Winter Season

Measure a man

As they started to eat, that voice tormented him. Talk to her. He finally gave in, “Tell me about your family.”

“Well,” she stared at her plate for a moment. “My mom died when I was three from cancer. Then when I was five my dad committed suicide. So my grandparents raised me.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Heel, Oscar called himself.

He watched a smile light up her face. “You know it’s okay. I have very few memories of my parents. All I really have are pictures. And stories gram and pap told me.”

“Are they still alive?”

“No, I lost them about seven years ago.”

“Forgive my ignorance.”

She smiled, “all is forgiven. What about you? Is that wonderful example of humanity all you have in this world?”

He ran his fingers through his hair as he let out a long breath. “No, my mother is still alive. There were a lot of years between my parents. My dad has passed away.” He got up from the table leaving the room.

She cleaned up the kitchen then found Oscar sitting on the back porch. She handed him a piping hot cup. “Tea, I found it in the cabinet.” She sat down in the other chair. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Oscar’s voice was full of pain.

“About?”

“I’m sick Esther. My mental anguish has manifest itself into physical ailments with very real symptoms. Chet is right, you know. I don’t eat right. Since you have been here, I have eaten more than I would have in a week. I don’t know how to fight anymore. I have been losing this fight for the last ten years. I’ve been to doctors. I’ve tried their medicines and it’s always with the same results. The medicines make me sick and I’m left,” he stopped talking. He didn’t hear her get up. But he did feel her put a blanket around his shoulders. “You must think I’m a coward?”

“Why would I think that?” She sat on the table in front of him. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What happened ten years ago?”

He stared out into the night. A blank stare into nothingness.

“Measure a man.” He whispered

She looked at him dumbfounded for a moment. “I don’t follow.”

“If you measure a man through his deeds and works, I have none. If you measure a man by the size of his family, I have none. Through the size of his bank account, the number of friends in his circle, the notches on his bed, how do you measure a man?”

“Is this a rhetorical question?”

“No.” He whispered.

“I measure a man through the kindness of his soul: the words that pour from his heart and the deeds that follow. The size of your bank account, your family, or your social circle is a measure of what you have accomplished on this Earth. It is not a measure of who you are. The fact that you tried to get Little Billy help even though nothing was done; that wasn’t your fault. The fact that you came over to help a stranger unload a moving van, but ended up having a huge snowball fight, that was the biggest stress reliever I’ve had in a long time.” She wanted to reach out and touch him but dared not. “The fact that you invited this stranger into your home, flaws unknown, because you felt it was the right thing to do is the true measure of your heart.”

He wanted to pull her onto his lap, snuggle is nose anywhere against her and just cry.

She moved to leave. He reached up and held her arm. “No, don’t.” Perhaps he held her a little too long?

She leaned over, her nose almost touched his. He got a good whiff of the cologne she was wearing and it excited him. Was that honeysuckle?

“Oscar, I’m cold.”

He finally realized that they were outside, in December, with snow on the ground. “Of course.” He let her go and they both retired into the house.

Esther spent another night in the guest room. Oscar had been so kind toward her. She was starting to see why he didn’t have a close relationship with his family. And why he couldn’t share that kindness with them.

The next morning, she made it to a dollar store and he made it to work.

Winter Season