The homeless looking man wrapped in an oversized camouflage jacket sitting on the green bench in front of an orange trimmed donut shop watching blurs of multi-colored traffic speed by has a name. Fifty years ago his parents called him Grayson White, back when “family” was in his vocabulary. However, none of the 5,000 car, taxi, buss, truck, mini-van, or SUV drivers that have driven passed since he first sat down at daybreak knew that. And there HAS been 5,000 up to this point. Five thousand and one, two, three … and he’s still counting.
Grayson is a counter and he counts more than cars. One thousand and fifty-seven people have walked passed him as well; 58, 59, 60, …
Grayson seriously doubts any of the pedestrians knew or knows his name either. But, still he counts.
It’s getting colder. And with the sun starting to set, temperatures are dropping even more. Tall buildings are like canyons ushering evening in earlier than it would upstate. He experiences a brief memory-flash. He’d be stringing blinking colored lights on the Christmas tree about this time of year. But, in the inner city shadows, Grayson pulls the large, floppy collars of his jacket over his ears. It is beginning to get darker. He wants to get up and walk behind the donut shop to his winter home by the dumpster.
There should be some good eating tonight. I like the ones with the 48 sprinkles on the white frosting. That Mr. Dunkin is a blessing.
But, Grayson can’t leave yet. He is a categorizer as well. He knows the total numbers of every colored jacket people were wearing that walked passed him. Black was the most predominate color worn, followed by hundreds of yellows, reds, and greens. But, there were only twelve purple jackets. That’s his favorite color; the color he looks for when counting jackets. He never stops counting until he has seen at least thirteen purple jackets. Grayson also has a thing for yellow taxis. He has to see 500 of those. He needs to spot one more.
The pedestrian traffic has strangely disappeared, at least on his side of the avenue. Grayson’s blowing in his cupped hands when a yellow taxi pulls up to the curb in front of him. The passenger window in the back seat rolls down and an arm in a purple jacket reaches out.
Another memory flashes before Grayson. He’s unsure of his emotion.
A female voice beckons his presence. She pokes her face out of the opened window. She’s smiling, about thirtyish, and has blonde hair. It’s her blue eyes though that draws Grayson off his bench toward her under the street light. Their eyes meet in silence. The woman’s smile fades as one grows on Grayson.
A male voice from inside the taxi interrupts the moment.
“Well, go ahead, ask.”
“I will,” the female responds. “But, maybe we should move on?”
The cab driver interjects, “Nope, this is your one shout-out. You have to use it or lose it.”
The woman’s eyes meet Grayson’s again. She speaks almost embarrassingly.
“Excuse me … sir … I think … but we are in a game show for a cable network called the Money Cab. And we would like to ask you a question so we could win some money.”
Grayson uses his jacket sleeve to wipe sinus leaking from his reddened nose.
“Be glad to help.”
“The question is: What daisy is purple and yellow?”
Grayson’s smile grows; another memory-flash. “It’s the Michaelmas Daisy.”
The male voice shouts, “We’ll go with that, the Michael, whatever he said.”
“It’s the Michaelmus Daisy. I should’ve remembered that,” the woman admits.
After a brief period of silent tension the cab driver yells out, “That’s right. You just won another hundred dollars."
The woman looks back at Grayson. “Thank you.”
“You’re so welcome. Is that your husband?”
“Yes it is.”
“Do you have children?”
“Yes, we just had a son about a year ago.”
“That’s very nice. You know that particular daisy was named after the Archangel Michael?”
“Yes, I remember now.” The woman’s face reddens.
“Hey, Daisy, we just won $700,” the male voice exclaims.
Grayson forces a smile. “Well, I’m very glad I could help.” He turns quickly to hide unexpected tears. While he’s walking back into the shadows he hears the woman’s voice yell out from the cab.
“Our children’s names are Juliet, August and Grayson.”
Five Hundred taxis… Thirteen purple jackets … Grayson!
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.