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#64 from Harold's file . . .
The Gas Station The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had 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 ooked 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 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 he wasn'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 donut's." 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."
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