Christmas at a Filling 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 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 no where 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, you can borrow my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing >you >ever looked 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 loaned em the >truck. Their tires were shot too. That 'ol truck has brand new tires . . >." 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, 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 on the car, he heard a >shot 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 laundry 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 anything," 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," George >said. But the phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on >that there talk box out in your police 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. "C'mon and drink this. Best in the >city." Then George added: "Too bad I ain't got no donuts." > >The officer laughed and winced at the same time. > >The front door of the station flew open. I n burst a young man with a >gun. >"Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled. His hand was >shaking. 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. Did you see >who >shot you?" 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 looked at each other, puzzled. > >"That guy works here," the wounded cop continued, referring to the >young >man. > >"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. From the larger 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 someday." > >The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever >seen. >"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. A toy airplane, a racing car and a >little metal 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. Count it as part of your first week's pay." 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 you 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 >become
>a rich man and share his wealth with many people. 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 man's old leather jacket and his torn pants turned into a white robe. >A golden light began to fill the room. "You see, George, it's my birthday.
