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Starting Over
Sunlight breaks through the cloud cover long enough to illuminate a particularly nice living room set through the window. It fills me with bitterness, as if the sun is taunting me with things I could never afford. I can’t resist reaching out a hand to touch the frozen glass, and I reflect on the pitiful amount of change in the bottom of my pocket. I know that eventually we’ll be able to save enough to start replacing furniture lost in the fire. I have to take a deep breath to remind myself that I am lucky. I did not lose my wife or either of our small daughters to the blaze that took our apartment.
Snow crunches underfoot as I turn back to the street. I pull my tennis shoes through the slush near the gutter and drop my battered copy of today’s paper in the trash bin on the corner. No one is hiring poor, young, uneducated fathers. It seems in a city this size you would be able to find work as a contractor. There have to be buildings going up _somewhere_, but all of the work crews are well established and no one has been hiring since I lost my job a week ago. The empty rooms in our new place will have to stay that way in favor of scrounging groceries for our girls. I would like to have at least a chair, I think to myself. Something my beautiful wife could rest in after a hard day’s work at the restaurant. Something I can sit in at night to tell my girls their bedtime stories.
As I turn the corner I almost run into it. There, in the gray dawn light and covered with snow, sits the answer to my prayer. “Thank you, Lord”, I murmur, faith renewed. I turn to look at the duplex the recliner sits near, noting the rental signs in the windows. Dusting the snow from the back I can see that it’s really not in bad shape at all, with only a few well-worn dents and a small stain on the arm. I tip it to dump the snow and try to estimate how far I’ll have to move it – only a few blocks! I give it an experimental tug, and turn it onto its side for an easier grip. I begin the slow waddle home, half tugging half carrying my prize. I can already envision it dusted and scrubbed, sitting proudly in the corner of my living room covered with happy, smiling children…
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