wash away my regrets.  To make them right again.  My silly superstition, as you called it, is a second chance."   

 The cell lapses into silence, one that is heavy with the anguish that awaits the old man.  The soldier no longer pities him, like the ache in his bones, the prisoner can feel it.  The old man takes the unleavened bread and breaks it in two.  With trembling hands, he wipes off the dust from the floor and offers a piece of the bread to the soldier.  Without saying a word, Felix grabs the bread and eats it.

Shortly after, the silence is broken by the sounds of heavy doors opening at the end of a long corridor accompanied by the pounding of footfalls. 

Felix stands.  "It is time."  He offers a hand to the prisoner.  "Let me help you up."

The prisoner takes his hand and the soldier carefully pulls him to his feet.  With great effort, the prisoner stoops to grab his cloak but the soldier stops him. 

"No," he says, "Let me."

Felix grabs the cloak, unfolds it and gently slips it over the prisoner’s shoulders.  The other guards arrive at the door.  One of them is carrying a set of cuffs which he hands to Felix.  Felix looks at prisoner sorrowfully.  The prisoner stretches out his hands and Felix places the cuffs on his wrists.  With Felix holding onto the prisoner’s chain, the guards lead him down the corridor and out of the prison.

Outside, the breaking dawn births a mahogany sky.  Below it, the city awakes.  There is the sound of workman's hammers on crucibles, the bleating of sheep in the market place waiting to be sold and the anxious whispers of those who have gathered to witness the crucifixion.

However, one voice is missing among the morning chorus...

the crowing of the rooster. 

Honest Abe, A Minecraft T-Shirt and a Hispanic Woman or Why I am a BIG FAT JERK

Across the street from DC’s most infamous theater and not a stone’s throw away from the bed where our sixteenth President breathed his last, stands a rusty brick building that houses a cadre of shops, one of which is named Honest Abe’s Souvenirs.

Elbowing each other for room on the sidewalk in front of the store are a company of souvenirs stands and street vendors waiting for customers with salivating mouths like a pride of hungry lions.  To their great fortune, it is Spring in DC, the season of the fat and happy lion where there is no need to run and chase—only to wait. 

 To the background sonnet of a high gear city, perpetually turning, 96 eighth graders with wallets and purses on fire, flood across the street, a tsunami of chattering mouths and cellphones.  They are a herd of gazelle crossing the African plain in search of water, and the vendor-lions are holding up signs that read, “Here is the pool, come drink!” 

And drink they do!

From cheap knockoff sunglasses and over-priced ice cream sandwiches, to flat-billed hats and neon hoodies, they gorge themselves, determined to fit in, determined to take a piece of DC with them.  Most spend every dime they have and I watch, with a strange anxiety because I want to scold them.

“Those aren’t real Oakley’s!” I want to yell. “Save your money!  You’ll never wear that stupid hat again!”

But before I can, the kid inside me speaks up. 

“You were just like them,” he says, “remember?”

I was…I am.

Sixteen years ago, on my 8^th grade DC trip, I bought a camouflaged bucket hat, just like all my friends.  And just like all my friends, I wore it for two days before it was lost in the sands of time.

So, I take my younger self’s advice and decide to let them learn that lesson themselves while I finish the last bit of a frappachino, content to stand guard, a chaperone sentinel should any need of one arise.

But fate can be a conniving trickster ready to serve up a warm slice of humble pie.

And she isn’t going to let me off that easy. 

~

I have two young daughters and before I left I promised to bring them something back from my trip.   I’d made that promise with a memento or tiny trinket in mind, knowing that they would be happy with simple toys.  However, as I stand watch in the shade of a green canvas awning, something catches my attention. 

Under Honest Abe’s watchful eye and sandwiched between two drink and ice cream vendors, stands a small t-shirt booth.  Hanging, somewhat tenuously, at one end of the booth is the image of one of my daughter’s childhood heroes printed on a t-shirt, a literal block head named Steve.

Steve is the star of a Swedish designed video game called Minecraft, which over the past few years, has soared in popularity, swallowing more and more of children’s time and parent’s money.

My daughter was not immune.

 

 As soon as I see the t-shirt, the flame of my promise reignites inside me because I know one simple truth, my daughter will adore it.

So, I cautiously make my way through the herd of gazelle to the pool.  But before I kneel to take a drink, I make a vow to myself that if I am to drink the water and dine with the lions, it will be on my terms.

Black sharpie scribbled across a piece of cardboard indicates that all t-shirts, no matter the size, are ten bucks.

That is the cost of my daughter’s adoration and happiness.

That is two dollars more than I am willing to spend.

Manning the booth is a short brown skinned woman with gray streaked black hair and a worn face, like aged leather.  She smiles as I approach, a warm, affable smile. 

But I see right through it.

I am not my eighth grade self.

I am older, wiser. 

I smile back.  “How much are the shirts?” I ask.

Though the cardboard sign is perched just an arm’s reach away from her, she answers pleasantly in a heavy Hispanic accent, as if I’d just made an honest mistake, “Ten dollars.”

I cross my arms, deliberately deliberating.

After a moment, she asks, “Which one do you like?”

I nod toward the Minecraft shirt.  “That blue one there.”

“Do you have a son?”

“Two daughters.”

Her face lights up. “Very good,” she says.  “Very good.”

I take a breath.  Small talk is over.  It’s time to get down to business.  Time for me to rise up to the occasion.  Time to show how far I’ve come.

“I will give you six dollars for it,” I say.

She smiles.  “Ten dollars.”

“Seven,” I say.

Still smiling, she shakes her head.  “No, sorry, ten dollars.”

I take another breath and exhale slowly.  It is time for another approach. 

“What is the size of that shirt?” I ask even though I can plainly see the size.

“Child’s medium,” she replies.

I sigh, trying my best to look disappointed.  “That is too big for my daughter.”  I pause for effect.  “Tell you what, I’ll give you eight dollars.”

A brief silence ensues.  A breeze begins to blow and I feel as if it is just her and I standing under the high-noon sun with our hands at our holsters.

Though I don’t bring the fact to life with words, the woman must see in the narrowing of my eyes that my next offer will be a polite pleasantry as I depart from her life forever without buying the shirt.

Still, her smile is unrelenting.

 

"Ten dollars," she says, as genial as the first time.

We’ve reached an impasse that even the author of the great compromise, Henry Clay, couldn't break.  So, with my threshold attained, I remain true the promise of my narrowing eyes, and removed my hand from my holster while I offering a simple salutation before departing.   

There is a slight disappointment over my failure to procure the Minecraft shirt as I walk away, but it easily eclipsed by a wave of self-righteousness that surges through me.  I may have lost the battle, but I won the war.

As I stand on the mountain of triumph, somewhere, the kid in me is shaking his head.

~

Ding! Ding! Ding!

You hear that?

That is the sound of the oven timer.

My humble pie is ready...

Twenty minutes later, after the herd of gazelle have meandered over to a street musician hammering out a beat on a makeshift drum set of old trash cans and buckets of paint, I’m pondering the irony of a store using Honest Abe's likeness to hock cheaply made souvenirs at outrageous prices when I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder.

I turn to see the Hispanic woman staring up at me.

But she isn’t smiling.

"Sir," she says, with a small quiver of her lip.

"Yes?" I say, thoroughly perplexed by her presence.

The woman reaches behind her back and produces a thin plastic bag.  "For your child."

I stare blankly at her as letters slowly form into words in my mouth.  But before I can even say anything, she drops the bag into my hands. I glance down.  Inside is the Minecraft shirt.  I look up and furrow my brow.  I still am not sure what is happening.  "For free?" I ask.

She nods.  "For free."

"Are you sure?" I reach for my wallet.  "I have ten dollars right here."

She shakes her head.  "No money.  Free."

I flash a twenty dollar bill.  She only shakes her head more adamantly until I slip the bill back into my wallet. 

"Thanks," I say. 

With my offer of gratitude, her smile returns and she bows a bit before retreating to her booth.

In the wake of the transaction, I am speechless for a long time.  My inflated sense of self-importance that had accompanied my victory has vanished and a mixture of guilt and shame flood in to fill the void. 

The woman's act of kindness pulls me down from my mountain of triumph and as I fall, I realize that the mountain wasn't made of rock but sand all along.

~

Thinking back, I don’t know her reasons for giving me the shirt, perhaps it was an offering of gratitude for shepherding the gazelle to the pool or maybe she felt guilty herself for fighting for two extra dollars.  Just maybe, she wanted to do something nice.  The reasons are between her and the Almighty and for the purpose of this little ditty, they don’t really matter.  

Because of her, I’ve realized that there are times in all our lives where we take a moral stand more out of pride than anything else.  (I mean, what is a ten dollar shirt, when I had just spent nearly as much on a Frappuccino at Starbucks?)  We dig in our heels and refuse to budge.  Sometimes we lose and walk away flustered and sometimes we win and leave swelled up with vindication.   Either way we cling to our mountain until someone comes along and forces us to let go. 

They’re not always waves that crash against the shore and wash away our mountain,  sometimes they are small people with small acts and are more like a gentle spring rain, one that comes in unexpected and softens up the sand just enough for us to lose our footing. 

I’ve thought of that small person and her small act repeatedly and if or when I go back to DC, I hope to run into her again and tell her thank you.  

And if I ever come face to face with the trickster that is Fate, I will tell her that even though I don’t like the taste of her humble pie, I’m glad I had a piece.