A Festive Misunderstanding.

The world is alive, engaging, exciting as I make my way along the high street this Christmas Eve; the aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread filling my senses. How glad I am to be here!
The laughter of children echoing in and out of grand, department stores that stand regal and tall upon silky pavements brimming with life; the air fizzing with anticipation of what tomorrow will bring. For them; for a million other children just like them. For my friends, for my family; for me.

I proudly toss back my hair, briefly stopping to check my reflection in a shop window. My lip gloss in tact, no need to re do it. I deserve to be here! I am one of the,
‘beautiful people’. I deserve for the world to see me as I truly am. A woman who is, intelligent, successful and who wears only the best; the bags that I carry in both hands making a huge statement, that I am a woman who loves her fiancé dearly. That I can afford to buy him nothing but the best too. And today, the designer names emblazoned upon the front tells everyone that I am important.
I am important as I enter a coffee shop, my designer heels tapping as I go, each stride more assertive than the last. And I am important as I avoid the eyes of an old man who lays next to the doorway, his hands clutching a tatty, paper cup containing little but a handful of coins that strangers have cared to part with. How dare these people try to invade my world with their stories of pity and hopelessness! And how dare he try to spoil My Christmas Eve with his begging and tales of woe!

I make my way to the counter and order a cappuccino before choosing a seat near the window. There is nothing more wonderful than taking in, inhaling, the lights, the spirit of this magnificent time of year!
The diamond upon my engagement finger catching the reflection of the glass in the window; reminding me that soon, I will belong to another. Comforting. Reassuring.
Yet still, the old man lays in his self made gutter. A drain upon a society who has worked hard for all that it has. I turn once more from him, fixing my eyes upon the world beyond him. If I do, I can make him and all of those others like him disappear. Evaporate.

The jingling of coins interrupts my momentary reprieve; a middle aged couple, briefly stop to engage the old man, tossing coins into his tatty, old paper cup, their stupidity serving only to annoy me. He will do little more than drown his sorrows somewhere in the charms of a bottle of whisky. Are these people stupid? Don’t they know that he and others like him are given choices in life?
I finish my drink and make my way out of the coffee shop, this time, deliberately turning my head from the old man who still lays in the doorway.

‘’Spare me some change.’’ His voice cutting into me as I pass him by. I am busy. I am important. I have no time to engage him.

And so on I go, delighting myself with the charms of the make up counters as the assistants with eyes made up as delicious, ripples of light pull me further in. I buy myself an expensive, bottle of perfume. Because I can! Because I deserve it!

Suddenly; screaming outside cuts into my here and now. The horrific screaming of random strangers piercing, penetrating all of my being as I race to the centre of the drama, pushing my way through the crowds that have begun to descend; panic, rising, with every passing second. A blur of madness, flashing lights and sirens; the metal of the car, entwined within flesh as a body lays upon the coldness of the ground, lifeless. People crying, screaming, as the blood that once gave him life, seeps into a nearby drain. His breathing laboured and slow as I kneel next to him. The old man. The old man who I no longer avert my eyes to; the few coins he collected scattered upon the cold, hard, tarmac; beside him, his tatty, paper cup. And just for a moment; for a fleeting moment; his eyes meet mine as he continues to slip away; the pain of his life reflected back at me at a million miles an hour as all I can do is look helplessly on. He is so alone; afraid; his skin paper thin as still his eyes meet mine. I take his hand into my own as tears spill over onto my cheeks as guilt penetrates the very core of my being.

‘’Okay people, stand back! Come on, we need some room here.’’ A mans voice cuts our silent communication; our non verbal words as paramedics rush to tend to him.

‘’Come on young lady, thanks but you have to stand back now, we have a job to do here.’’ And at that very moment, the old man exhales for the last time, his hand becoming limp within mine as pain reaches into the depths of my soul. I should have done something. I know that now.

‘’I love you, dad.’’ I whisper. Too, little. Too late.