A Helping Hand - A Screened Word Story

         There Frank was, sitting alone beside the Boston University Bridge on a snowy day, with the fluffy flakes fluttering outside and the chill of the outside world creeping into his domain. Frank endured the bitter weather with nothing except for a picture of his family, a few spare slices of bread, and a small bottle of whiskey in hand.

         He always dreaded the sight of the people who passed by him looking as cheerful as ever.

         Look at you guys, he thought. Here you are wondering about, so happy and all set for Thanksgiving. So why am I stuck down here with almost nothing? My family has turned its back on me, and my friends have barely gotten in touch with me. Is this all I have to be thankful for? Just what little shelterI got?

         Whenever he was not busy fretting about the cold air and the frigid fronts that crawled up all over his body when he was asleep, he could have recalled catching a whiff of a nearby turkey cooking in the distance, all ready to be sliced for each member of the family who anticipated its flavorful textures for the holiday.

         Yet, Frank was stuck in this tiny bar-free prison with nowhere to go or no one to turn to. He was sure that the only thing he had to be thankful for was the ‘shelter’ for keeping him from being enveloped by an imminent frosty death.

         Frank had roamed about Boston for up to eight months.

         Before then, he used to live with his family, who, as he recalled, loved him with all their heart. His daughter, Jessie, his son-in-law, Marcus, and his son, Jonathan, who lived just on the other side of the state. Marcus did not always agree with Frank’s ways, however. He believed his own ways of doing things were the right way to go. Frank, to him, was just a thorn on his side and a nuisance.

         However, after some scandalous news broke out about Marcus having been indicted and accused of embezzlement, he was relieved from his job and got into a nasty fit with his wife and kids, and with Frank, too. In a fit of rage, he kicked Frank out of the house, thinking he couldn’t have afforded to watch over him anymore.

         Since then, Frank roamed about every corner of Boston, depending on what provided the most vacant space for him to sleep in, to rest in, to eat in, to make a home for himself, however temporary it would have been. Every time.

         Sometimes, he had to fend off some of the other natives in town who would have wanted such spaces, including the local wildlife who lived in Boston for probably longer than the humans ever did. The crows, the dogs, the raccoons.

         Sometimes, he would’ve seen some people pass him by with a friendly wave, and that always warmed his heart up a little, but only by a flicker. And there were others who looked at him funny, like they were wary of him being a potential pickpocket or in desperate need of whatever they could’ve provided them and would thus have been a leech about it. Frank did not understand such animosity, but who he did feel animosity for were all the homeless people who did take advantage of other people for their personal time and resources.

         Begging for food is one thing, thought Frank said. But would some people really have needed to cling to other people in a desperate need to get something to live off of?

         However, once this train of thought had passed him by, he slunk back into whichever corner of Boston he could have settled in, remembering that he too was trying to do the same thing. Not to take advantage of other people, but to simply get by.

         Who wouldn't have tried to get by?

         It was not until mid-afternoon when the snow began to lessen a little bit and the clouds began to split apart. Frank was half-asleep and slowly waking up when he noticed someone's footsteps coming toward him. Before he even opened his eyes, he felt the feet pressed right in front of him. Slowly but surely, Frank opened his eyes, took a look at whoever it was that walked up to him, and in an instant, he recognized the sneakers that were only a foot away from his face.

         The sneakers were green and orange, with a white heel, much like what he gave Jonathan for his birthday a few years ago. At least the shoes brought him back to good times, or so he thought. By the time he was fully awake, he looked upwards from the shoes to notice Jonathan himself looking down towards him.

         Oh, great, He thought. What did he come here for? Was he going to tell me what he's been up to? And that he felt better off than he had been before?

         “Hey, Pop.” It was the first thing Frank heard Jonathan say.

         “Hi,” Frank said, in a slow, wheezy voice.

         “Listen, Pop, I was hoping I would've found you here. The last time my family and I saw you, you were hovering down in every which corner throughout town. I was hoping I would've found you before we were too late. But we wanted to make sure that you were back home and safe with us.”

         “But Marcus took everything that I loved away from me,” Frank said. “And what have you done? Nothing. Why should I trust you now?”

         “It’s not your fault that you ended up with almost nothing,” Jonathan responded. “The times were hard earlier, I know, but don't think you're the only one with troubles. We were all trying to get by ourselves, Jessie, our kids, and yes, even Marcus. But that's all behind us now,” he continued. “I’ll explain more about that later. But first, Pop… please let us help you.”

         Frank sat up and began to think to himself for a minute about the pros and cons of accepting his son's offer. If I were to stay here, I could be found by someone else who would've understood what I'm going through and taken me in. But if I accept his offer, then what more am I putting on the line? Of course, he is family. I can't turn down an offer to be with my family again.

         Fortunately, Jonathan was a patient man, and he sat next to Frank as he pondered it over for a good five minutes. Then, without a word, Frank turned his head towards Jonathan and extended his gloved hand.

         Jonathan, noticing the gesture, looked into his father's eyes and noticed a dampness coming into his eyes, for he was more excited than ever. So, without a moment's hesitation, Jonathan put his hand on Frank's hand and shook it.

         “Well, Pop,” Jonathan continued. “Let's get you home.”