Good Ol Earl

The covered porch, shielding me from the pouring rain, was the only thing standing between me and completely losing it. I hadn’t meant to end up here. I don’t even know how I ended up here. I’d meant to walk straight into the street, into the blinding headlights, into the chaos that would finally make everything stop. But at the last second, my feet had betrayed me, dragging me toward the shelter of a stranger's porch instead. Coward.

I stared at the rain splashing against the slick asphalt, vanishing as quickly as it landed. Cars blurred by in streaks of headlights, their lights piercing the gray. I kept my eyes on the road, at the space just beyond the porch steps, and wondered what it would feel like to step into it. To just let the world swallow me whole.

“Planning to jump, or just brooding?” The voice sliced through my spiraling thoughts, sharp and sure.

I blinked up to see a small, wiry old woman standing at the edge of the porch, looking like she’d just stepped out of a Pixar movie. Her umbrella rested over one shoulder, droplets of rain sliding off the worn fabric. Wrinkles lined her face, but they seemed more from laughter than worry, and her sharp gray eyes were fixed on me with a mix of curiosity and something softer—concern, maybe.

“What?” I muttered, unsure if I’d heard her right.

She stepped onto the porch, shaking her umbrella with exaggerated flair. “Don’t worry, I’m not judging,” she said with a crooked smile.

“Lord knows I’ve had my moments. Thought about walking into traffic myself once, but then I remembered—I’m allergic to hospitals. Not to mention those gowns. They’re drafty.”

I blinked at her, confusion battling with the faintest flicker of amusement—though my despair quickly punished me for it.

“Or,” she said gently, "you could skip the hospital and head straight to the grave—but I’d rather you didn’t."

Rather than being offended, I looked at her with a twisted longing. Maybe the grave was where I truly belonged. Sick, I know.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as if trying to read my mind.

“An ambulance,” I muttered without thinking, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

“What was that?” she asked, eyebrows lifting in mock surprise.

“An ambulance,” I repeated louder, then quickly added, “Just a joke.”

She tilted her head, lips twitching like she was holding back a smile.

“Hmm, well, I’d give you points for trying, but your delivery needs work. You look like you’ve been hit by one already.”

Despite myself, a dry laugh escaped me.

Her face softened. “You’ve been through hell, huh?”

I shrugged, gripping the wooden railing as I stood to leave. “It’s nothing,” I said, though my voice wavered. "I'm sorry I ended up on your porch."

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” she said, settling into the chair behind me and motioning for me to sit beside her, like she had all the time in the world. “But if you want to sit out here and sulk, be my guest. Just know I’m not leaving until you say something. I’m your guardian angel now, baby.”

I hesitated, the steady rhythm of the rain filling the space between us. Then, realizing I had nowhere else to go, I sank into the chair beside her, the comforting scent of grandma’s house wrapping around me.

Finally, I spoke, barely above a whisper. “Seems like life would be better off without me in it,” I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat tightening.

She raised an eyebrow, mischief flickering in her eyes. “Gee, haven’t you ever seen It’s a Wonderful Life?”

“Is that the one with Leonardo DiCaprio?” I said sarcastically, but with a slight, genuine belief that I was right.

Her weathered hands flew to her face, mock shock spreading across her features.

“I’m not much for movies,” I murmured.

“The protagonist doesn’t think his life is worth anything, but in the end, he realizes what a gift life actually is.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Oh, great. A Hallmark movie.”

"Alright, let’s cut to the chase, kid," she said, her expression a mix of mock offense and amusement. "What’s got you in this little existential crisis of yours?"

I felt my stomach twist. “My parents told me they wish I was never born before they kicked me out of the house.”

Her face stayed calm, but something shifted in her eyes—an understanding, a sharpness that wasn’t there before. She didn’t speak right away, letting the weight of my words settle between us.

“Well,” she said finally, leaning back in her chair, “sometimes people are wrong, and they’re too prideful to admit it.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’ve been one of those morons almost my entire life.”

The rain was heavy, but I saw a change in her eyes, like she was remembering something, something painful. Her smile faltered for a split second before returning.

“I wasn’t always like this,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of years. “I used to think everything was lost. Thought if I could just leave it all behind—maybe then the pain would stop. But that’s not how it works. Let me tell you, walking away only gets you farther from the truth.”

I was caught off guard by her honesty, disarmed by the rawness of it. No one had ever bothered to sit with me this long, let alone speak to me with such genuine concern. How could someone so candid, so present, possibly have a dark side?

“Oh, I used to be a menace,” she continued, “Then, I lost everyone and had a choice to make.”

My fingers twitched against the rough surface of the railing, my legs restless, shifting as I waited for what came next.

“I had a choice: face the impossible, gut-wrenching work it would take to heal, or die an old Scrooge—bitter and alone. Sometimes, the problem isn’t you. It’s them.” She pointed at me when she said ‘you,’ then shifted her finger to herself when she said ‘them.’

I looked down at my hands, twisting them together. “It doesn’t feel that way,” I admitted. “It feels like I’m just…unlovable.”

She snorted, unapologetic. “Unlovable? You? No, everyone’s lovable. It’s just sometimes not easily given when it should be.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed, though it came out like a sob. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple,” she said, her tone softening. “It’s hard to love others when you don’t love yourself. You have to love yourself first.”

Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the rain-soaked street. “I don’t even know where to start.”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You start by not giving up and going on a journey to discover what love truly is. Not the twisted, ugly love you’ve grown up with. You must leave everything behind and go on the journey to discover the truth. But first, you must forgive.”

I looked at her, chest tight with emotion. “But what if I’m not strong enough?”

She smiled, warm and knowing. “You’re stronger than you think, kid. You’ve already made it this far, haven’t you?”

I swallowed hard, her words sinking deep into the raw edges of my heart. “Did you forgive yourself?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her crooked smile reappeared, soft but knowing. “I just did—two minutes ago,” she said. “It’s a constant practice, especially at my age.”

“Seems like it is at my age too,” I said quietly, meeting her gaze. For the first time, something inside me shifted. I felt a warmth spread through me, as though her kindness had found its way into the deepest parts of me. It was the first time I truly understood what love—real love—felt like.

She stood, brushing off her hands as if shaking off the weight of everything. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but neither of us acknowledged them. “Well,” she said, with a playful tilt of her head, “I’m freezing my backside off out here. How about we head inside? It’s not much, but I make a mean cup of good ol Earl.”

“Huh?” I blinked, caught off guard. The way she said it, I half-expected her to start twirling like she was about to break into a tap dance.

“Earl Grey? You’ve never had tea before?” She looked at me like I was a time traveler who’d just stepped out of a spaceship, lost and bewildered.

I raised an eyebrow, “No, isn’t that what old British people drink?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for goodness' sake, get inside!”

I hesitated, looking back at her—this woman who had somehow offered me something I hadn’t even realized I was searching for. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to let go of the pain, but I couldn’t deny the warmth of her presence. Slowly, I stood. My legs were shaky, but not entirely uncertain.

“Okay,” I said, the words escaping like a confession.

She grinned, holding the door open for me. “Good choice, kid. Trust me—the tea’s worth it.”

For the first time, a cup of tea sounded like the best thing in the entire world.