The Greatest Gift

Abu Isa

I used to sit in a doorway that I never saw opened. Id sit there with a little cardboard sign and hold out my cup. I made it well there, and I was clean so the cops stayed off my back. I was clean, generally had food to eat, but I was broken and cast aside. I was like an old toy in the ditch that everyone is too embarrassed to remember was once beloved. One day everything changed. A man came and sat beside me. He was dressed in a long Middle-eastern shirt and he just cozied up next to me like I was an old friend. I could have stabbed him and robbed him or something, he couldnt know that I wouldnt. He just sat there, like we were two buddies who liked to spend the afternoon on this step watching people go by. Finally he started to freak me out. Was he going to try to steal my cup? What the hell was wrong with this guy? I turned to him and gave him a look, like a get the hell off my step look, but nothing. Well, do you have something to say? I finally said. What could I say? He replied. This caught me by surprise. What the hell was that supposed to mean, you know? But he had no accent which also threw me off, and he said it so innocently I couldnt make heads or tails of it. Finally I had enough. Well are you going to give a little charity at least? I decided to be a little belligerent to try to coax him into doing something I could understand. God willing. He said, and then jumped up and sauntered off. I scratched my head all day about that guy, what a creep! Thats when I started noticing him though. He passed me by about a dozen times a day., it was totally weird. He had passed by mostly on his own, on the other side of the street. Sometimes he had some of his Paki friends with him, but usually it was just him. Once I saw him with a woman, all wrapped up and everything, you know. Finally I had to figure him out, so I followed him. I tracked him down a few blocks when he finally went into a hole-in-the-wall sort of place with no signs or anything. After a while I decided to play the drunk so I could barge in without any repercussions, but when I went in I noticed all the people sitting on the floor, quietly listening to this guy who was standing on some steps in front of them. I realized this was a mosque, and he was a preacher. I know a guy who would flip his shit if he found out there was a secret mosque downtown, but I was a little interested in hearing what he had to say and no one had noticed me yet, so I sat down and tried to blend in. Everyone was looking at me, theyd glance backwards, some of the kids would stare, I thought my cover was blown, but they didnt do anything. Some other people came in late and I didnt feel as awkward sitting at the back. The guy was talking about Gods Will; he used a bunch of foreign words, but mostly translated them, so I figure he knew I was there.

He talked about how God doesnt need us, and that our will and opinions are just Gods mercy and are ultimately not that great. No matter what we do we cant save ourselves if God doesnt want us to be saved, boy I know that. No matter what we do God will save us if he wants to, that made me think of some of the people I know who have families that just wont let them go no matter how much they try to bring themselves down. Not like mine. It was alright in the end, not too long obviously because we were all sitting on the floor. Afterward they all prayed like they do on TV, I went along with it because I was sort of boxed in between an old guy who sat there smiling like he had no idea what was going on and a young guy who looked like hed faint if I so much as breathed at him. Afterward I darted out of there with a bunch of other guys while the preacher was talking. The other guys I left with were all obviously late for work, but they hastily shook each others hands, some of them shook mine too, one guy even hugged me all the while muttering in some foreign language. I sat on my step for a long while that weekend, and finally decided to go back. I figured the guy probably had one good normal people are here speech that he stole off a Presbyterian or something and that if I showed up twice in a row hed be out of luck. I figured it was a same place, same time sort of deal, but Id show up late again so I didnt have to talk to anyone. The second time I was totally shocked. When I went in the guy was raving about something, it was a totally different scene, just as I suspected. I quickly went in and sat down, trying not to be seen. After a while I clued into what the guy was on about. Apparently he hated American slang and the way kids talk. He went on for a full ten minutes about how obnoxious it was to talk to some of the youth, how in his various outreach programs hed have to teach kids simple manners to help them get a job. I knew where he was coming from, I ran into plenty of little gangsters on my step. He took a breather and actually sat down for a minute before proceeding. The second half of the rant was about the importance of mothers. He linked it together, saying how disrespectful the youth are to their mothers, and then said some of them, only 30 or 40 years old dont even visit, put aside paying proper respects. This suddenly struck me hard, and I wasnt able to concentrate on the rest of his sermon. Afterwards I tried to slip out just as before, but the same guy caught me in a quick hug as I was leaving. Once out of the stuffy closet I was mad. I was mad at kids for not showing respect, I was mad at people for not giving a shit about the people around them, but then I remembered something the preacher said a week before. Oftentimes we are angry at the world around us, our car breaking down, our clothing getting a rip, but we must remember Allah, and that that is His will. And we must remember it is probably a test, and it is ourselves we should be looking at for proper behaviour, not the world around us. And I remembered something the preacher said that day, when he was talking about respecting your parents. He said my ears are closest to my mouth when I say this Thats a good saying. Suddenly I knew what I was mad at. I was mad at myself. Every morning I used the change I got to buy a coffee, right beside the coffee machine there is a payphone. About a year ago my brother

wandered by me on the street. He looked disgusted when he dropped a piece of paper in my can and said This is Moms new number. You should call her. You both look lonely. Jackass didnt even leave a dollar. In any case I still had that number, but in about a year I never called. In fact it had been about eight years since I had talked to her, and nearly twenty since I saw her last. It took me nearly three days to work up the courage, but I finally called her. Two hundred and eighty three. Was all I could bring myself to say when she answered. There was a pause. Hello? The voice was more fragile than I remembered, more than I wanted it to be. Mom, this is Kevin. Two hundred and eighty three times Ive stood right here with a quarter and not called you. Here I am. We cried mostly. There were a few words, only enough to arrange for me to go see her the following Friday afternoon. Before I went to see my mother I went to the drycleaners about two blocks from the alley where I sleep. The guy there has a sign that says hell clean your clothes for free if youre going to a job interview. Sometimes you can buy peoples suits that get left there if they die or forget I guess. Anyway, I was going to see if he could give me a special price to visit my mom, not everybody is heartless and the sign made me think it was possible. Turns out the drycleaner is the guy that hugged me at the mosque. I didnt even get the story out, I just said I saw his sign and he told me not to worry, hed bring something for me that afternoon. He had a thick accent, which makes me uncomfortable, so I just shrugged and left it at that, I guess I had to go to the mosque now. I got there late again, hoping the guy would just run off, leave me a suit, and not say much afterwards. The sermon was about charity, which I thought was kinda funny coming from this guy. He explained, sort of, why he didnt leave me any money. Apparently begging is not OK. Youre supposed to give money all the time (maybe explains why none of these guys looked like investment banker types) but not to beggars. The whole thing was not very engaging to a guy who never had a single penny to give away, but then he took a break again, and afterwards was talking about all the different kinds of charity. There was a prostitute who gave water to a dog, stealing bread and giving it to your wife, and lastly a smile. A smile could be charity he said, and even a beggar can give a smile. On the way to my mothers retirement home I thought about that smile thing. Tonnes of people smile at me on the street. Its nice and all, but honestly so is coffee and a sandwich. But then, I went to my mothers room, and I knew the value of a smile. The look on her face made everything of this world insignificant. The joy, relief and forgiveness expressed in one little smile was worth many times all the money I had lost. We cried, we talked, and I decided to take every Friday afternoon off to come see her. Just for that smile.

What gets me, after all this time is still that thing the preacher said, God willing. He took off, he probably thought he was going to help someone who wasnt a beggar, some one more worth it. God willed it all right, that preacher gave me the greatest charity of all, and he didnt even know it. It was that smile.