The Long Road Home

The young boy leaned into the gusty April wind, as the rain pelted his bare back. He shivered from the cold, but kept plodding on. He had no choice. He had no where to go. He couldn't turn back; that was forbidden. He could only go forward and hope for something good to happen - for a change. The sun had set and it was getting darker and colder by the minute. He looked frantically about, searching for something - anything that would help him get warm. The bar ditch was deep along this long stretch of country road. Surely there is a piece of plastic, an old discarded coat, or even a cardboard box would help right now. He was shaking violently. He must find some way to ward off the cold! He began to jog again, hoping the speed and effort would generate some heat in his system. He hadn't had a bite to eat for three days and his strength was almost gone. He gave up jogging and walked again, panting hard. Suddenly, he saw something in the ditch that gave him hope. He hurried along until he could reach down and grab the big retrigerator carton. It was wet, but still holding its shape. Lightning flashed, followed by a loud clap of thunder. He jumped, but held onto the box. Dragging it across the ditch, he propped it against the barbed wire fence to give it some stability, and crawling inside, fell on his face, completely exhausted. He slept soundly dispite the rain and the cold. The bright morning sun warmed the big box and the boy inside. Marlin was unaware of the blessing and slept on. Finally, about mid-moring, his empty stomach began to growl, awakening him. He was confused at first. Where am I? Then the painful memories came flooding back. The hunger pangs and the painful memories drove him from the temporaty security of the box. He took to the road again. Someone must live along this road somewhere. Near the crest of the hill he saw a small house in the distance. His steps quickened. Surely people would have compassion on a kid and give him something to eat. He knocked on the door and waited. He could hear a voice inside and saw a dim light streaming through an open doorway inside, but no one answered his knock. He knocked again, louder this time, and waited. No response. Tears welled up in his eyes, and then a voice spoke to him from inside. "What do you want?" The man sounded grupmy. "Please Sir, could you spare a bite of food? I'm really hungry!" "What are you doing all the way out here all alone anyway? Where do you live?" Marlin hesitated. How much should he tell this stranger about what had happened, he wondered. He probably wouldn't believe it anyway. "It's a hard story to tell," Marlin said quietly, "especially on an empty stomach." The door opened a crack, exposing a well seasoned face. The man studied the boy for a moment, and then opend the door wide for Marlin to enter. As his eyes swept around the little room, Marlin knew immediately that this was the home of a very poor and humble person. The furnishings were few and rustic. Yet there was a warm spirit about it all. The man shuffled around the table in the tiny room. "Come on in and sit. I'll rustle you up some grub. I guess you won't be too particular about what you eat, will you?" "No Sir, not at all! I'm so hungry I would eat most anything, and be thankful!" "What's your name? I don't recall ever seeing you around here before." He reached into an ancient looking refrigerator and brought out some beans and a cold, hard biscuit. Placing them on the table, he reached for a fork and tossed it in front of the boy. Marlin tried to refrain from "grabbing and gobbling" as he answered the question. "Marlin Morris is my name. No I don't live around here. I came from down south. I think it is south of here. I may be confused. I walked in the rain and through the night, so I don't know where I am, really. I'm from Buckley or south of there anyway." "What in the world is a young kid like you doing this far from home, nearly naked, on a rainy night like last night?" "Well, Sir. Ah, ah, what is your name, Sir?" "My name is Cox, Weston Cox. Everybody just calls me Cox, but you havne't answered my question yet. What are you doing here?" "Mr. Cox, Sir, I do appreciate the food and the chance to sit at your table and eat and talk. You've treated me wonderfully well, but if you don't mind, I'd rather not bother you with my hard lick tale. Maybe you have some work I could do around here to repay you for yuor kindness. Is that possible?" Cox studied him quizzically for a moment, not knowing what to make of him and his strange behavior. Marlin squrimed under the piercing gaze. "I'll tell you what, Marlin," he said. "I have some fence that needs fixed. You could help me do that, if it would make you feel better, but first you need a shirt." So saying, he stepped over to the wall which served as his closet and took his extra shirt off the nail and held it out to the kid. Tears stung Marlin's eyes as he reached for the shirt. This gift was a sacrifice for the man, yet to refuse it, he knew, would hurt and insult the man. The two stood speechless for a moment, looking steadily into one another's eyes. Something happened between the two of them in that few seconds. An understnding began to grow. A deep friendship began to form. It was an instantaneous, miraculous, father-son relationship, such as neither of them had ever known before.