“What’s your name, Mam? Charity? Nice name. Where’s your home, Charity? No home? Listen, Charity, it’s too cold to be out here.” Recognition dawned. Oh, no! He knew that face. Charity Michiavelli, the world class opera singer.
The Policeman’s baritone burst forth, “I’ll be home for Christmas; You can count on me.”
Light flickered in her eyes. Her chin lifted, a lilting soprano responded, “Please have snow and mistletoe and presents on the tree.”
Their voices rose in crystal clear harmony in the night air. . . finishing with, “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”
His hands clasped hers.
————-
This story was written for a Christmas writing contest. Submissions were limited to 100 words. I desired to share it because behind every homeless person is a story and the human side of struggle.
A few years back in a magazine I read the story of a homeless person on the streets of New York. She had been an opera singer of some renown then turned journalist correspondent. As a journalist she had covered stories in war-torn, dangerous places around the world.
The article showed pictures of this woman from the past to the present–opera singer, news correspondent, homeless. She was physically beautiful with a striking, unusual appeal. She had fallen into mental illness and had purposely distanced herself from her past life, lost to her family and friends and living estranged from those whom had loved her. This woman was asked if she had ever been raped while covering a news story. Her reply, “What do you think?” like, duh.
Her story touched me as I looked at her “before” and “after” pictures and felt her story’s heartbreak.
