Lesson over a Burning Trash Can, Archie Manheim [top 10 most read books in the world .txt] 📗

The warmth of the fire was a welcome feeling to the young man’s painfully cold fingers. Even with the mittens he’d found in the garbage a week before, his fingers had taken a ghastly white color from the lack of blood in the bitter winter weather. The young man was so cold he hardly noticed the old man standing directly across the burning trash can from him,
“If you want a trick son, stand real close to the can and put your hands in your pockets, like this.” The old man demonstrated, putting his legs mere inches from the flaming trash can and his hands deep in his pockets. “Warms your hands up quickly.”
The young man watched the old man and copied his actions without saying a word. The two stood in silence, the young man warming his hands in his pockets and the old man with his hands held out over the open flame, for nearly five minutes.
“How long have you been on the streets son?” The old man’s gaze never left the flame. After a minute of no response, he continued to prod at the young man. “You just look real young, which is why I ask.”
The young man finally looked up at the old man, surprised to see the man had a clean shaven face and a friendly smile. “About a year.”
“I’d guess that’s four or five years less than me. Tend to lose count after too long. My name’s Terrance. I had a window business with my daddy, but when he died the company folded. I’ve been out here ever since. What’s your story?”
“My name’s Mark, I just turned 18.”
“Well happy birthday Mark, it’s nice to meet you. You’re gonna need some better cloths to be out here in this weather. What may I ask put you on the street at seventeen years old?”
The boy stared blankly into the flames, which were failing to warm his fingers to a comfortable temperature. “Just had some issues at home.”
“That’s a pretty broad statement. Lots of things could’ve happened at home. What specifically happened?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“I’m guessing either your daddy kicked you out, or you ran away.”
The young man looked at the old man with an annoyed expression. “Something like that.”
“You know I never had a family. My momma got sick when I was about your age. I helped my daddy take care of my brother and two sisters until they all grew up and moved away. It was just me and my daddy at the window company until he died. Dropped dead of a heart attack on the job one day. Saddest day of my life.”
“Why didn’t your brother or sisters help?”
“My brother went to Grambling and played football, met a nice old girl and has a little family. Ain’t got no time for a crusty uncle like me. My two sisters started their own families and moved on with life. I wouldn’t doubt they’ve forgotten about me by now.”
“I hope my family hasn’t forgotten about me.”
“Kind of sounds like you miss them.”
“My mom was great. She was real pretty, and a great cook. She made sure our family read the bible every night before bed.”
“Nothing wrong with a good woman making you read the good book.”
The young man smiled. “I have one little sister who’s eleven, and a brother who should be about eight now. He was just getting good at t-ball when I left. And my sister Jackie is really good at ballet.”
“Sounds like a beautiful family. What about your daddy, you didn’t mention him yet.”
The young man’s smile faded quickly. He looked around the dark alley the two men were standing in without saying a word. “It seems like I haven’t been warm in two days. I can’t even feel my toes anymore.”
“The dead of winter gets like that. I got me some thick socks from the soup kitchen last week, a donation from one of the volunteer cooks. But that still doesn’t tell me anything about your daddy.”
The boy knew he’d either have to leave the fire, his last effort to warm any part of his body, or give up and talk with the old stranger. “We had a fight.” He said quietly. “And I left.”
“I see. You know everyone fights with their family members, almost like it’s part of being a member of a family. But that don’t make no reason to run away.” The two men stood in silence for the next minute as the old man waited for a response from his young friend. “I remember when I was first out here. During my first winter just like this, all I wanted was someone to talk to.”
The old man watched the young man who was obviously deep in thought. His breathing had slowed, and tears could be seen slowly building in the young man’s eyes. “I didn’t mean it.”
“What do you mean?” The old man asked.
The young man looked at a small stack of bags and blankets where he assumed the old man slept. He helped himself to a seat, holding his legs closely to his body as he rubbed them for warmth. “When I was sixteen, I started hanging around a new guy at school. He introduced me to a lot of other new guys I’d never met. They were different than my friends. They liked to party and have fun. When I started doing those things, my friends wanted to be with me less and less.
“We’d party all weekend, and I’d go to school with a hangover and try to hide it from my teachers and friends, but they knew what I was doing.”
“I’ll bet your grades slipped too.”
The young man slowly looked at the insightful old man, who hadn’t moved from his place over the warmth of the fire. “That’s when my dad started getting mad.”
“So you say you got these new friends, who were different than your old ones, and you couldn’t have both friends anymore?”
The young man rolled onto his side and into the fetal position, wrapping a blanket around him as he did so. “You know how it is. The two groups didn’t get along. My old friends said they didn’t like who I was anymore, and my new friends thought my old friends were nerds.”
“I see. So your new friends replaced your old friends. And I’m guessing your daddy didn’t like your new friends?”
“I’d come home one night drunk after a party, and he yelled at me, told me how embarrassed he was. He got my report card that same day from school, and I failed a class for the first time. Two of them actually.”
“I should say your daddy had a right to be upset with you.”
The boy was silent, the tears slowly forming once again in his eyes. “He did.”
“So how’d you end up here. If you left after just one argument with your daddy, that’s a pretty weak thing to run for.”
The boy took a long look at the old man as a tear began to run down his cheek. He closed his eyes and imagined he were in a warmer place. “It was just a few months after that. I found out I was going to have to repeat a few classes after my senior year to be able to graduate. I went over to my friends house and got drunk again, and came home. I won’t ever forget it.
“I walked in and my dad wasn’t even mad. All he said was, ‘I talked with your school counselor today.’ and I snapped. I made fun of him, I said, ‘Well aren’t you Mr. Detective now?.’ ‘I just want to know what’s going on. You always did so great in school.’ He said to me, and I told him ‘Leave me alone.’
And he said, ‘I can’t leave you alone. I’m your father, I need to know what’s going on in your life, because I want to help.’”
The boy stopped the story, without opening his eyes. The two teardrops, one on each cheek, had frozen to his face near the bottom of his chin. He sobbed quietly, struggling to find the words to finish his story.
“And?” The old man encouraged.
“I yelled at him. I told him, ‘you’re a horrible excuse for a father. You don’t deserve me as a son.’ Then I pushed him away because he was trying to give me a hug. And I left. Mom was crying, and my brother and sister were crying.”
“That’s a terrible story son. I can’t even imagine.”
“You know what the worse part is?” The young man replied slowly, struggling to get each word out before the blackness settled in. “It’s me who doesn’t deserve him.”
*
The boy opened his eyes for the first time in three days. The room was bright, and terribly hot, making the four heavy blankets on top of him even more uncomfortable. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the light. When they were finally able to focus, he saw a man he hadn’t seen in nearly a year. He was surprised, and grateful deep in his heart to see him.
“Dad.” His voice was scratchy and his throat sore.
“I’m here son.” The man’s heart leapt for joy at the sound of his son saying his name. Tears filled his eyes as he picked up the hand of his weak son.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital.” A nurse arrived to take the young man’s vital signs. “I’m going to run and get your mother.”
As his dad left the room, the young man slowly tried to sit up and talk to the nurse. “How did I get here?”
“Ambulance brought you in a few days ago.” The plump-faced woman replied with a welcoming smile. “A guy named Terrance called 911 after you passed out. You nearly froze to death out there.”
The memory of the night slowly returned to his mind. He remembered Terrance, and talking about his family. He remembered being cold and lonely. How lucky I am, he thought to himself, to run into him that night.
His family arrived in the room led by his mom, who gave him a hug as she cried uncontrollably. He was able to look down and see his sister with her ballet school duffle bag, and his little brother with his baseball hat and glove in hand. His year away almost disappeared as he talked with his mother and siblings. Though weak from the recent medical trauma he’d endured, he wasn’t going to let anything take this moment from him.
As the family became reacquainted with one another, the young man leaned in and asked for a moment alone with