Grace

His skin strained to escape the piercing cold of the park bench. A moist fog fell from the moonless night, coating everything in its path with a thick dew as it rolled out over the park. His body continued to fight for his attention. His stomach knotted in hunger, his toes aflame with the hints of frostbite, even the screeching in his head that pounded continually now could not draw his thoughts from the pit of his guilt. Where was that first mistake? When did it all gone wrong?

With clarity that had escaped him for years, he examined every step, every breath, every glance, every action. For several weeks now, he made this bench his home as he slowly rewound his life, placing each moment beneath the magnifying glass. Hundreds of would be futures spread out into the darkness like a web as he exposed poor decision after poor decision. But where was that first mistake?!

Bean appeared too tall for his age. The weight of despair had long hunched over most of the elderly homeless in the park, but Bean stood upright. The heat that comforted his hands earlier in the evening, spread from a cup of coffee to Bean. The small crumpled bag, no doubt containing the apple, and perhaps some bread, that Bean procured daily, sat beside him. Where did I first mess up? Bean would be back in the morning. He shook his head. He needed to stay focused.

How could he be so content? Bean's hope shone. What was it Bean said earlier? He meant to remember it. What was it? The cold bit at him and he shivered, drawing his thoughts out of that past. A warmth spread through him. He remembered. He'd been trying to tell Bean he did not belong here, this was not the world he knew. Bean listened. His eyes shone with understanding and compassion. All the pain of failure had poured forth with no means of restraint. And Bean listened.

When he had finally run dry, they sat, silent, as the day gently slipped away. After a brief eternity, Bean spoke, "You know, we're just beggars, all of us. Beggars telling other beggars where we've found bread."