The City is pure hell, especially in December. The noise, the dirt and the slush, the crowds rushing from store to store. Drunken old men in smelly red suits. Kids pawing at their parents, begging for toys and candy. I never understood what all the fuss was about. The people that raised me had never cared much for Christmas.

I tried to catch the four thirty train, but I had to fight off a persistent panhandler. I missed the train by seconds. The next one wouldn't arrive for another thirty minutes, so I left the filthy subway. I wasn't far from the coffee shop where my only close friend worked, so I headed that way.

The crowd on the street was stifling. Where was everyone going? People should be headed home at this hour, not rushing into stores, knocking each other down to grab the last mittens-and-scarf set. I'm surprised they aren't armed.

I tried to ease my way through the crowd, but you can't be nice to people on the street. They just walk all over you. I gave the old lady in front of me a good shove and hurried passed her, then shouldered my way through.

A woman stopped right in front of me. I tried to walk around her, looking at her shoes the way you do with street people, but she headed me off. I finally looked up into her face and stopped cold. The crowd kept pushing by us.

She was young and pretty, but oddly dressed. She wore a gray wool coat with a fur collar, buttoned to the neck, and dark, heavy shoes. Very out of place in this chic, uptown crowd.

She wore no makeup, yet she was lovely. She had dark, shining hair, pulled back into a low ponytail. Her skin was clear and flawless; she had full lips and a fine brow. Her eyes were ordinary, run-of-the-mill blue, but there was something else there. Surely, no one could look that sweet and innocent in this city.

She seemed vaguely familiar, as if I'd seen her in a newspaper or something. But it didn't trouble me; after all, she was obviously no menace.

She smiled at me and shoved a small brown package into my hands, saying, "Here you go, dear." She looked into my eyes, touched my left cheek gently, shook her head regretfully and walked off.

"Excuse me," I turned to go after her, but she was gone. Into the crowd, I guess. The entire exchange had taken only seconds, yet her touch had left me confused and disoriented. Several people brushed passed me, annoyed that I had halted in the middle of the sidewalk.

After I'd gotten my bearings, I continued toward the coffee shop. As I walked through the door, I realized I was still holding the package.

Jenny, in her pink uniform, balancing a tray of iced-tea-filled glasses, called to me as I walked in. "Hey, Casey! Haven't seen you in an age, girl!"

I turned to her, and she one-arm-hugged me briefly. She walked me to a table and told me it was almost time for her break. "I'll get us some coffee. Be right back."

Then she bustled off, finishing up with her rush-hour customers.

With Jenny gone, I had time to examine the package. It was small, about the size of a notebook, wrapped in brown paper that was starting to curl, and tied with yellowed, fraying twine.

I untied the string. The paper fell away, crumbling in some places. It was nothing spectacular, just a picture frame. I turned it over to see the photograph: it was the woman that I'd bumped into, with a tall, thin man and a baby. He had his arm around her waist, and she was smiling down at the toddler in her arms. They were standing in front of an old car, a '60 or '61 Chevy. The whole photograph looked aged, in fact; it was black and white, but yellowing and a little faded.

I looked more carefully at their faces. The woman was the same one, no doubt, but in this photograph, she was wearing a simple suit, and a small, pillbox hat. She couldn't have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two in the picture. But -- I'd seen this woman, not ten minutes earlier, and she looked as young as she did in this photograph.

The man was about twenty-five, with dark hair and dark eyes, and a Clark Gable dimple on his left cheek.

I rested my chin in my hand, staring the picture. Where did I know them from? I--

"Bye-bye, sweetie. Give mommy a kiss," Caroline pecked the baby on her cheek, tickled her dimpled chin, and hugged her tight. She knew Casey would be okay, but leaving was always the hard part.

"Janet, we'll be a the Daniels'. The number's on the pad by the telephone. You call if you need anything," she told the sitter, for the fourth time.

"Yes, Mrs. Stephens, I promise. We'll be just fine," Janet said, carrying the baby to the door to wave goodbye.

John held her hand as he drove. "A wonderful man," Caroline thought, "and a beautiful child. I'm a lucky woman."

John turned on the radio. Diana Ross and the Supremes were begging some guy to stop in the name of love. He looked at her and brought her hand to his lips. He smiled and said, "You know, it's been a long time since you looked at me that way."

"What way is that?"

"The way that says, 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me.'"

"Funny, I was just thinking that. I look at you that way all the time, John. I just don't tell you enough: You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I love you, Caroline." He glanced at her, smiling, kissed her hand again, and looked back at the road. Abruptly, he gripped the wheel with both hands and veered to the right. The truck was coming straight at them. He tried to swerve, but it was too late.

"John!" She screamed, just before the noise and the glass and the pain, the blinding, crushing pain that was everywhere and she couldn't see couldn't, couldn't... Who would take care of Casey?

"Hey! Case! You okay?" Jenny was standing over me, snapping her fingers in front of my face. A platter of French fries and two cups of coffee had materialized in front of me. "You were spaced."

I blinked up at her, swallowing hard. "Could you... bring me a glass of water?"

"Sure, hon," she said, frowning as she turned toward her station.

I was still trying to catch my breath. I had seen it all: the collision, the glass shattering around them. Caroline's final moments, her concern for her child, reverberated in my mind. Then, nothing, until Jenny spoke to me. My heart was racing, my blouse, damp with perspiration.

I picked up the frame to look more closely at the photograph. They had been young and in love, my parents. They had been together, and happy before they died. They had loved me.

Jenny came back with a glass and put it down in front of me. "Okay, now tell me what's wrong. You look completely out of it. And you wouldn't answer me just now," she said, sitting.

I didn't say anything right away. If I told her, she would politely excuse herself and then call Belleview. I took a few sips of water to give myself time to think.

Jenny picked up the picture and asked, "Hey, are these your folks, Case?"

I looked up at her, stunned. "How'd you know?" I asked, my voice trembling only slightly.

"Geez, look at them! You've got your dad's dimples, but you're a dead ringer for your mom," she said. "I thought you never knew them."

I answered slowing, staring at the photograph. "I just found out who they were today."

"I didn't even know you'd been looking for them. Are they still alive?"

"They died in a car accident. When I was a baby." That's me with my parents, I thought. That's my family.

"I'm sorry, kid. You're lucky to have found out anything about them at all, though. You know how they were in the sixties."

"Yeah, I--I know. I'm a little overwhelmed by it all right now," I said, swallowing over the lump that had lodged itself in my throat. "Hey, I've got a train to catch. Call me later, okay? Maybe we could catch a show or something?" I pulled on my coat.

"Are you delirious? You never want to go anywhere. Let me see if I've got a thermometer back here somewhere..." She got up from the table.

"You're a nut," I said, warmly.

"I guess it did you some good."

"What's that?"

"Finding your folks. I've never seen you smile like that."

I looked at her in wonder, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, Jenn. You're an angel."

Jenny looked surprised, but not displeased, at the sudden show of affection. "Oh, hell, get out of here. I'll call you when I get home," she said, handing me my package. I walked out.

Outside, then, in the bright sun, in the cold, crisp afternoon air, and the crowds of Christmas shoppers, and the Salvation Army Santas. A photograph of my parents, a family portrait, in my bag.

Knowing.

I dropped a dollar in Santa's bucket and rushed to catch my train home.
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