It must
have been a Friday in early November when she first noticed the tramp
outside the grocery store.
Since
Jay had started school in September they had developed the habit of
popping into the store on the way home from school to buy a few items
of food for home and for dinner and – most importantly, if you
asked him – for Jay to choose a small treat for the way home.
Chocolate drops were his favourite.
The
tramp sat in a sunny spot, almost inside the door, leaning on his
battered backpack with an old dog by his side. She virtually had to
step around him to get through the door. She felt annoyance rising
inside her. How dare he sit there? She felt as if he had somehow
tarnished her day with his dirty clothes, his long bedraggled hair
and his scruffy dog. She considered complaining to the store manager,
but then decided against it.
They
made their purchases as usual, although she hurried Jay along when he
hovered around the sweets, trying to make his choice. As they walked
past the tramp, she could feel Jay turning to look at him and his dog
… and she pulled him away impatiently.
The
weekend came and she forgot all about him … until the following
Monday, when after school outside the store, there he sat again. This
time it was drizzling with rain and he sat huddled in an old filthy
raincoat. Still, as she hurried past, she thought that she saw him
look up at her, smile and nod. She turned her head and pretended that
she hadn't seen him.
On the
way out, Jay turned to the man and said “What's your dog called?”.
“Bungee”, the man said, and with a smile on his face “He used
to be more bouncy than this when he was younger, you see?”
Walking
home, she scolded Jay for talking to strangers. “But you were with
me, mummy”, he replied.
A few
days later the man and his dog were back again, sitting by the door
and minding their own business. She had noticed that sometimes people
stopped to say hello and that occasionally somebody handed him some
food or a coffee from the take-away. He received any offerings with a
thank you and a smile.
As usual Jay chose chocolate drops. She
paid at the till and whilst she was rummaging for the right change in
her purse, she noticed that Jay had already moved to the door and was
standing next to the man. She paid for her shopping hurriedly and
followed Jay. What had she told him about not talking to strangers?!
When she
got to Jay, he was just offering some of his chocolate drops to the
man, holding out his bag to him with a big happy smile on his face.
The man smiled back but shook his head. Had he seen the expression on
her face, an expression of horror at the thought of his grubby hand
reaching for her son's chocolates?
The
following week, the same picture. The man and his dog and people
hurrying past.
Inside
the shop, Jay stood by the sweets for a long time. “Hurry up, Jay.”
“John
likes chocolate drops”, he said quietly.
John?
Who is John?? She knew before she had spoken out the question …
“Do
you want to buy him a bag too?”
He
nodded, then looked at her. “Can we buy something for Bungee too?”
This
time they walked to the man by the door together. Jay handed him the
chocolate and the dog treat. He looked up to them and smiled. The
dog, lying on it's side, wagged its tail slowly and lazily.
“Thank
you. How did you remember that chocolate drops are my favourite?”
“It
was easy. They are my favourite too”, Jay beamed.
Suddenly
she felt uncomfortable standing there and looking down at the man.
Before she knew it, she had crouched down in front of him. Now they
were on the same level. She noticed that he was older than she had
thought. He had blue eyes, surrounded by wrinkles in his worn and
weathered face.
After
that time, they stopped and talked often. Sometimes they brought some
food, although John and Bungee always seemed content with what they
had and never asked for more.
She
found it easy to talk to him.
They
talked about life and death, about their hopes and dreams, about God
and how everything happens for a reason. They talked about Jay and
about Bungee.
Then one
day he lowered his eyes and, in a quieter voice than usual, he talked
about the death of his wife, about his depression that followed,
about him losing his job and his house and finally ending up in the
streets, and about how all that he had left from his old life was an
old but faithful dog. That time she saw a deep sadness move over his
face, like a dark cloud – but more often he smiled and laughed, and
the wrinkles danced across his face.
The
school holidays came and she and Jay stayed with her parents on the
south coast for two weeks. They enjoyed walking by the beach and
playing games by the open fire. It even snowed and granddad got the
sledge out from the shed.
When
they returned in the New Year they saw John and Bungee again.
She
noticed that John looked tired and pale. He said that he was fine
where he was staying and that he needed nothing – but she was
worried.
The
following week he mentioned that he and Bungee might head down
towards Spain. They sat on a bench in the cold January air and he
described the sunny, sandy beaches he used to visit when he was a
child; the sun on his back and his toes dug in the warm sand. Jay's
eyes grew wide with excitement. Would John write to him when he got
to Spain? John said that he might send a postcard.
They did
not see John or Bungee again after that.
Some
weeks passed and something was missing when they took their walk to
the store after school. The weather became colder. More snow and
temperatures of minus 10 C at night. She wondered whether they had
really headed south and hoped that they had, to avoid the grim
weather.
Then, one Wednesday morning she came back from taking
Jay to school and found the local paper on the door mat. The headline
immediately caught her eye: Fatal attack! In the small wooded area
near the bridge over the canal, a man and his old dog had been found
dead. The man had been subject to a vicious attack by thugs and had
obviously been left for dead. Unable to summon help because of the
severity of his injuries, he had eventually frozen to death. It
looked as if his dog had tried to defend his owner and had been
killed by the same attackers. They had been dead for some time and
the man had been identified as 43-year-old John Jackson of no fixed
abode, who had been living in the area in recent months. Police were
asking for witnesses to come forward, but had little hope due to the
secluded location where the attack had taken place.
She
cried and cried. She cried about how badly she had thought of John
when she first met him, cried for the life he could have had, cried
for the cruel and lonely death he had suffered, cried for the friend
she and Jay had lost. She cried until it was time to pick up Jay from
school. She washed her face, put on some foundation to hide her
tell-tale blotches, picked up the paper and threw it in the bin and
headed for the school ...
Spring
time came.
They
never received a postcard from John and occasionally Jay would ask
about it. She always made up a light-hearted excuse, although inside
her heart was aching.
Sometimes
they still talk about him, even now, and imagine him walking along
some sunny, sandy beach in Spain, with the sun on his back and
Bungee chasing the waves ...
