The Old Matchstick Man

It was terribly cold. Snow was falling and it was almost dark. It was New Year's Eve. While everyone else was out celebrating, Errol couldn’t recall a time when he had felt more helpless than he did on this night. Not even in his days in the Vietnam War on the front lines or his battle with cancer could he recall a time when he was more miserable than now. He had lost his wife only a month ago and now he was left in the cold without a home. He had sunk so low into his grief and couldn't care to make money to eat. He slept in shelters only if it were too cold to sleep outside.There was a predicted blizzard for that New Year’s Eve night. He got there early to get a spot as he had heard about the storm and it was also the last day of the old year. It filled up quickly, however, Errol left the shelter before the New Year came in order to give up his space to a young guy shivering at the doorway who they were going to turn away. 

So out Errol went into the wild winter air. Snow fell on his gray hair blending in almost and onto his charcoal skin where it stood out. He carried nothing with him other than the clothes on his back and a box of matches. He thought that maybe if he could make a small fire, he could keep warm the whole night. He started his trek with a pair of house shoes, but as he approached the intersection, he had to lunge out of the way to avoid being hit by an erratic driver. Upon picking himself up off the ground, he realized his shoes were missing. He searched around the area where he had fallen, but he was unable to locate them. Now with his feet bare and the wind chill dropping fast he knew he had to find somewhere to make his fire and make it quick. He pulled his feet out of snow slowly with each step revealing shades of purple and pink from the freeze bite. He was so cold and lonely. His wife, Mora, had been his only family and now he had nowhere to go.

He saw a small snowy field across the road. He ran across the street and began to collect sticks for his fire. The snow fell harder, it was almost impossible to see. He dropped the sticks he was holding and took a seat on a log to gather his energy, but the cold made it difficult. He pulled the box of matches from his pocket and looked at them sadly. He knew making a fire would be so much harder than he thought, if not, impossible with the snow. He raised his head in defeat. Next to the field, he noticed there was a large Victorian home and he had a view into their large dining room window. There he saw a family enjoying a holiday feast and festivities.He could smell the familiar holiday smells and hear the cheer in the voices inside the window. He looked up intensely into the sky thinking maybe, if he looked hard enough, he would see all the way past the stars into heaven and spend the new year with his love. When his vision blurred, his attention returned to the matches in his hand. He figured that if he couldn't make A fire, at least he could still make fire. At that point, he didn't know what else to do. He was hopeless and alone.

 He took a match from the box and struck it. Light and warm flames shot up and out of the small wooden stick. Errol's whole face lit up with dazzling light. He peered into the flame past the window, to see the scene of a large dinner table filled with roasted veggies and a big toasted bird. He was there. He felt so warm and happy and safe but, just as the bowl of mashed potatoes were being passed to him, the flame went out and he was back in the cold field. Quickly, he pulled another match from the box and struck it. The flames shot up so big and bright, they put the stars to shame. This time, in the flame he was transported to his old apartment which was filled with warmth and music. He thought his wife must have been playing piano in the next room because he heard her angelic song filling his world. “Mora, are you there?” he called out making his way desperately  around the room, but soon again the flame went out and the sound vanished and his misery returned. 

 Again, he quickly lit another match. This time again, he saw his wife. She died after being hit by a drunk driver on her way home from her job as a nurse. They had lived in a small two bedroom apartment and life was good. They had kept an extra room in case children ever came along, but it was not in the cards for them.  Mora had given birth to their daughter, who was still-born, while Errol was away at war, but he saw his wife there now in all her light coming out of the kitchen carrying a platter of freshly made cookies and a small child was running around the living room laughing. His wife's eyes were bright and cheery. Errol lit ten more matches in hopes to keep this vision in view. “Take me with you.” He said to his wife and the child whom he noticed had his eyes. His wife and child embraced him tightly and together they rose high into the light. Past the stars, Past the troubles of the earth, past the cold and darkness. He closed his eyes and a smile froze on his face. He could never remember feeling so content. 

The next morning, two police officers found Errol in the field. “Oh poor fellow, didn’t survive the blizzard,” said one officer. “Yes, so unfortunate he didn't make it to the New Year. I wonder why then, does he look so happy?” said the other.