April 22, 1991. Loneliness filled the empty gap since Haden’s last visit, and I was starting to find staring at Nordman’s Formal Wear window trying to think of the next motto they’d come up with. Haden was probably off making arrangements for the abortion while Ramira decided to take a different route to work. I hardly knew why I felt more attached to the church goer rather than my girlfriend. It was the way her eyes sparkled; the joy that spread across her face even though I was rude. Maybe it was the simple fact that she would actually give the time of day to a filthy Chicagoan homeless man. That night, as I hugged knees to my chest, I nodded off into a light sleep, not bothering to listen to the usual ciaos on the streets.

April 23, 1991. The rich sound of the Luther Oaks church bells flooded my ears and wiped away the slumber from my eyes. I stumbled to get up, remembering that this might be the richest day for me.
“’Scue me…uh, mam? Jesus would like you to give to the poor.” I stopped a ruddy faced, prim, mid-thirties woman before she could cross the street. She brushed my hand off her shoulder and mumbled something under her breath before resuming her Sunday route. Another brisk-walking victim, her gaze cast downward, seized my attention as a perfect time for a second attempt.

“Mam? Mam!” It was hard to keep up with her pace. When she turned around, I was already half-way through my demand until I noticed the familiar face.

“Tristan Caldwell, you really shouldn’t be doing this. I’m not going to give you money, but the offer to go to church with me is still available.” Ramira giggled at the ignorant look on my face. She slowed to a steady walking pace to allow me to catch my breath. “Didn’t expect me now, huh? Was it an old, fat, vulnerable lady you were thinking of?” She smiled at her own joke. It only enhanced the beauty of her pearl, knee-length dress she wore. This lady was really into her fashion.

“Yeah…yeah, you surprised me all right, Ramira.” I paused. “You know, this actually could be linked with karma.”

Ramira abruptly stopped and took a long, sharp look at me. “I don’t believe in that nonsense.”

“Whether you believe it or not, what I meant to say is that….if we’ve bumped into each other, that means that a coffee date should probably follow. Come on, it’ll be my treat. I have a whole five dollar bill stashed away.”

“Can’t. I’ve got church to go to.” Ramira raised her eyebrows. “But we can still be together then. Want to come with?”

I groaned. “I’d rather sit in the 1:00 rain all day.”

Ramira touched my arm, gently leading me forward as we resumed our walk. “But you’ve been walking towards it all this time. We’ve only got a minute or so until we’re already there.”

“Thanks for tricking me,” I said sarcastically. My breath was quickening at my very own heart suddenly thumping. I feared that it would leap through my rib cage and explode. Ramira looked so beautiful today; why didn’t she accept my invitation just for once? I’d want to be seen with her, that’s for sure, but the problem was probably that Ramira didn’t want to be seen outside of church with me. Or it could possibly be that since we just met each other, she was freaked out by my sudden invitation. We were close enough to the church that my internal battle needed to decease and keep my focus on how I could get out of church as soon as possible. Ramira now had hooked her arm in mine, almost as if to pass the impression that I was her escort. The team greeters’ smiles at the church door were quickly wiped off.

“Liz, this is my friend, Tristan,” Ramira said. The petite blonde nodded politely at me. After an awkward silence, Ramira introduced me to five other people standing in the foyer. By that time I was already plotting my escape plan. Before I could make a dash for it, however, a loud buzzer went off, causing me to jump.

“What the hel…heck was that?”

“The first service is about to begin. Ready?” Ramira stood in front of the sanctuary’s majestic ivory doors. She wasn’t forcing me to go in, thank heavens, so this could be the perfect opportunity for me to put my escape plan into practice. It was either give the service a try or go back on the streets.

“How long is it?”

“An hour.”

An hour wouldn’t be all that much, considering it was only 8:00 in the morning. I shrugged my shoulders. “Sure, I’ll go. But if you guys do all that creepy stuff…you know, raising your hands and stuff, then I’m outta here.”

Ramria’s face glowed. “Oh, Tristian, I’m so happy you’re deciding to do this…”

My whole body trembled at the sight of the multitude of people filing into the uncomfortable looking wooden pews. Little kids squirmed in their parents arms reminding them they wanted to go down to the nursery instead of stay here. A clean cut pastor around the age of his mid thirties stood up to the pulpit, scanning his usual chattering audience. He shushed them before beginning to read out of the day’s passage. Ramira chose that moment to lead me down the aisle; it wasn’t the back where she chose, but in the front. It was the very first row. One by one, the middle class congregation’s heads turned to stare at a homeless man follow a beautiful woman to end of the first pew. Even the pastor cleared his throat.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to worship our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Warmest welcomes go out to our guests.”

Ramira squeezed my arm. The young couple that was sitting next to us gave me a side-ways glance.

The whole service lasted five minutes overtime, and I couldn’t wait to escape. That is, after Ramira finished what she liked to call her “Sunday chat” with her girlfriends for a handful of time. I noticed that there were no eligible bachelors looking her way. After finally saying good-bye, Ramira hugged her closest friend, Sue. Sue turned towards me to give me a hug.

“I hope to see you again in church, Tristan. God bless.”

I noticed two wrong things she said: I wasn’t going to come back, and I didn’t believe in God still. Tugging Ramira out the church doors, I went into a self-pity party and made sure she knew how uncomfortable I was at that church.

“How about I make it up to you for at least trying,” Ramira said. “Does coffee sound good?” When I dug my hands in my coat’s pockets to retrieve my five dollar bill, she added, “It’ll be my treat.”

My heart resumed its thumping again, causing me to walk at a slower pace to calm myself down. With that stupid church service under my belt, I could be who I wanted to be, say what I wanted to say, and tell Ramira how much I liked her. We chatted along about each others lives, including the situation about Haden, not noticing we passed the Coffee Hound ten minutes later. Ramira suggested that we would walk two more blocks to the next coffee place that was her favorite. When we were just about five minutes away from the next coffee shop, Anvers Street proved that we would have to wait a long time for its traffic to pass. Ramira leaned against a store shop’s window front.

“So tell me more about this Haden’s baby. Do you really think she would abort? I could invite her to talk with our pastor so she could change her mind.”

I crossed my arms. “No way! If Haden knew that I had another woman in my life, she’d freak. I guess we just have to leave that decision up to her.”

Ramira looked uncertain, focus more on the situation than the green light still present, inviting the traffic to keep its steady flow pass Anvers. As of the moment, the light turned yellow, and Ramira set foot on the cross walk with uncertain judgment. The crowd around us still stayed back in hesitance. Ramira motioned for me to join her.

“Hey, I don’t think you should do—“

Buzzing straight through a red light was a tiny yellow taxi, not bothering to pay attention to the pedestrian halfway through the crosswalk. Obviously it had to be in a hurry, almost as if it was a disguised ambulance. Ramira turned to face the car well in advance, allowing her to run to the other side of crosswalk before it hit her. She was frozen in shock, however, and in a split second it jammed right into her. The next sight I saw was her flying into the air and landing on the other side of the crosswalk while the taxi zoomed off carelessly.

“RAMIRA!!” I bolted out into the street, tears already forming into my eyes. “Ramira, get up….get up!!” I pressed my ear against her chest, struggling to hear a faint beat with all the commotion of the crowd gathering around her lifeless body. My head started to spin. “DON’T LEAVE ME…I need you!!”

“Sir,” a passer-by gently tapped me on the shoulder. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”

December 25, 1996. Whenever I re-tell my story, the answer always leads the audience to the assumption that what happened was a miracle. Even now, five years later, as I recline lazily in my favorite study chair, I can picture their faces in the completion of my tale. It brings me the utmost sadness but a certain joy woven in between. I typed the last sentence of my essay I was to present a youth rally at Luther Oaks, grabbed my best church coat, and stopped at the door before going to the Christmas service.

A little girl skipped down the stairs, her eyes full of excitement, round cheeks ruddy with anticipation of her favorite holiday tradition. She jumped into my open arms, and I hoisted her onto my shoulders.

“Daddy, can we get some hot chocolate after Pastor Steve’s sermon? Please, please?”

“We’ll see, Ramira. Let’s get going, okay?” Her fragile hand slid into mine, and we were off. I’d have to print off my essay later, but spending time with my four year old girl would have to come first.

Pastor Steve’s features were quite distinguishable that he had past his mid-thirites and onto his early forties. I saw Sue after the service, and she thanked me for coming the fourth time in a row to the Christmas service. When I came home with my little girl, I couldn’t help but read through my essay one more time with a proud smile on my face. My life was finally complete. Hopefully, my story would be published out of many of my work for even more readers to find out about my struggles in the past.

Compassion to die for
By: Tristan Caldwell

I was once homeless, but now, at the age of twenty nine, am living in a nice apartment provided for me by a special friend of mine, Ramira Maddock. Ramira died due to a car accident, just when we had met and were planning to get a cup of coffee. Before that I was informed of how her parents owned an apartment building. The same parents had been in the pedestrian crowd, witnessed their daughter’s death and how I had rushed to her lifeless body. Curious of why I was showing so much concern for their daughter, they asked of my identity. Even with their gentle tap on my shoulder, I could recognize they had to have some relationship to Ramira.

Ramira was gentle to me even when I was rude. We met on my corner spot while I was homeless. I had demanded of her money since it was Sunday. Instead, she invited me to go to church with her. Even though at that time I didn’t feel as though it impacted me, one woman, Sue, invited me to come back.

I do go back. Every Sunday. I consider myself a regular church-goer. Except now I have a family, thanks to another woman named Haden Salvis. I was sexually active before I knew Ramira, and Haden was one of my first partners. Scared of the fact that she was unexpectedly pregnant, she decided to abort. I never saw her again after she told me of this news. Quite honestly, I forgot of her and her baby. When I told the whole situation to Ramira, she told me to just leave the decision in Haden’s hands. I did, and I knew she would choose the right thing.

It turned out Haden came in contact with Mr. and Mrs. Maddock in search of an apartment of her own, since she had still been living with her parents even in her twenties. When she looked at the list of people who had lived there, she had recognized my name. That led her to show up at my front door cradling a tiny baby in her arm.

“Tristan, do you remember that one time when you said ‘Hun, I want to help you, but I don’t know what to do’?” She had asked me, putting the baby in my arms. “I can’t take care of her anymore. I’m moving to Denver to go back to college to study being a teacher.” She also explained that she could have sworn seeing me kneeing at a woman’s side on Anvers Street. When I asked her how she knew of that occurrence, she told me that she was riding a taxi on the way to the hospital due to her pregnancy with our little girl.

Haden followed her promise, and I also followed my promise when I took care of my baby girl. I now have a job as a successful writer.

Ramira had compassion on me, and ended up later dieing for it. Haden, too, had compassion, could have aborted my little four year old Ramira, but chose not to.

It’s powerful. Maybe they can be used as examples for all of us to show some compassion on each other once and awhile.

You might save a life.

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