The Home That Returned

His eyes were blurry and unclear. His measly white hair circled around the top of his head. His skin was papery and frail. He had that permanent smile, making him look cheerful yet somber. His teeth had almost all fallen out. His left leg was broken, and he was unable to afford to go to a hospital. Unable to go back home.

The last time he went home, in a nice neighborhood where all the houses looked different, he had been kicked out by the owners of the house.

“Go!” the woman had yelled at the old man. “We don’t know a Jeremiah!”

Jeremiah was confused. He recognized the house all right, but not the huge scary woman standing at the door.

“Marvin, my son, here?” he asked feebly.

“I don’t know a Marvin either, now get away! I don’t want homeless people standing on my property!”

Heartbroken, Jeremiah limped away, stumbling twice. He could not understand why his family, and his kind son, were not there. His memory was starting to fade, and the pain in his leg just made him feel more confused.

He hobbled to the corner of two shops and sat down while his hand scrambled around, trying to locate the tin can in which he kept his meager supply of coins. His hand found nothing but his blanket and ragged scarf. Crouching, trying not to put pressure on his left leg, Jeremiah groped around, relying on both of his hands to find the can. For he was half-blind, and the corner was quite dark. He didn’t find his can, but all of a sudden his right hand felt a sharp pain, like a bite. There were many rats here. The old man jerked his hand back, trying to ease the pain, and rocked back and forth on his heels. The pain just got worse, and as he traced his left hand along his right, he felt a bulge on his ring finger, as if it were swollen. Jeremiah decided to curl up on his blanket and go to sleep, as that was the only way he could escape the pain.

In the morning, he awoke with a sharp jab on his right. He opened his eyes, blinking at the light. He could barely make out the dark shape of a policeman.

“Get up,” the police ordered him. “This is no place for a person to live. Don’t you know about the rats?”

The old man got up, making sure not to put pressure on his left leg, but forgetting about his right hand. When he put his hands on the ground to hoist himself up, he recoiled, the sharp pain in his hand fresh again. After many unsuccessful tries to get up again, the police offered Jeremiah a hand, and lifted him up. The old man smiled at the police in gratitude, which surprised the cop.

“Do. . . know Marvin, my son?” he asked the police.

The police was about to answer when his walkie-talkie started beeping. He stared at it, his eyebrows going up.

“I- I gotta go,” he said. “Stay where you are!” Then he got into his car and drove off.

The old man nodded after him, and sat down to wait.

During the afternoon, Jeremiah started to get hungry. But he didn’t eat, because he didn’t have his tin can, and also because the police had told him to stay.

At night, the policeman still hadn’t come back. Jeremiah sat down, as he was still tired from the long walk to his home. He usually didn’t walk that far, as his leg was broken, and he had no cane. Jeremiah once tried a stick, but it left dozens of splinters in his palm, which took very long to get out, since he couldn’t see very well. Ever since then, he feared using sticks as canes again.

The old man still didn’t understand why his family wasn’t in their house. Just a few years ago, when he had left, they had all still been living there. Memories of Marvin and Stella and sweet little Jane came back to him.

Jeremiah had already gone to some old friends’ houses to ask about his family, but they had all either ignored him or yelled at him to leave. They didn’t recognize Jeremiah. All they saw was a senile homeless man, probably begging for a place to sleep or some money. A few gave him a bit of food, but no one ever listened to him.

The next day was another day without food. Jeremiah still sat on the sidewalk, waiting for the policeman to return. His whole hand was now swollen, and he winced whenever he moved his arm.

After a while, the old man decided to go to the police station, which wasn’t far. He hobbled along the sidewalk, trying to control his hunger. He looked to his right, at the street. Perhaps it was his thirst, but suddenly Jeremiah thought he saw Marvin on the other side of the street. The old man’s eyes widened, and he started walking to the other side, right in the middle of the street. The person on the other side shouted that Jeremiah mustn't cross the street, and to go back on the sidewalk right now, but the old man kept stumbling forward. Cars swerved around him, crashing into one another.

Jeremiah was almost running, gasping, sweat trickling down his face. He was nearly there. But just then a truck came by, and too late, the driver noticed there was a man in front of him. Jeremiah got knocked off his feet, and fell on the ground, unmoving. As the old man slowly lost consciousness, he saw the person on the sidewalk frantically dialing for the cops. Then, his vision dimmed, and he blacked out.

When Jeremiah opened his eyes again, he knew, strangely, that his time was almost up. He was in a hospital, and a bunch of faces crowded around him. As his vision cleared up a bit, he thought he recognized a few of them. Then he saw a man in his fifties, holding his hand. He had short, brown hair streaked with grey, and an honest smile, although it wasn’t there now.

“Marvin,” the old man said weakly. He tried to sit up. The man put him gently back down, then smiled sadly, tears streaking across his cheeks. “You must rest, Daddy.”

Jeremiah’s heart warmed at the word “Daddy.”

Jane, now in her teens, met the old man’s eyes. They were also watery. “We found you at last, Grandpa. I’m sorry it wasn’t any sooner,” she said.

Jeremiah looked around at the other faces, all crying. He smiled at them, and his last thought was, “I had wanted to return home, but it seems like it has returned to me.” Then, his hand slipped from his son’s grasp, and lay limp.