by Peggy Molloy

Created on: December 26, 2011   Last Updated: December 27, 2011

I met Kurt at a telemarketing job. He had a booming authoritative voice resplendent of George C. Scott playing the part of Patton. We liked one another and I asked him him he were planning on voting. He answered with a question, "Is Jesus on the ballot?" I said no and he explained that he was not interested then.

He was a well-built man and soon rumors were beginning about his time in prison, his temper, his former scabby self, how great he looks now that he is clean...I usually default to my idea that God uses me to bridge to people but I taxed any instincts recognizing he could snap my neck like a twig should he choose to. He was funny, dominant, kind.

He asked me out. I went to his house and we watched videos and we were becoming comfortable with one another. We went to church together several times, mine then his. Then he explained that because I could not have children, and because that was very important to him, he thought we should cut it out before we became involved. In my age I have learned to accept others for what they say so I did not argue. Besides he had a bull whip hanging on the bedpost so in my little book of non-horrors, I was getting out while the getting was good.

I told this story to a mutual friend of Kurt and mine and his comment was that he would cut off his own testicle before he ever said such a thing to a woman. We had a laugh and I forgot about Kurt and the whole deal.

It is Christmas time and I am balancing several jobs, and family obligations. I stay busy intentionally during the holidays preferring to earn money rather than spend it, having communicated to my loved ones that I love them, gifts will be tokens of love and modest. I needed some gas to get to work in the cold, frosty morning. The only gas station where I could pay cash, since I have cut up all my plastic, was the creepy one on Samoa Boulevard. I knew I would encounter a gaggle of homeless men who would ask me for money, so I was gearing up mentally.

I pulled in, and through the short foggy, cold distance was a skinny guy going through the garbage can where I was aiming my old, undefeated Toyota, with its mere 347,000 miles on the engine counter. Sure enough, it was a skinny, angry Kurt. He instinctively fell away from the bin when my car approached. Once I got out to go to the cash counter inside, we noticed one another without acknowledging the reality of the situation.

I had received a spiff from a jewelry sale and had a few extra bucks in my pocket. I paid the gas attendant $10.00 and while I was gassing up I thought about Kurt and what I should do. I didn't want to ignore him, so when I finished with my task, and turned the gas knob, I walked over to the beat up van he was standing next to and he said hello and that he had run out of gas. His next question was about going to Mass, so I was glad he had a memory of going to church with me.

I pulled $4.00 out of my pocket, and said I was working two jobs so I could give him money. I wasn't scared. He took the dollars hurriedly, like a starving animal and thanked me. I said very authoritatively..."Get your butt back in church Kurt, Merry Christmas".

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