Born from the Shards

11/29/1993

With the red curtains pushed apart, Noel gripped the edge of the windowsill, stood on his tip-toes, and peered through frosted glass. Across the street was a small, pink home covered in curious splotches of orange-red mixed with brown. Unkempt shrubs framed the walkway leading to the peeling front door, their vibrant green leaves tangled with colored bulbs. The property glowed with a magic that only came once a year.

Christmas was when the unnerving streets of Gary resembled that of New York City or Los Angeles. It was wondrous; filled with opportunity. Artificial bulbs, extravagant ornaments and gaudy ribbons fixed the usually gloomy atmosphere. Paranoia was replaced with peace. A sense of homeliness. It was hard not to marvel at people whence they wielded presents and candy canes to gift their loved ones.

Using the collar of his jacket, Noel wiped the beads of sweat dripping down his temple, as the indoor heater hit him full blast.

Across the street, the yellow-stained front door opened to that pink, little home and out hobbled a crotchety elder. Noel's brows flew to his hairline, and his lips twitched into an amused grin.

It was Wallace Richmond, a man who'd been around since before his great-grandmother was born – heck, probably since before his great-great-grandmother was born. He was really old.

Everywhere he roamed, an air of intimidation followed. Stress lines marked his face, which was frozen in an everlasting grimace. And in his dark freckled hand, he gripped tight to his black cane, as he carried on down the front porch. When he was younger, Noel envisioned the cane giving a licking to any person who dared look the old man the wrong way. His chest rumbled from a chuckle.

Mr. Richmond's balding head was a tone lighter than the rest of his body, marked with a scar that stretched from the top of his skull to his right eyebrow. Although he was an older fellow, he was lean with sinewy muscle from years spent performing hard labor. Whatever work was available - factory jobs, construction, mining, janitorial duties - Mister Richmond did it, making him more active than the average elder.

On the outside, he was as tough as tough can be. But internally? He was one of the kindest people Noel had ever known. The elder used his wisdom as tools to help the young ones in the neighborhood. For boys and girls who didn't have a father or grandfather figure, he was that. And so, generations of adults and children alike were given a positive influence in a world of broken homes, gang violence and substance abuse.

When Noel lost his great-grandmother, the man was right by his side, wise as always. His face contorted with the faintest twinge of sadness, though he never let it show for too long. He was a rock, meant to be stoic. But his voice was gentle whilst he consoled the boy and his mother.

It wasn't the first time Mister Richmond watched over the Masson family. He'd been right at his mother's side when his great-grandfather Tim passed. She was seven. He was there when his grandmother passed. Mother was thirteen. With no parents, all she had was great-grandma Cynthia and Mister Richmond.

Noel hoped when he got old he'd be as good a person as Mr Richmond.

Focusing back on the old man, who was jabbing his cane at a few pesky squirrels loitering about in the bushes, they met each other's gaze. The skin between the elder's brows was crinkled and his lips were in a hostile frown.

But once Noel waved and grinned through the icy window, that frown transformed into a smile so bright it stood out amongst the glowing bulbs on his front lawn. He nodded to the boy, then turned back to the animals. His brows stitched in aggravation, and his lips moved a million miles per hour whilst he screamed for them to git off his lawn!

When they refused to scram, he resorted to jabbing his cane at the bushes, successfully scaring the squirrels away. But he didn't stop there. No, his wobbly legs chased after them, as he shook his fist in the air.