Good Man

A story I wrote about heroes.

It was nighttime in Chicago, and it was quite cold. It was nearing midnight, and the various houses and apartments were turning off their lights for the night. Only I was out this late, sitting on the curb under a rather worn-down street lamp. I was at a loss for how I had gotten here, and was retracing my steps when i heard footsteps slowing behind me. Turning toward the noise, i was greeted by a face looking down at me, sympathetically, almost fatherly. 

His warmness came as a surprise, as i had no help in the previous days, and the city emitted a certain hostility that was difficult to describe. After what seemed like a lifetime of standing off, silently playing a joust,the man opened his mouth. "Are you okay?" I was surprised at the straight forward question, but responded politely, "Well, I am alive, so it could be worse." He paused for a moment, then grew a scowl on his face and said, " That's no way to think. It could also be much better for you, why aren't you focusing on that matter?"

Before i could muster another line, he reached out his hand to me. I took it, and he pulled me up. "Come on, I'll buy you some nice food. But wont you tell me your story once we get situated and you aren't starving?" I hadn't eaten in days, so the proposition seemed easy. "I would love that very much, sir." I squeaked out, extremely relieved and yet, still cautious. 

We walked silently in the cold Chicago night. It was October, and you could smell the leaves turning brown. Most had fallen, and left the sidewalk primarily brown, with shades and hues of red and yellow. It was beautiful, and I couldn't help but snicker to myself at the contrast of the leaves to my life. The man ignored it, and we walked on. 

After around a half hour, we reached a run-looking McDonald's. He must have seen my expression change, as he quickly pointed out, "This is the only place open this late kid. Maybe you should have been starving a few hours ago." Inside, we ordered our food then sat down. I had not looked at this man in good light until now, and I was surprised at the contrast between his handsome face and his harsh tone stalwart personality. he had graying brown hair, and was probably in his late 40's. "So?" he said, bringing me out of my daze, "We had a deal." I took a deep breath, and started. 

"I guess i should start with who I am. My name is Martin Leblanc. I am from Arkansas, Lafayette to be exact. I'm 18 and a few weeks old, and I got kicked out of my house." I paused, wondering how much more he wanted. I took his stare as a push forward. "My father was adamant about me 'being a man', and a man to him was what he found ideal about a person. A man was approachable, they were friendly.  They were responsible, and respected, and honest. My father was none of things, but that did not stop him from living in his ideal world. He judged me much harder than he ever could himself." 

At this point, our order was called and the man got up. He came back, and gave me my bag. I tore into it, as not eating for three days makes one a bit famished. We ate in silence, me finishing far before him, and restraining myself from asking for another. The stranger took his time, and eventually looked at me. He bent his eyebrows, and asked, "What happened next, son?"

"I dealt with him. After all, what other choices did I have before 18? It was his home. When i turned 18, he got into a massive fight. I remember it well, being told that i should start acting like a man, and how I couldn't possibly be his son. I left after that, he wasn't worth the fight. I had around 10 dollars, so I got on a bus and here I am.

“I know you might say that I will regret this on down the line, but that old man can rot in hell for all I care.” He was silent, staring at me. It was almost as if he had left my words to hang there, and make me regret them. “He sounds like an a*****e.” His words were confusing to hear, as I hadn't expected him to agree with me. Why would he? I was just some dirty, hungry teen on the curb. And yet he had shown compassion. Why? I thought this to myself, and kept revolving it in my head.

He had finished his food now, and we sat in silence as what seemed like an eternity passed. After a few hours, he stood up. He reached for his pocket, and, presenting his wallet, handed me a $100 dollar bill. “Sir, I can not take your  money!” I exclaimed as I tried to push it toward him. He refused, of course. He continued, “I want you to find a hostel and get a room. Get some sleep, get some food.”  

I stared at the dollar, and as he got to the door, I called for him and ran over. “Why me sir?” I asked. I could not believe the kindness this man had shown to a complete stranger. “Well, as you said, It could be worse. I, for one, am not happy about that belief. Besides, I think your dad was wrong, you seem like quite the man to me.” 

With that, he was off. I, of course, did find a hostel later that night, and used the money for food the next day. It did get better because of that man so many years ago. I was so emotional by the kindness in the moment that I never even got his name. He never gave it.

I think that makes him and his deed even better. I will always remember him as a real man. I hope I may one day be like him.