I remember April 23, 1991 as clear as yesterday. Everything about it seemed to complete the puzzle etched inside my wondering brain. Little by little, the pieces started to add up to the truth that led me to both her and Him.

April 16, 1991. I stationed myself on the corner of my favorite Chicago Street: Novena Ave. Dotted on its fat sides was endless rows of pricey stores, although with cheap advertisements. I found humor in Nordman’s Formal Wear poster plastered on the transparent glass.

YOU’LL ALWAYS FIND A DRESS THAT COSTS LESS!

Despite laughing at the cheap rhyming, the observer would take a peek at the price tag of $500 and end the thought of buying that red dress designed for anorexics once and for all.

Only once Haden would buy a dress in that category if she even had the money. I could’ve sworn she stole some and went waltzing into Nordman’s Formal Wear prior to the first night we met. She had that special ability to fit into a junior’s size three. Ironically, thinking about her only made her tiny frame emerge from the usual crowded sidewalk and head towards me. She always knew where I stood.

“Tristan Caldwell,” she said after greeting me with a peck on the cheek. “I have some news for you.” Her slender fingers wrapped around mine and led them to her plump stomach.

“Haden, you’re uh…gaining weight.” It was the first thing that came to my mind. Was that really smart to say to your twenty two year old girlfriend?

Haden laughed softly. “Try again, Caldwell.”

My hands massaged around her stomach once more. When I felt the sides of it twice, it seemed for form a shape: a round ball. My heart leapt in surprise.

“You’re…pregnant?”

Haden smiled and nodded her answer.

“That’s great, honey!”

Her stunning green eyes brightened with pleasure while her thin lips twisted into an even bigger grin. The compliment encouraged her to give me a kiss again, but this time fully on the lips. I turned away from her, realizing that the reality of the situation had sunk in and eat back my congratulations.

“Did you tell your parents yet about us? This?” I pointed to her stomach for reference. She shook her head. “Haden, your parents must think I’m a lunatic because I’m a twenty four year old getting their youngest daughter pregnant! They’re already mad because you didn’t go to college. Will they make us get married now?”

At its 1:00 cue, the spring sky released thousands of seasonal rain drops as if it had been holding them back for quite a time. I shuddered in its slight chill and wished I had an umbrella to protect both of us. It seemed impossible that a human being couldn’t afford a single umbrella, but being homeless made it possible. I never fled from being in such a state. It wasn’t like I was exactly scary like the rest of the wild maned humans holding up signs like “need food,” but I did have a mean streak for demanding money.

Haden left my question unanswered. “I have to go home now. Momma’s makin’ me some lunch, and I don’t want to miss it. Have fun in this spring rain, Tristan.”

She turned to merge in the sea of pedestrians, but I grabbed her arm sharply. “What are you going to do about being pregnant? What do you want me to do? Hun, I want to help you, but I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m not sure yet,” she answered then left me in my agitated state, freezing in the afternoon rain and gather my thoughts together before I would experience a near melt down.

There was one side of me that wanted to “give back” to her because she was kind to me first. It wasn’t a long time ago she dropped a five dollar bill in my homeless pot. That act was overbearingly generous in itself. I closed my eyes tightly in remembrance of how the pregnant stage happened. It was as if I was almost ashamed of messing up her life. Being as naïve as ever, I was so struck by her beauty and her little dress that I asked her to follow me in a near by alley. Now she came back to my same spot and told me the result.

Church goers zoomed past me in their fancy automobiles. The nearest church bells emphasized that the third service was done. I snagged a glance at some of the pedestrian Christians dressed up in the crowd and gave them a dirty look. They certainly had enough money to afford a tux from Nordman’s Formal Wear. Sorry to say, but I didn’t exactly have a thousand dollars stored in my front pocket. Slumping into a small ball, I habitually stuck out my needy pot. Surely they’d like to share some of their extra money. With a level just so they could hear me, I mumbled, “Jesus would like you to give to the poor.”

A little girl pulled her daddy’s hand and pointed at me. He whispered something in her ear that apparently made her scared. They continued on their journey home.

Wow, so much for being Christian-like.

One after another, the Christians had the same reaction to my demand of money. Except for one.

An attractive lady at the age of about thirty bent down at my level. I stood up in surprise and grimly glared her in her sea blue eyes. She lowered her pink umbrella, shook out the rain from it and handed it to me. Already the pouring rain damaged her perfect chestnut colored curls.

“No one deserves to be standing in the rain without an umbrella,” she said gently. “Take mine. I’m barely home.”

“You a church goer?”

Undaunted, she shook her head. I noticed she was one of those fancy Nordman’s Formal Wear people. Her dress was a silky summer type.

I repeated my Sunday motto, “Jesus would like you to give to the poor.”

She looked a little offended by my comment. “I’m sure He would. But you know what I think He would like even more? For you to go to church. Go just as you are.” She hesitated as if expecting me to turn down her offer. “Would you like to go with me next Sunday?”

“Me? Lady, are you kiddin’? I don’t give a damn about all this religious stuff. I think some people might be a little scared about how I look, anyways, so it’s not a good idea. Unless you’re going to give me money, I suggest that you leave.”

She stuck out her hand. “Ramira Maddock. It was a pleasure to meet you...?”

I rolled my eyes. “Tristan. Tristan Caldwell.”

“God bless.” Ramira said then smiled, revealing perfectly shaped and whitened teeth. I watched her take a shortcut home across a busy crosswalk. Then she was out of sight.

I sputtered several profound words disrespectfully after her absence. It took me awhile to gather up the nerve to actually use the most feminine umbrella I had ever seen. The umbrella could have a bomb, for all I knew. The world would probably be a better place without homeless people in it, wouldn’t it? The Christians would especially think that. Well, except Ramira. It turned out the umbrella didn’t have a bomb attached to it when I opened it up for shelter.

April 19, 1991. The past couple of nights proved a little bit more luck than most nights did. It surprisingly rained at midnight one night. Armed with Ramira’s umbrella, protection was provided for one homeless man. Chicagoans chatted on their early trips to work about the unusual weather. I picked up on several conversations, but one caused my sleepy eyes to fling open to identify the speaker.

“—homeless man. Is he over here somewhere?”

“Sandra, I’m sure he needed it as much as all of us do. Besides, think about how well off he’d be yesterday night with the unexpected rain.”

It was Ramira. She looked as pretty as ever with blue pants on and a cream colored sweater. Prettier than Haden. It was probably better that I gave her the rightful thanks she needed. Half of the thanks would go for the umbrella and the other half for how gorgeous she looked. It was probable that I wouldn’t actually say the second half out loud.

“Ramira?” I pushed myself into the crowd’s stream. Both Ramira and her friend looked behind them, but their eyes didn’t meet mine.

“It’s me, Ramira. Tristan. Look to your left,” I yelled and waved my arms, jumping up and down like some idiot.

Doing so, I distinctly recognized her sea blue eyes locking with mine. I motioned for her to pull off to the side of the crowd. Her friend, Sandra I assumed, looked horrified that Ramira obeyed me. Once both of us were pulled aside, I put a hand on her shoulder. “Er—thanks. Thanks for the umbrella and stuff.”

She smiled again. “You’re welcome, Tristan.”

Silence.

“Listen, I’m sorry for being rather…rude…to you the other day.”

She was a church folk. If I substituted another word for rude in there, she’d surely have a fit.

“Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that you’re really nice. You wouldn’t expect that coming from a homeless man, now would you?” I smirked then crossed my arms across my chest to complete the “tough” look.

“Honestly, Tristan, I’m not afraid of homeless people. It gives me a chance to show Christ’s love to those less fortunate than I. Listen, I need to get back to work. Thanks, though, for the appreciation.”

I unfolded my arms in disappointment. That took a turn I wasn’t expecting.

April 20, 1991. Haden came rushing at me, breathless, very early morning. She shook my shoulders hard in order to wake me up from my rare deep sleep.

“What the heck do you think you’re doing?!” I mumbled and rolled on my side. Haden kept shaking my shoulders early whispering pleads for me to listen. I finally gave into her pleas and gave her my full attention. When I looked at her, however, I couldn’t help but hide my shock. She looked horrible. Her hair was matted and eyes bloodshot. Before I could make her aware of how unattractive her appearance was in the morning, she interrupted me with her secret.

“I told momma like you said, Tristan…she’s not happy…no, not happy at all…then she found out I was pregnant because she said that I was gaining weight…since she knew that this was unlikely of me, she knew….she screamed at me and told me I was a slut…that led her into wanting to know who was the daddy….Tristan, she wants me to have the baby aborted…I think I’m going to do it…”

I was fully awake now. Taking her shaking hands in mine, I clasped them tightly together. “You’re going to have the baby aborted?” I repeated.

“I-I think so…”

“Haden, I don’t think you should do that.”

“Why not?”

“Just give him a chance. Maybe then he’ll give another person a chance because you gave him a chance in the first place.”

“Where did all this theology crap come from, Tristan?! I swear, you’re hearing too much on the streets!” She was going mad for sure. She exited the same way she had come, and I feared for that poor baby’s life. Just as Ramira had given me a chance, I gave him a chance. Now hopefully it’d rub off on Haden to give an innocent soul a chance, too.

--The second and last part of Compassion to die for will be published soon---

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