At the Soup Kitchen - 1. Chapter 1

There is a soup kitchen located in the seediest part of my city. I volunteer there two days every year, Christmas Day, and Easter Sunday. My job is to set up the food line, serve the food, and clean up afterwards. The clients are among the neediest, saddest people in the city, and many are homeless.

Now I am fully aware that some of my fellow-volunteers give regularly of their time all year long, but I am not willing to do so. My life is too busy. I have lots of friends, and there is always some social event taking up my time. The reason I volunteer on those two days is that I have no family, and all my friends spend those days with their loved ones. That effectively leaves me out in the cold, and I am alone when everybody else is with family. You see, I was kicked out, ostracized,and emancipated by my fundamentalist family, when I came out to them during the summer before my senior year in high school.

I spent that year in the foster care system, and I was luckier than most. I was placed with a gay couple who gave me a good home, and mentored me as well. When I turned eighteen, they stopped receiving monetary assistance, but insisted that I live with them. They helped me to get part time jobs, and I worked my way through college. I am middle management now, in a microchip company, and I live in a city hundreds of miles from the two men who saved my life. We are all still good friends and I talk to them all the time, but I am never with them for the Christmas and Easter holidays. They are just too far away.

As you can imagine, there is a high turnover among the volunteers at the soup kitchen. On my infrequent visits, I usually don’t recognize a soul, so I haven’t made any friends there. This Christmas, I volunteered to work Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas Day lunch. I was the volunteer with the most experience, and longest tenure, so I was put in charge of the Christmas Eve dinner.

We were about half way through getting everything ready, when I heard a voice behind me say, “Excuse me, Sir, I was told to see you about working the line.”

We were a little short-handed, and those words were music to my ears. I turned around and faced a young man of exceptional beauty, but he looked like jail bait. His age had no impact on the job at hand, but I asked indelicately, “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” he answered me.

I smiled and put him to work. During the setting up period, the serving period, and the clean-up period, I had a chance to have snippets of conversation with him. I discovered that he had been recently kicked out of his home, for the same reason I had been. He was a sophomore in a local college, but he would have to give up his schooling. The worst thing of all, he was homeless.

I decided to pay my good fortune forward, and I offered him the opportunity to live with me. I said that I could get him a part time job where I worked, and he would be able to finish college. He looked at me incredulously. After a long silence, he said, “Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure,” I answered him, and he began to cry. I put an arm around his shoulder, hoping to comfort and reassure him.

When we had everything cleaned up and ship shape, we went to a back room, where the boy picked up his knapsack. It contained all his worldly goods. As we walked to my car, I realized I didn’t know his name. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Michael,” he answered me, and did not offer me his surname.

I said, “Mine’s Tom,” and we shook hands.

When we got in the car, Michael said, “It’s only a quarter to ten. If you know of a nearby church that has a late service, I would like to go there. After all, it’s Christmas Eve.”

‘I sure do,” I replied, “but we’ll have to hurry. The service starts at ten thirty.”

I took him to my church, which I only attend occasionally. It’s a gay church, and he had already told me that he was gay. But just in case that would somehow disturb him, I asked, “We’re going to a gay church. Will that upset you?”

Michael looked at me in total disbelief. “I never knew there was such a thing,” he mumbled. “I’d love to go there.”

I knew that the service that night would consist mostly of the choir singing Christmas carols, but the Christmas Day service would be more traditional. I alerted the boy to what was in store for him, and we arrived at the church just as the service was beginning.

After the service, I stood around in the social hall of the church, and introduced Michael to some of my friends. We couldn’t linger long. As I told you, they were all anxious to run off to be with loving families. I was thrilled that I wouldn’t be alone this year, and I could only wonder what Michael was thinking.

We had eaten dinner at the soup kitchen, and now we had light snacks at the church. This prompted me to say, “We’re well fed, but if you don’t mind me telling you, Michael, you desperately need a shower. When we get home, we’ll both shower, and go right to bed. I don’t know about you, but I’m bushed.” Michael nodded, and we started walking to the parking lot.

Then the miracle began.

I distinctly heard my paternal grandmother’s voice. She died several months before I came out. We had loved each other dearly, and I had spent as much time with her as I could. I looked around me trying to see her, but all I heard was her voice. “This good deed you are performing on Christmas Eve will be returned to you tenfold. I love you Tom,” she said.

I stood still, not daring to move. I was filled with two emotions; abject fear, and total joy, knowing that my grandmother did not condemn me for my life style, wherever she was. I knew for sure that I wasn’t headed for hell as my fundamentalist family had predicted.

“Is anything wrong? Are you all right?” Michael asked.

“Did you hear a voice?” I wondered out loud. He shook his head. “No matter,” I murmured, “let’s get home. I’m very tired.”

Michael’s beautiful face was lit up with a killer smile. “Yes,” he sobbed, “let’s go home.”

******

We entered my two bedroom apartment, and I took Michael to the guest room, which had its own bathroom. I told him to stow whatever was in his knapsack in a dresser drawer. In the meantime, I went and got the boy fresh towels, a toothbrush, a tube of tooth paste, and a pair of PJs.

“There’s plenty of soap in your shower,” I let him know. “Take your time. Get nice and clean and I’ll make us breakfast in the morning. After that, we’ll go to the 9 o’clock service at the church, and then on to the soup kitchen to serve Christmas lunch. I’ll probably be asleep when you finish up, so have a good night, and Merry Christmas.”

Michael looked totally confused. “But I thought…” he started to say.

“What?” I asked. Now, I was the confused one.

“I thought you brought me home to have sex with me.”

“My God, Michael, why would you even think that?” I could see that he had started to cry, so I enveloped him in my arms.

“Before I met you, two other guys took me home. They cleaned me up, and they fed me. After they had sex with me, they kicked me out.”

“I took you home so that you would have a clean bed to sleep in, not for sex. I get plenty of that. Let me tell you what happened to me when I came out.”

I told him my story, and he finally understood my motive. Of course, I secretly would have been delighted to have sex with Michael, but I brought him with me to give him a home, and there was no way I was going to force sex on him. I gave him another hug, and went to my room.

As I was falling asleep, I heard my grandmother again. “He loves you, you know. The time will come for both of you.”

I cowered under my covers.

The next morning, Michael was still asleep when I got up. I decided to let him sleep until the last possible moment, and I went into the kitchen to start breakfast. All I had on were boxer shorts. When the eggs, bacon and coffee were nearly ready, I went to wake him up. When I opened the guest bedroom door, I got the shock of my life. Not only was Michael not there, but the bed hadn’t been slept in, and none of his belongings were in the closet or the dresser drawers. I went into the bathroom, and I found no evidence of dirty towels, used toothbrushes or a started toothpaste tube.

I sighed deeply. The only conclusion I could come to was that Michael took off in the middle of the night, and took with him the few necessities I had given him. He sorely needed them more than I did. I kicked myself for not inviting him into my bed the previous night. The boy expected to have sex with me, and I could have given it to him, along with a safe and comfortable home.

I decided to go to church, and later to the soup kitchen, anyhow. I hoped that Michael would have a change of heart, and show up at either of the two places. He didn’t.

The sermon that morning made me snigger. It was all about how miracles occur at Christmas time. All I wanted to do was cry. “Where could Michael have gone to?” I wondered? It would take a miracle for me to find him.

At the soup kitchen the same two people who had helped me the night before were there again. Only Michael was missing. I asked my fellow volunteers if any of them knew where I could find Michael.

“Who’s Michael?” they asked in unison.

“The young man who helped us out last night,” I almost screamed at them.

“There was nobody here last night, but us chickens,” one of them said, and the other nodded in agreement.

Was I losing my mind? Michael was real. I touched him, and put a towel in his hands. I could have slept with him if I wasn’t such a moral fool. I didn’t care what anyone told me. I needed to find Michael.

I knew of a tent city which had sprouted up in an abandoned tunnel. The tunnel had run under a major traffic street, but it was rotting away, and rather than repair it, the city replaced it with a new overhead pass. It was the only place I knew of where the homeless gathered. I made up my mind to search for Michael there. If I couldn’t find him, I determined to go to my local police station, and get a list of where all the shelters for the homeless were located, and I would expand my search.

The days were short this time of year. By the time I left the soup kitchen it was dusk, and bitter cold. My heart cried for Michael, and so did my eyes. I found the tunnel, and parked just outside. There were more souls inside than I dared allowed myself to believe. The tunnel was dank and just slightly warmer than outside. Most of the inhabitants were lying on the cold concrete floors, wrapped in blankets. I wondered where the blankets had come from. Others were just standing idly by. A few were by themselves, but others were conversing with each other.

I queried the first person standing by himself and asked if he knew a young man named Michael, who might live here. He didn’t, so I went around the tunnel, and got the same negative response. I dared ask one of them why he stayed here, and why he didn’t go to a city shelter, where it would be warm, and he could get a meal and a bed.

He looked at me like I was the unfortunate one. “This is my home,” he said. “These are my friends. I don’t want to go anyplace else.”

My heart was breaking, but I ran back to my car to get a flashlight. I shined the light on the face of every single person who was sleeping on the ground, but none of them was Michael. I was just about to give up, but I turned my flashlight so that it shined deeper into the tunnel. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t missed anyone. At some distance away from all the rest, I saw a body. It was not covered with a blanket, and appeared to be quite dead.

I ran over, and illuminated the beautiful face of my Michael. It wasn’t so beautiful now. It was dirty and covered with snot. I wondered if he had showered the night before. I had left him to get into bed, and had no idea what he did once I had closed my bedroom door. I put my hand on his head. He was burning with fever, but he was alive. I knew I had to get him to a hospital quickly.

I stood him up with great difficulty, and threw one of his arms around my shoulder. I literally dragged him to my car, and got him into the backseat. I drove as fast as I could to the emergency room of the nearest hospital.

******

I ran inside and screamed that I needed help to get the patient out of the car. Two orderlies in white coats grabbed a gurney, and took over from me. I thanked God silently that he was in good hands. By now Michael was semi-conscious, and he helped himself somewhat, so the hospital staff didn’t have as hard a time as I did. They wheeled Michael to a curtained cubicle, and I followed right along.

They took his temperature, and started an IV with some sort of saline solution. Then one of the orderlies said that they were short-staffed because of the holiday, but the doctor on call was on his way from home.

“While we wait, let me ask you some questions,” I heard a voice say. A young nurse had come into the cubicle. “Are you related to the patient?”

I didn’t know how to answer, but I heard my grandma telling me to say that I was his half-brother. I did just that, and then she asked me his full name. I panicked, but I heard Grandma say that his name was Michael Richardson. After that, Grandma told me how to answer every question the nurse asked concerning Michael’s medical history

Then she threw me a zinger. “What insurance do you have?”

I panicked again, until I distinctly heard Grandma tell me to remove Michael’s wallet from his back pocket. “You’ll find a health card in there,” she told me. “His foolish father never removed him from his plan.”

I found the health card, and the nurse recorded the information. When she seemed to be just about done, the doctor came rushing in. He kicked everyone out except the nurse, and he drew the curtain around the bed. He examined Michael for about half an hour, and then left him to find me.

We introduced ourselves, shook hands, and the doctor said, “Your brother has pneumonia. I have him on heavy doses of antibiotics. I’m also ordering a bronchoscopy, and oxygen for him until his lungs clear up. He should be okay in a couple of days. By the way, we’ll get him cleaned up. How in the world did he get so filthy?”

“He and my stepfather had a terrible fight, and Michael was kicked out of the house,” I said. “When I learned of it, I searched all over for him. I found him tonight with a bunch of homeless people, who were sheltering themselves in an abandoned tunnel.

“Lucky for him, that you found him. A few more hours of exposure in this weather and he would have died for sure.”

I started to cry, and the doctor put his arms around my shoulder. The nurses are preparing a room for him, but it will take time. You can stay with him, but when they get him upstairs I suggest you go home. I’m ordering a sedative for him, and he’ll be fast asleep in no time. Come back tomorrow. You’ll see, he’ll be a new man.”

I returned to the cubicle and took Michael’s hand. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I’ll explain when you’re better,” I said. “But I want you to know that when you get out of this hospital, you’re coming home with me. You’ll never be homeless again.”

“Do I know you?” Michael asked.

“I thought you did, but I now have serious doubts. All you need to know is one thing; I love you.” Despite of the confused look on his face, Michael smiled at me, and our hands gripped tighter.

Just then an orderly came in to wheel Michael up to his room. I smiled at him, and I could see his eyes closing. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I said.

For a moment I stood alone in the cubicle and I heard my pastor’s voice from this morning’s sermon. “Christmas is a time for miracles,” he reminded us. I ran out of the emergency room, and right to the hospital chapel. I went in, and found myself alone. I sat in the back, and rested my arms on the pew in front of me. I began to sob, and I spoke to my grandma with my heart, not with my voice.

“Thank you, Grandma, for being God’s messenger. Without you, Michael would have died, and I would never have known him. I miss you so much, but it is comforting to know that you are still with me. I am aware that Michael is God’s Christmas gift to me, and that you tied up and decorated the package. I will always treat him with love, because he is a precious gift indeed.”

******

Michael came home with me after a week’s stay in the hospital. He slept with me in my bed. The fourth night after he came home with me, we made love. Never in my life, had I experienced orgasms like the ones Michael brought me to that night. He assured me that it was the same for him.

After the love making, as we lay contentedly holding each other, I finally told Michael about “our miracle.” Thankfully, he believed everything I related to him, even his ghostly presence in the soup kitchen. During the time I thought he was with me that Christmas Eve, he lay dying in the tunnel. We concluded that his soul sought me out.

When I was done, Michael described my grandmother to me down to every wrinkle. “She was with me, the whole time I lay dying in the tunnel,” he confessed. “She held my hand and told me that everything would be all right, and that I would be rescued by a prince charming, whom she loved dearly.”

Michael urged me to record our story. He was afraid that in time we would doubt that a miracle had occurred, and the events would fade from our memories. What you read here is my recollection of the events of this past Christmas. Michael and I don’t care if you believe it or not, but even if you don’t, we are together, and that’s miracle enough.