The snow fell steadily on the empty downtown streets. The solitary figure made his way through the blinding white curtain of snow that faced him. He approached the old church that he had remembered from his youth. Every Sunday, regardless of the weather, his father had led them through the old, heavy wooden doors to the same pew.
Billy had often daydreamed as the preacher went through his weekly ritual. In his younger years, he had thought of his favorite war comic books and relived the battleground scenes. As a teenager, he had dreamed of the cute girls in his class. His neighbor, Emily, was the girl he dreamt of most often. Her strawberry blonde hair seemed to catch fire in the bright sunshine of summer. During the winter, her hat and scarf accentuated a face that could have belonged to an angel.
Billy wondered what she was doing right now. She was still living at home from what he had heard most recently. She was probably curled up in front of her parent’s fireplace reading a book and enjoying a cup of hot chocolate. She was always reading whether it was a biography of a famous woman or the latest romance release. She had never understood his reluctance or disinterest in the written word. He had never told her how difficult it was to read when all the words looked scrambled. She had also never understood how he could quit high school and take a minimum wage job at the local factory. Emily had repeatedly berated him for his shortcomings. However, he still loved her.
He walked up to the old stable that housed the nativity scene in front of the church. It appeared to be the same one that they had used in his youth. The figures looked worn from age and the roof of the structure was beginning to crumble. Billy counted the three wise men and tried to remember the names of the gifts that they had brought to the baby Jesus. He recalled myrrh and then gave up. He focused on the statue of the baby with the golden halo that crowned his head. He thought about the journey of the baby’s life. How he had tried to bring God’s word to the people and how ultimately he was rejected and crucified. However, he was born to die for all our sins. At least that is what his preacher had told him all those years ago.
Billy thought of the journey of his own life and tried to compare it to the man who had died on the cross. He certainly was misunderstood but he was also lost. He reached inside his woolen overcoat and felt for the bottle that he routinely carried. He turned his back on the nativity scene and took a swig from the bottle. Was he embarrassed to allow the holy personages to see him drink? The powerful taste of vodka shot warmth throughout his body. He wiped the driving snow away from his face and slowly walked towards an alley in the back of the church.
The glow of a fire illuminated the surroundings on this dark night. A small group of ragged characters huddled in a circle to absorb the warmth.
“Well, look who it is,” an old man with a red face and an unkempt beard remarked.
“We were getting worried about you,” a plump woman with straggly white hair added.
“I was just making my rounds seeing what was going on.”
“Did you make anything?” the bearded man questioned.
Billy removed a handful of coins from his pocket. The bearded man’s eyes glowed and a toothless smile broke upon his face.
“People seem to be in the Christmas spirit. They are more giving at this time of year,” Billy stated.
“They are more generous to a young man such as yourself. You have not worn out your welcome yet.”
“I suppose,” Billy replied as he studied the coins in his hand. The silver coins made him think of the thirty pieces of silver for which Judas had betrayed Jesus. Why did he keep having these thoughts of religious imagery? Perhaps the time of the year and the nativity scene had influenced his mindset.
“I thought you may have gone home,” the
Billy had often daydreamed as the preacher went through his weekly ritual. In his younger years, he had thought of his favorite war comic books and relived the battleground scenes. As a teenager, he had dreamed of the cute girls in his class. His neighbor, Emily, was the girl he dreamt of most often. Her strawberry blonde hair seemed to catch fire in the bright sunshine of summer. During the winter, her hat and scarf accentuated a face that could have belonged to an angel.
Billy wondered what she was doing right now. She was still living at home from what he had heard most recently. She was probably curled up in front of her parent’s fireplace reading a book and enjoying a cup of hot chocolate. She was always reading whether it was a biography of a famous woman or the latest romance release. She had never understood his reluctance or disinterest in the written word. He had never told her how difficult it was to read when all the words looked scrambled. She had also never understood how he could quit high school and take a minimum wage job at the local factory. Emily had repeatedly berated him for his shortcomings. However, he still loved her.
He walked up to the old stable that housed the nativity scene in front of the church. It appeared to be the same one that they had used in his youth. The figures looked worn from age and the roof of the structure was beginning to crumble. Billy counted the three wise men and tried to remember the names of the gifts that they had brought to the baby Jesus. He recalled myrrh and then gave up. He focused on the statue of the baby with the golden halo that crowned his head. He thought about the journey of the baby’s life. How he had tried to bring God’s word to the people and how ultimately he was rejected and crucified. However, he was born to die for all our sins. At least that is what his preacher had told him all those years ago.
Billy thought of the journey of his own life and tried to compare it to the man who had died on the cross. He certainly was misunderstood but he was also lost. He reached inside his woolen overcoat and felt for the bottle that he routinely carried. He turned his back on the nativity scene and took a swig from the bottle. Was he embarrassed to allow the holy personages to see him drink? The powerful taste of vodka shot warmth throughout his body. He wiped the driving snow away from his face and slowly walked towards an alley in the back of the church.
The glow of a fire illuminated the surroundings on this dark night. A small group of ragged characters huddled in a circle to absorb the warmth.
“Well, look who it is,” an old man with a red face and an unkempt beard remarked.
“We were getting worried about you,” a plump woman with straggly white hair added.
“I was just making my rounds seeing what was going on.”
“Did you make anything?” the bearded man questioned.
Billy removed a handful of coins from his pocket. The bearded man’s eyes glowed and a toothless smile broke upon his face.
“People seem to be in the Christmas spirit. They are more giving at this time of year,” Billy stated.
“They are more generous to a young man such as yourself. You have not worn out your welcome yet.”
“I suppose,” Billy replied as he studied the coins in his hand. The silver coins made him think of the thirty pieces of silver for which Judas had betrayed Jesus. Why did he keep having these thoughts of religious imagery? Perhaps the time of the year and the nativity scene had influenced his mindset.
“I thought you may have gone home,” the
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